Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Chantal
I look like a snack in the emerald Valentino gown I’m wearing, and I know I do.
My braids are worn up, and my freshly pedicured toes are glossy and exposed in the sandal heels I’ve put on. Me and my lusciously thick curves turn heads as I show up to the Crown Plaza.
I told Dad I wouldn’t be coming tonight. Originally, I meant it.
I wasn’t about to put myself through another draining performance, pretending I was his perfect daughter and he was the perfect father.
The thing is, the event organizers sent out an email with the list of attendees. I almost deleted it without checking but wound up scanning the names out of nosiness.
That’s when I came across Ronan’s name. He must’ve been making another public appearance on behalf of the Callahan Clan.
Any mob family that hopes to have a real hold on the city still must abide by certain rules—part of the game to be played is shaking hands and kissing babies. Presenting a good face in public at major events like Dad’s donor’s gala.
This was my chance to get a quick moment alone with Ronan and reason with him.
Since overhearing that conversation between him and Seamus, I’ve been sleeping even less than before. I’ve been up at all hours of the night, tossing and turning and thinking about Lochlan.
We haven’t seen each other in weeks, yet I can sense it in my heart that he’s still out for revenge. Call it woman’s intuition, but with each passing day, I’m aware how the clock’s running out.
Sooner than later one of the brothers is going to make their next move, and there probably won’t be any turning back.
Somebody’s going to end up dead.
And while my loyalty is with Lochlan, I’d rather my best friend’s husband not die.
So I show up to the Crown with my usual bubbly confidence, giving that girl energy. But really it’s an act as I’m much more concerned with getting a moment alone with the new Callahan Chief.
The ballroom is giving what it’s supposed to give—crystal chandeliers, champagne towers, glossy floors that show your reflection, and endless hors d’oeuvres to snack on—but I wouldn’t expect any less from a prestigious hotel like the Crown.
Queen Elizabeth II stayed here when in New York City for a reason.
The Crown Plaza is peak old money, Manhattan elite.
Basically the stuffy, snobby crowd I grew up in, yet I feel out of place more and more each day.
I mingle as best I can, smiling and nodding when people ask about my “harrowing ordeal” and how I’m recovering.
Yes, I’m doing so much better, thank you.
No, I really don’t want to discuss the details.
Yes, my father has been incredibly supportive through everything.
Phew… the way that last lie almost makes me choke on my champagne.
I spot Ronan by the bar, looking more civilized and polished than he’d ever like to admit. It’s almost to the point that he’s blending in with the uptight elitist circles he hates so much.
He’s chatting with some councilman—Culver or Colter or something like that—while his main bodyguard lurks nearby.
Killian Rourke is a fearsome professional boxer making millions off his lethal fists; you’d never know that looking at the guy. He’s even grittier than Lochlan and Ronan, openly scowling in a wrinkled dress shirt and unabashed blood on his knuckles.
But my real focus is on the new Callahan heir. I wait until the councilman finally excuses himself, then I slink over as coyly as possible.
“Simone decided to ditch the fancy gala for a reruns of Housewives of Staten Island at home?” I ask.
He glances over between sips of his whiskey on the rocks, his face impassive. No surprise there; I can’t say me and my best friend’s husband are pals. More so cordial for Simone’s sake, though he was comforting the night he and his men took me to the ER.
“Chantal,” he says flatly. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Simone said you were skipping out.”
“I wasn’t planning on coming but changed my mind last second.” I pause for an awkward clear of my throat, figuring I might as well get straight to the point. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something important.”
He cocks a brow. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m all ears.”
“It’s, um… it’s about… and just hear me out, okay? Let me finish before you shoot it down,” I say, stepping closer. “The last time I was over at your house, I heard what you and your father were saying… um, about eliminating a problem.”
“I told him to shut that damn door.”
I ease closer again, dropping my voice to a murmur. “I know who you were talking about. I know where this is headed with your brother. You’re both out to take out the other, and this isn’t going to end well for anyone.”
He regards me severely, his green eyes as vivid and harsh as Lochlan’s. “Is that so?”
“Ronan, he’s hurt. He’s mourning his son.
He feels betrayed by your family—all of you who he feels didn’t have his back—and so that’s why he’s doing what he’s doing.
Think about it from his point of view. He was nothing but loyal to your father and the family his entire life, then he gets sent away to prison and loses it all.
His position in the family, his wife, his son—”
“His son,” Ronan hisses in interruption.
“You mean the one that tried to kill my wife, your best friend? The same son who was working with the Albanians to take down our family and hers. I didn’t go looking for that fucking fight.
My brother and nephew brought it to my door. I did what I had to to protect Simone.”
Sensing his temper rising, I hold out a hand and try to backtrack.
“I didn’t mean to make it sound like any part of it was wanted by you.
I was there listening to Simone vent when it was happening.
I know how it went down from your side. All I’m saying is that your brother has a different side to tell. He feels betray—”
“Nobody fucking betrayed anybody except Lochlan betraying us!” he snaps. “How the fuck are you even arguing on his behalf after what he did to you? The guy held you captive. What are you, suffering from Stockholm Syndrome?”
“That’s not what this is. I just don’t want you to destroy each—”
“Chantal, word of advice. Stay the hell out of it,” he says coldly. “This doesn’t concern you.”
He drains the last of his whiskey on the rocks and then strides off without so much as a goodbye. I sigh watching him go, the disappointment unloading on me like a ton of bricks.
I should’ve known that wouldn’t go well. Ronan’s about as stubborn as Lochlan is. Maybe even worse in some regards.
Both brothers are alphas; both would rather die than ever back down.
Ugh, men and their damn stupid egos.
I’m shaking my head and rolling my eyes when a different man walks up on my left.
“Dad,” I say, blinking in shock for some reason. You’d think I’d expect to run into my father at his own event, but given the evening I’ve had, it still feels out of nowhere.
“Chantal, I didn’t expect you to show up,” he says. “I’m so glad you decided to come after all.”
“Um, yeah… I… I already had a dress picked out… so…” I stammer awkwardly.
He plunges on anyway as if he can’t tell I’m obviously lying.
He’s in full politician mode, going for maximum optics points as he places a gentle hand on my shoulder and his dark eyes fill with concern.
“I know things have been difficult between us lately. I’ve handled things poorly.
I see that now. But I want to make it right, sweetheart. ”
“You… do?”
“Of course, you’re the only one I have left.
You’re my little girl, and always will be,” he answers.
He reaches into his suit jacket and withdraws a key card.
“My campaign has rented out the entire top floor. Here’s the key to my suite.
Why don’t you head up, and we’ll talk about the misunderstanding once I’m done making my rounds? Father to daughter. Clear the air.”
Before I can dignify his suggestion with an answer, he’s pressed the key card into my hand. I glance down at it, hovering between the urge to blow up his spot in public and make him sorry he ever did what he did to Mom, and actually hearing what he has to say.
“Um… alright,” I answer after a second. “But this better be good.”
He chuckles and pats my shoulder. “That sounds like my old Chantal. Head on up. Top floor. I’ll be up in fifteen minutes.”
The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside, pressing the button for the fiftieth floor. My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls—all done up in emerald silk and high-end makeup as if I have my life together, when really things are still such a hot mess.
I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive Dad or how I’ll stop the war between Lochlan and Ronan.
The doors are inches away from closing when a hand suddenly shoots through the gap.
I squeal and jump back, heart damn near lurching into my throat.
A figure slips inside uninvited, commandeering my elevator as if it’s really his. He’s tall—though everybody is when you’re only five two—and dressed in dark clothes. His face is covered by a mask that makes my eyes round in shock.
It’s the skeleton ski mask I’ve spent way too many hours becoming acquainted with. The same type of mask Lochlan and his men wear.
But this isn’t Lochlan—it’s some other man with a wide frame and menacing energy. Before he can even utter a word, I know he has nefarious intentions.
The elevator doors press shut, and then it jolts upward, transporting us level by level. I snap out of my shock and go into instant survival mode.
“Who the hell are you? Get OFF my elevator!” I scream.
As he starts toward me, I whack his ass right in the face with my wristlet. Only I don’t stop at one hit. I bash my Miu Miu wristlet over his head so hard you’d think it were a weapon.
It becomes my weapon as the guy backs me up against the elevator wall and grabs at my wrists.
“YOU DON’T WANT NONE!” I yell, twisting against him. He tries to pin my arms, but I lift my knee and catch him in the stomach.
“You fucking twat!”