“Drink?”
“Do bears shit in the woods?”
My uncle smirks, glancing at me over his shoulder as he pours two large whiskies.
“I don’t remember you having such a mouth on you when you were younger.”
He turns from the bar cart and moves to sit at his desk—formerly my father’s desk—before sliding one of the glasses across it toward me.
“Sláinte.”
“Cheers,” I murmur, clinking my glass to his before bringing it to my lips. “And that was probably because I was twelve the last time you spent any amount of time in New York.”
He lifts a brow in acknowledgement.
“So since then, you’ve gone full gangster?”
I grin. “Go figure, you get raised by a crime boss in a crime family doing criminal stuff, and then everyone acts all shocked when you don’t turn out to be a princess or a congresswoman.”
“Unless you’re Eilish.”
I roll my eyes, and my uncle chuckles quietly.
“I’m joking. And I’m not comparing you two.”
I take another thoughtful sip.
“Sometimes I wish I was more like her.”
“And why is that?”
I snort. “I don’t know. Maybe because she’s nice?”
Cillian shrugs, sipping his drink. “Nice can be a handicap.”
“I don’t know about that. It’s working out pretty good for Eilish. People like her. And I’m just…”
“Prickly.”
I grin. “Gee, thanks.”
He grins back, toasting me with his glass before taking another long sip. I drink as well, glancing around at the office around us.
I hardly ever used to come in here. Back when it was my father’s office, in my father’s house. Cillian hasn’t changed it much since he moved in with us a few months ago, after the shooting. But there’s enough of him here now that it’s beginning to feel more like his office than Dad’s.
We grieved when my father was killed—Eilish and I, that is. But then, after some time, and a few tears, we were okay. Most people around us, I’m sure, have speculated that we’re both putting on a brave face with all the changes that followed, that it’s all an act.
We’re not, and it’s not.
Here’s the thing: Eilish and I loved our father. And despite his coldness and his brutality, I’m sure he loved us too. But after Mom died, he just sort of…I don’t know how to put it. It wasn’t that he didn’t love us. It was just that he was one of those parents that really didn’t ever…take to parenting.
Declan Kildare was our biological father. But he wasn’t ever really our dad, if that makes sense. And as to being a family, especially after Mom died, forget it. We were more like strangers who happened to be related.
“How’s Castle?”
Cillian grunts. “He’s not going to find it easy to breathe for a while with those bruised ribs, but he’ll be fine. Eilish?”
I shrug. “Also fine. We watched her favorite movie and pigged out on junk food before she fell asleep. She’ll be okay, she’s just a little shaken up.”
“And you’re not?”
My brow furrows. Am I?
Weirdly, no, I’m not. Which makes no sense. It’s not as if I’ve ever been witness to a drive-by shooting before.
“Maybe a little,” I lie.
Cillian, of course, sees right through me. But he doesn’t push it or call me out on it.
I frown as I glance at him over the rim of my glass.
“Any word on the shooters?”
“Handled.”
“Who was it?”
“No one you need to be concerned about.”
I sigh heavily. “Uncle…”
“Fine. Some of Ezio Adamos’ men, acting out of turn and strictly on their own.”
“And you believe that?”
“I do now.”
I frown. “Why?”
Cillian just smiles quietly, a venomous glint in his eyes.
Oh. I can connect the dots on my own.
Most people are scared of my uncle. But I’m not, and I’m not sure I ever have been. I mean, obviously I see him for who and what he is. I understand there’s a voracious darkness in him, just as I understand that he probably is legit somewhere on the sociopath spectrum, if that’s even a thing. But I don’t fear him.
I know he’s lethally dangerous if you’re his enemy. But he’s not a monster.
I’ve seen real monsters, when I was nine.
So has Cillian. He saved me from one.
My uncle sighs, setting his whiskey down and steepling his finger under his chin.
“I need to apologize for today.”
“You mean not telling me I was going to be a political bargaining chip?”
“Yeah.”
I suck on my teeth as I eye him across the desk.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He shrugs. “Because I hadn’t completely decided one way or the other until we sat at that conference table today. I’m a people reader, and even if we’d talked about it beforehand, I had to sit down in that room with the two of you, and read both his face and yours, before I made my decision.”
“Your decision?”
There’s an edge to my voice that he doesn’t miss.
“Yes, Neve, my decision, as the head of this entire family and organization.”
Anger surges in my chest.
“And do I get no say in the fact that I’m being married off?!”
He shrugs. “Oh, you do. It’s just a much smaller say than mine.”
I stare at him. Cillian just sips his whiskey and looks right back at me.
“And if I refuse?”
“I wouldn’t suggest doing that.”
“No?” I snap. “Will I get the same treatment as whatever unholy hell happened to Ezio Adamos’ men today?”
Cillian sighs quietly.
“Neve, I think you know me well enough to know I’d go to the ends of the earth to protect you from harm.”
He really would. My anger fades. Embarrassment at my own accusations rises hotly in my cheeks, and I look away.
“I could threaten you, Neve,” he growls quietly. “Remind you that I could take away the trust fund that pays for your fancy apartment, your clothes, your whole life.”
“I don’t need a fancy apart—”
“And your education.”
My lips purse as I squint at him.
“You could threaten, or you are threatening?”
“My threats are seldom inconspicuous.”
He frowns deeply, twisting the glass on his desk in front of him.
“Neve, this is happening. It has to. End of story.”
“But why is that?” I snap.
“Look around you!” he growls. “The Kildare family has done well for itself—very, very well indeed. But we’ve hit our ceiling. Our rivals, on the other hand, don’t seem to have a ceiling. The Cartel? The Bratva? Neve, they’re more than criminal organizations. They’re multinational empires now.”
“So, I’m marrying Ares Drakos so you can buy a bigger house?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Don’t pretend to be fucking stupid, Neve, because I know you’re not. This isn’t about greed. It’s about survival. If we don’t grow, we’ll be left in dust and the shadows that those who are building the new empires leave in their wake.”
Cillian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Ending the bloodshed with the Drakos family is imperative to survival today. Partnering with them is the only way to ensure we have a future.”
Anger simmers under my skin as I stand abruptly, knock back the rest of my whiskey, and slam the glass back down on the desk.
“So I guess I just drew the short straw, then?”
“You sure fucking did,” he hisses. “And I’m sorry for that, I truly am. But this is how families survive in this game, Neve. You know that. Look, I didn’t wish this for you. But this really is the only way.”
“I need some air.”
I start to make for the door to his office when his voice stops me.
“Neve.”
Cillian stands, his knuckles on the desk as he levels his eyes at me.
“You’ll marry Ares Drakos. And that’s final.”
