Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I glance over as Niall extracts himself from the crowd and takes the empty stool next to me. He asks for a whiskey and swirls it when the drink arrives.
“Didn’t you know?” I say to him when it’s clear he’s sticking around. “I’m toxic. I have a communicable disease.”
“What disease is that?”
“The disease of fucking up and being wrong.” I finish my glass of wine and gesture for another. “There’s a reason that seat’s empty.”
Niall snorts and stares at his glass as he tilts it side to side. “Did you talk to Ronan?”
“Only a little bit.” I glance back at the booth where Ronan’s deep in conversation with some of the cousins and uncles. He’s dealing with the fallout from the botched job earlier in the evening, and he hasn’t had much time for me. He said it wasn’t my fault, that he didn’t blame me in the slightest, but that was all. And I’ll admit, I wish he would sit here instead of Niall, but I fully understand why he can’t—he’s the head of the family and he has to work out what happened.
I still wish he were here anyway.
“Don’t listen to the chatter, all right? I was the one that got a gun pointed at my head, and I don’t blame you even a little bit for that.”
I hunch forward when my new glass of wine appears. “I just don’t understand how it happened.”
“Julien’s clever, we all know that.”
“He’s not that clever.” I take a drink. “The Julien I know is a selfish asshole.”
“Maybe you aren’t such a great judge of character then.” Niall sounds thoughtful, not mean, but it still bugs me. “Julien comes off like he’s a hedonistic Frenchman that only cares about himself, but there is much more to him than that.”
I tilt my head from side to side. I can understand what he means by that. I didn’t expect Julien to care about Adam’s death so much but, apparently, he’s taking it very hard and thinks I’m partially responsible. He’s wrong—but I understand why he feels that way.
“I just feel guilty, that’s all. Ronan’s dealing with ten times more shit because of me.”
“Ah, quit feeling sorry for yourself. We all followed the plan because it was a good one. You couldn’t have known that a random third party would intervene and blow it up.”
I glance at him. He’s looking back at me, face a stone wall, but there’s something else behind his expression. His eyes narrow, almost like he’s concentrating. Almost like he’s waiting for something.
“How did Julien find out?” I ask him very quietly, leaning in to make sure nobody can overhear. “The only people that knew about the plan were Rocco’s guys and your guys, and only then it was need-to-know until the day.”
“That is exactly what Ronan’s dealing with right now,” Niall says, nodding very slowly. “And a question we need to be asking ourselves very seriously.”
The implication sends a shiver down my spine. In any big crime organization, the potential for betrayal and backstabbing is always there, but ideally, it’s counteracted by the bonds these men form with each other. We call it a family on purpose and for a reason—not because these guys are all related, but because a family doesn’t turn its back on its members, not for any reason, no matter what.
There’s always intrigue. Every Famiglia deals with some level of backstabbing and the threat of undercover cops infiltrating the highest levels. All crime organizations have a few feds running around with the soldiers.
But for a family like Ronan’s to leak an operation like what happened earlier to a rival? That’s unheard of. That’s enormous.
And it means the divisions in the Hayes Group run deeper than I realized.
As I drink my wine and let anxiety rattle around my chest, another person pushes through the crowd and lurks right next to Niall. I look back and it’s Seamus, his eyes slightly glassy, a wet stain on his chest, his cheeks bright red. He’s swaying to the side.
“You okay, cousin?” Niall asks him with a grin. “You imbibe a bit too much?”
“It’s her fuckin’ fault.” Seamus spits the words, staring at me the whole time. “You know that, don’t you? How the fuck can you sit there with this bitch right now, cousin?”
“Easy there,” Niall says, smile fading. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m drunk,” Seamus agrees. “And that bitch is still here. That’s the real fuckin’ problem. Hey, bitch, how’d you convince Ronan to turn his back on his family, huh?”
“Seamus.” Niall’s voice is hard now. He stands and puts a hand on the drunk. “You should walk.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say, feeling sick to my stomach. A part of me wants to hear it. Seamus is drunk, and he’s a sexist douchebag, but this is what he’s thinking, it’s what they’re all thinking, and it’s almost better if it’s finally out in the open like this.