I groan as the sound of my phone vibrating on my nightstand fills the silence in the room. “Who would call at this hour?”
“It’s noon,” she reminds me with a hint of laughter.
“It’s my day off, and everyone knows I like my sleep.” I keep my arm around her as I move our bodies to grab my phone. “Hello,” I say into the phone, holding it against my ear.
“Brax,” Gramps says, sounding way more awake and alert than I feel. “I made contact.”
“Do you sleep?” I ask him.
“It’s noon,” he replies, repeating Iris’s words. “Anyway, I talked to Malakai’s number two. We have a private meeting with him tonight.”
“In person?” I ask, a small lump forming in my throat. I thought a call would take care of it, but I should’ve known better. This is Malakai, and he likes to toy with everyone, even my grandfather.
“He never makes anything easy.”
“I guess not.”
“What happened?” Iris asks, and I pull the phone away, pressing speaker so she can hear our conversation.
“What time?” I ask him.
“Ten at his favorite pub.”
“What?” Iris asks as she turns her body and face so she can see me. Her eyes are wide, and her breathing has grown more ragged.
“It’s a good sign, doll,” Gramps says to Iris, because I’ve never been his doll. That’s always been reserved for the girls of the family. I’m kiddo or bud.All the boys are. It allows him not to have to remember any names since there’re more than a handful of us. “He agreed to a sit-down. He could’ve told me to kick rocks.”
“But this isn’t your problem,” Iris tells him.
“It’s not yours either,” he replies, instantly making her mouth close. “But now, it’s all of ours, though it won’t be for long. Malakai and I have a long history. It wasn’t always pretty, but we’ve been on solid ground for years. By tomorrow, this will all be a memory.”
“More like a nightmare,” Iris mutters softly.
“We’ll swing by and pick you up,” I tell him.
“Come at seven. Grandma says you need to bring your girlfriend over for dinner before I’m allowed to go.”
“You told her?”
“Well, yeah. Duh. The woman knows everything.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell Iris with a pained expression.
“Sorry? Don’t be sorry,” she says with graciousness.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Your gram makes the best eggplant parm in the city. Stop being so dramatic. It’s dinner, not an engagement party,” Gramps tells me. “Be here at seven.”
“It’s not going to take three hours to eat,” I argue, but I know it’s no use. If Gram says seven, it’s seven.
“You tell her that. She’s the boss, kiddo.”
“I love eggplant parm,” Iris says, taking it all in stride.
She may love the food, but she has no idea what she’s walking into. Betty Gallo is going to be filled with questions, and if she likes Iris, she’ll be planning our wedding before we even make it to the pub to meet Malakai.
“I have to go. Your gram wants me to take her to the store so she can start cooking. See you later.”
“Bye,” I say.
