“Benicio!”
The advisor stands as if he knows he is going to his doom. “Who ordered the attack on the MacTavish woman?”
Benicio frantically murmurs something to him, and it does not seem to please Costa, who pulls out his gun and shoots the man in the head. Calmly wiping the blood spray off his face with a white linen napkin, Costa nods at Cormac. “We honor the code. Kindly accept my apologies with payment in blood.” The old man leans forward with sudden interest. “We could, of course, strengthen the bonds between our families by uniting one of my daughters with one of your sons?”
Michael’s standing right behind me and I angle to block him from Costa’s view. My cousin’s expression of horror is not flattering.
“Lucia, my eldest, is eighteen and a beauty,” Costa continues, as if he’s not just shot his senior advisor in the face. His son Marcos is ignoring the conversation, still whispering to the others.
“Your suggestion is, of course, an honorable one.” Uncle Cormac is smoother than butter on a hot bun when he wants to be. “We must table such a discussion for another time. Our agreement was the use of our ports for a one-time shipment of weapons only. I am withdrawing the use of the MacTavish ports for this action.”
Ach, the old man’s not liking this answer. “We can add an additional five percent to our agreement with you.”
“Not at this time.” There’s a look my Chieftain gets when things are about to go wrong, a blank look in his eyes that promises retribution and fire and death. Costa is a cunning old bastard, and he knows when to bow out.
“Very well, MacTavish. We will speak again soon.”
“Goodbye,” Uncle Cormac nods, clicking a button and ending the call.
He swivels in his chair to look at the rest of us. “Thoughts?”
I lift my hand. “Chieftain, the call was recorded, aye?”
Xenia is in the corner and she nods, “Of course, we film everything with the Hasselblad H6D. Thirty-two hundred megapixels.” She says it in the same tone most people use when talking about baby kittens.
“Can I bring in Arabella?” I ask. “As ye all know by now, she’s an excellent lip-reader, and I’m mighty curious about what set Costa’s boy off in the background. Her Master’s degree covers the evolution of sign language in the romance languages. She’s trained in British Sign Language as well as ISL and SSL. She learned to speak Italian and Spanish as well to track the evolution of their sign language properly. She’ll be learning French this year.”
“Good lad,” Uncle Cormac nods approvingly. “Bring her in. The rest ye, go get something to eat, talk, and speculate amongst yourselves. Oh, and Dougal?”
Da turns. “Aye, brother?”
“Have your guards keep an eye on the front gate. When that box gets delivered, ye dinnae want it leaking all over the cobblestone.”
My father groans, mumbling something about “having the meeting at Cormac’s place next time” as he leaves.
Chapter Twenty-Six
In which Arabella impresses the hell out of her in-laws.
Logan…
“You’re really parading me in front of your Chieftain?” Bella is frantically smoothing her hair and straightening that tight pencil skirt and it’s all I can do to not rip it off her with my teeth.
Five fecking days away from this woman was far too long.
“Ye look beautiful, relax.” My hand is sliding lower and she smacks it away.
“This is not an arse-grabbing occasion, ye bampot!”
“Ye must be Arabella, a pleasure to meet ye.” The study door is open and Uncle Cormac is standing there.
She freezes in horror.
“Of course, I already know ye must be a saint if you’re putting up with the likes of my nephew.” Uncle Cormac’s barely suppressed grin tells me he heard our little exchange and from her pained expression, she’s aware of it too.
“Thank ye, Chieftain, your family has been very kind and welcoming to me.” My wife quickly regains her poise and graciously shakes his hand.
“Logan here thought ye might be able to assist us.”
