Smiling nervously, I hope that he’s right, because getting called for an audience with the head of the MacTavish Mafia doesn’t feel like a good thing. More like a “shooting you in the head and making an example of you," thing.
Wallie - Scottish slang for fancy or pretentious.
Feckwit – Scottish slang for idiot.
Chuffed - Scottish slang for excited.
Chapter Eleven
In which Scarlett is interrogated in the nicest possible way.
Wallace…
I’m not concerned.
Not a lot, at any rate. I was a wee bit surprised Uncle Cormac was so keen to meet Scarlett immediately. I thought I’d have a day or two to ease her into things, maybe have her meet a couple of my cousin’s wives so she’d feel less overwhelmed.
The estate looms up ahead of us, intimidating, magnificent. But Scarlett was raised in her expensive Beacon Hill mansion, so she merely nods. “It’s beautiful here. They must throw fun dinner parties.”
“Aye, though not the kind ye think,” I chuckle. “There’s too many bairns tearing around now for anything aristocratic.”
“Bairns… kids, correct?” she asks.
“Ye have it right.”
Putting my hand on hers, I squeeze it gently, aware of my rough, calloused fingers. “The Chieftain isn’t going to be cruel to ye, there’s nothing to be concerned about. If there’s something ye dinnae want to answer, ask for some time to think it over.”
“Is this a fact-finding mission about the Banner Syndicate?” Now, she looks concerned. “Because I didn’t even know about what that idiot Kyle did to your family. I have no knowledge of the inner workings of the business.”
My attempt at giving her a reassuring smile makes her frown harder. “Ye might know more than ye think. Your safety, though, is not contingent on that.”
“Okay…”
She watches the guard step crisply up to the car as we wait for the gate to open, still following protocol.
“Hey, Wallace.” Rory gives me a big grin. “How was your time in the States? A proper holiday, then?”
“Oh, aye. Ye know how it is. Autumn in New England. Sights to see.”
He bursts out laughing and pats my car reverently before stepping back. More guards are patrolling the estate grounds and two stationed by the side entrance that leads to Uncle Cormac’shome office suite. I think he prefers working here to that tall, intimidating building downtown, with his big, intimidating office.
He may be my uncle, but the Chieftain is already intimidating as feck. He dinnae need any window dressing.
Miss Kevin’s waiting for us, impeccable in a Tom Ford suit, face lighting up as they look at Scarlett. “How lovely to meet you at last, Miss Banner.”
“Scarlett, please,” she says, thrusting out a hand to shake.
“Miss Kevin, the Chieftain’s personal assistant.”
“I have a feeling that the job title encompasses a very wide range of duties,” Scarlett says wryly.
Miss Kevin laughs, a real, hearty laugh. Almost boisterous. I dinnae think I've heard more than a polite chuckle out of them before. “You have no idea.” They snap back into business mode. “The Chieftain is ready for you.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Kevin,” Scarlett whispers as we’re ushered into Uncle Cormac’s office.
He’s scowling at some paperwork scattered across his desk and I canna blame him. No one builds a mafia empire just to get stuck going through shipping manifests and expense reports.
“Ah, good. An excuse to leave this shite behindfor a moment.” He comes around the desk, “Let’s go sit by the fireplace.”
