One month later…
The sun is setting over my parent’s garden, sending long fingers of red and gold, lighting up the table where the family is enjoying another one of Martha’s spectacular meals.
Catriona, my twin sister, is here with her husband Lucas. Duncan brought his latest boyfriend Kyle along. Jack dinnae have a date, being both between girlfriends and a serial monogamist. Maisie is dateless too, though I caught her whispering to Sophie and giggling as she showed her a text. I’ll need to have her bodyguard Knox report on who she’s been seeing.
Celia is seated next to me, wearing an elegant pale linen dress and a tight smile, since Jack had accidentally spilled a bit of his drink on her. It was only a couple of drops, but I’m thinking she won’t forgive him anytime soon.
“I regret moving out every time I have another one of Martha’s dinners,” Catriona sighs, scraping every last bit of fricassee of cauliflower and sea samphire from her plate.
“Is that why I’m always seeing Sophie slipping you a big tin of dessert every time we leave?” Lucas teases her gently.
“I apologize for nothing,” she says loftily, putting one hand over her rather pregnant belly. I’m happy for her and Lucas. Of all thecircuitous routes the MacTavishes have taken to find true love, theirs was surely one of the most challenging.
My gaze rises to the back of the house. There’s a wide bank of windows in the kitchen, and I can see Martha and Sophie bustling back and forth. Mum brought in extra servers to help tonight, but I know Sophie never leaves her mother to do all the work when she’s home from school. Sophie’s already promised to work in the MacTavish International legal division after she graduates from law school. Which means she’ll be around the office. Where I’ll see her.
Often.
She’s twenty-two, ye arse.My voice of reason is getting easier to ignore as I watch her bounce back and forth, cheeks pink from the heat of the kitchen and laughing at something her mother said.
My mobile vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out just enough to see a text from Ryan, of my best captains.
We have two visitors here. They’re looking to dive into the pool but they’re barely keeping their heads above water. I guess Albanians dinnae know how to swim.
So, he and his crew picked up the Albanian feckers responsible for robbing two of our gaming clubs and torching them. He’s letting me know they’re in the bunker under the pool house and severely injured.
Show them our best hospitality, please engage them in conversation until I arrive.
Mum glares at me until I reluctantly slip my mobile back into my pocket. She tries to hold to the rule of no calls or texts at family dinner, but after a week as disastrous as this one, there’s no ignoring reports from my security team.
We lost another client after his shipment of US military grade sniper rifles exploded at the docks. Interpol is trying to freeze several of our bank accounts in the Cayman Islands for suspicious activity after transfers from the UK were flagged. There was a security breach at one of our pharmaceutical labs last night. It’s been a shite year and it keeps on coming.
“So!” Da gets to the best part of our monthly dinners. “Who has something to share?”
“I still think being pregnant wins this round,” Catriona pouts.
“Ach, no, lass. We’ve let you have it the last three months,” Da says, shaking his finger at her. “It’s time to give someone else the first crack at dessert.”
The ritual of sharing the good and the bad has been part of dinner since we were just bairns, though now it only takes place at our once a month dinners. The winner gets the first helping of dessert, usually a gigantic serving that requires being boxed up and taken with them after a herculean effort to finish it in one serving.
I know everyone’s bringing their best tonight because Martha has made an enormous pear frangipane with pistachio cream. This particular dessert is so sublime that Jack once offered Maisie the use of his Ferrari Strada for a month in trade for her share, and she refused him.
“I have news,” Maisie offers, “I’ve just been accepted into the early internship at the Glasgow Royal Infirmary.” There’s a boisterous round of applause.
“That’s a huge thing,” Duncan says. “I thought ye had to finish your first year of med school before they accepted ye for that.”
Maisie beams. “All that extra work with Dr. Morozov last summer paid off. She gave me a glowing recommendation.”
Dr. Morozov is the wife of the Pakhan of the Morozov Bratva, who are our key Russian allies in the U.S. and St Petersburg. I’m thinking Maisie sewed up plenty of bullet wounds.
Jack holds up a hand. “I dinnae want to brag, but I just finished ahighlysuccessful business meeting with Wallace. We smoked the other corporation bidding for the contract.”
He’s treading lightly due to the presence of Celia and the servers. Wallace, our cousin, is our mafia’s arsonist, and the two of them just incinerated a rival mafia’s attempt to push into our Boston interests.
“Have you come to a conclusion on who wins dessert?” Sophie’s sweet voice rings out as she heads for the table, deftly carrying the huge silver platter, piled high with an elaborate display of frangipane. Her long chestnut colored hair is pulled back into a long ponytail and her simple black dress is highlighting her exquisite lines, the curve of her wee waist to a slope of generous hip. My hand tightens into a fist. God, I want to run my fingers over those curves.
“Well, I know it’s rather a bit early,” Celia suddenly speaks up. “But I believe that at this dinner next month, Michael and I will have happy news to share.”
The table goes silent, everyone trying to shape their expressions into approving ones. I’m watching Sophie’s face over Mum’s shoulder. There’s a quick flash of acute sorrow before she forces a smile.
