“I don’t think you’ll be needing these.” A grin I couldn’t fight came to my face as I took his safety goggles off and set them on the entry table.
“Go along with whatever is said tonight, Maeve. Just go along. Let them believe whatever they want. I won’t allow this!”
A loud knock came at the door. I jumped a little. My heart started to beat against my ribs, like it was trying to break free and flee. Dad fixed his glasses and answered the summons. It was a man dressed in a suit.
“The car is waiting, Bell,” the man said.
Dad grabbed my thick plaid jacket and crossover purse from the peg, then turned to face me. “Time to go, Maeve.”
He helped me into my jacket, handed me my purse, and then stepped outside. I locked up the apartment before we both followed the man to where a car waited. My dad and I sat in the back, quiet the entire fifteen-minute drive.
It wasn’t a surprise when we started to cruise the streets of a million-dollar neighborhood. Dad didn’t talk about the Craigs much, but from doing some research on my own, I knew they owned a successful meatpacking plant. It had been in their family for generations.
No wonder they were dubbed the Butchers of Boston. Their legit business was like the one they hid.
The driver stopped in front of a towering townhouse. As he stepped out, before he opened the door for us, Dad squeezed my hand. It was a silent reminder:just go along with whatever is said.We climbed the steps, still quiet, but Dad’s thoughts seemed as loud as my heart. I turned the ring on my pointer finger around and around, trying to dispel some of the anxiety.
A woman answered the door. She wore a black tunic with a white collar over black pants and sensible shoes. She gave me a once-over, and I got the impression she did it to assess me for later. She took our coats and told us to follow her through the foyer.
The house was huge and filled with what seemed like antique furniture. It also had a lot of antlers as trophies hanging up. It fit with this family. As we moved deeper in, the scent of simmering meat permeated the air. My mouth watered, and my stomach made an obnoxious noise, even though I hated seeing the proof of dinner all around me.
We weren’t starved for food, but I was the only one who could cook in our house. I’d learned from books, television, or eating out and then trying to replicate the dish by attempting to pinpoint all the ingredients. Most of my dishes were edible, but just from smells alone, not to this level. It was like walking into a five-star restaurant.
I didn’t want to like the smells in the air, but my stomach had a mind of its own. Even though the lady who answered was leading us, I could have sworn it was my nose instead.
The lady stopped at the dining room. Oran Craig sat at the head of the table, Dermot to his right and Devin to his left. Shay sat next to Devin. It seemed like they were getting along. He had her hand and was kissing it. She beamed at him.
Oran acknowledged our presence by nodding to Dermot’s side of the table. I took a deep breath when his eyes met mine. He winked at me, like he had sensed my hunger.
My dad went to take the seat next to Dermot, but Oran shook his head. “Across from me, Bell.” He nodded to the seat.
Dad hesitated for a second before he took the chair on the other end of the table. That left me standing. I took another deep breath and took the seat next to Dermot.
He didn’t even pull out my chair for me.Such a jerk.
My thoughts were stalled when the lady came back with a cart that held bowls of soup already ladled out. My stomach made another obnoxious noise. I covered it with my arms, hoping no one heard. It didn’t seem like they had. The conversation was on business.
I tried to tune it out while I ate the parsnip soup. I could taste a hint of apple in the background, and I had to stifle the urge to make a pleasurable noise in my throat at the taste of it. It was creamy and warm, and it seemed to be sticking to my bones. I almost wanted to lick the bowl clean before the lady came back and took it away, but that was just the beginning of the dinner. She brought out roast with mashed potatoes and gravy, grilled carrots on the side.
I looked up from my plate to grab my glass of water, and my eyes met Shay’s from across the table. I got the feeling she’d been watching me. I hadn’t even noticed. She grinned at me, then picked up her wine. I turned my eyes back to my plate, eating a little slower.
The next bite almost got lodged in my throat when Dermot’s hand came underneath the table and rested on my leg. The skirt had ridden up some when I sat, and I didn’t like how he was inching even closer to my thigh. I put my hand over his to stop him, but he only grinned as he forced his up even higher.
I was about to stand and ask where the bathroom was, but a man appeared outside of the dining room and apologized for interrupting. He had a web tattooed on his neck. The guy who came to stand beside him had a spider inked on his hand.
“I have news that can’t keep,” Web said, waiting for Oran to tell them, it seemed, what to do next.
Oran didn’t seem to care that we were all there. He nodded to Web, and Web went on. “Cillian—or as he’s going by now, Cian—O'Callaghan is trying to buy guns in Boston.” He’d pronounced the name Cian as KEE-en, and Cillian as Kill-ee-in. No “S” sound at the start of either one.
I’d never been more thankful for a man named Cillian O'Callaghan, or Cian O'Callaghan, because at his name, Dermot’s hand stopped and he reached for his beer, a pinched look coming to his face.
The entire mood had changed at the mention of the man’s name.
Oran took a slow sip of his whiskey. “Ah, so the son of the bastard thief has arrived in Boston to avenge his father.”
Spider glanced at us. “He killed six more of our men.”
I stabbed at a carrot, acting like I didn’t care about the conversation, as I slid my eyes to my father. He was acting nonchalant too, like he was still enjoying his dinner, but I knew him. Whatever this was about had his attention. I could almost feel his excitement from where he sat.
