I’m not sure what look I have on my face, but Liam’s tone softens. “I do understand feeling a lack of control about your future. I understand wanting more.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. Squeezes gently.
“You don’t think there’s a way out of this?” I ask him. “Maybe some dowry of farm animals that can be returned so we can go back to how things were before?” I’m joking, trying to lighten the mood because serious Liam is freaking me out, but he abruptly releases me, as if I’ve burned him.
“I don’t know what that would be.”
“So, you’re okay with this?” I lower my voice. “You want to get married? Be the boss in Chicago one day?”
He arranges the plate that was just placed in front of him. Takes a bite of his eggs. Chews slowly. Then, of course, he smiles at me. “Those are two very different questions.”
What? “Explain.”
He nods. “I don’t mind that I’ve been asked to get married. I knew that was coming one day.” I flinch and he continues, “I didn’t expect it this soon, but at least I was gifted a smart, beautiful woman.”
I should take that as a compliment, but I scowl. I’m not an object that someone should be able togift.
“As far as one day being the boss?” He lifts a shoulder. “It is what it is. It’s not like I have a choice. I’ve always known what my future holds. Becoming boss is likely pretty far away anyhow. I think Da has a few decades left in him. So, no, I don’t mind that.” He grins before turning serious again. “I guess what is tough is that I don’t love how my father does business. I’m nothing like him. My more immediate issue is that I’m not looking forward to graduating and learning how to do things his way.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll meet him, and I apologize in advance that he’s an asshole. He’s also old-school. I’m sure that’s the main reason we have to get married to have an alliance. He still believes in maiming, bombing, and cutting the throats of anyone who gets in his way. He still treats marriage like he’s a king in ancient Ireland. It’s all about political gain.”
I shiver. He sounds an awful lot like our old boss, Cormac O’Toole, and Liam must read my mind.
“He’s not as bad as Cormac,” he offers. “It’s not like herandomlykills people because he’s having a bad day. Nah. He just prefers intimidation tactics over newer methods.”
My mouth drops open. My father has told me little about his work. His world. I’d heard rumblings about Cormac in various places, but he was always more of a boogeyman than a real-life threat. A monster I never got to meet. The demon you hid from if you knew he’d be at the same event. The fact that Liam talks about it all so casually is bonkers. What kind of person gets used to this life?
“Andyoudon’t like intimidation tactics?” My voice is hoarse.
He smiles. Again. “Oh, they have their place. Sure. But there are more strategic ways to get most things done that don’t come back to bite you in the ass later. You don’t always have to spill blood to make progress. I mean, yeah,sometimesit’s necessary. But, I’d like to think we could be smarter than that. Any idiot can pull a trigger, ya know?”
My eyes widen because no, I don’t know. I’m aware that organized crime breeds a hard, violent, deadly world. I’m not stupid. But I have spent zero time thinking about the mechanics of it all. Of the various ways to “make progress,” with or without bloodshed.
None of this seems to affect Liam. He shovels in another mouthful of breakfast as if we’re talking about classes or something.
Dear Lord. Who is this guy? What happened to the cartoon Casanova I had created in my mind?
LIAM
She’s looking at me as though I’ve grown another head, but she’s saved from offering a response when our waitress stops by with refills. Suddenly, Taryn is very focused on her pancakes. She takes an inordinate amount of time to spread her butter, pour her syrup, and cut the flapjacks into bite-sized pieces. I watch it all wordlessly, waiting.
I have no idea what else to say to her. She’s been honest with me. Brutally so. I was completely unaware that she wanted to leave this life. Her dad and brothers are entrenched in clan work up to their eyeballs. They’ve obviously shielded her from the messier parts of our business. She seems oblivious to the fact that there is only one way out of the clan, and that solution is morbidly permanent. It never occurred to me she wanted something different. Hell, she had a real plan and money set aside to make it happen. She wants to move to California and fall in love? I had to stop myself from snorting when she shared that tidbit.
Surely, she’s smart enough to know that everyone at St. A’s is bound by blood to a life that we can’t hide from, including her. Including all of her friends. Including her precious Sam. When I showed up at Taryn’s this morning and ran into Sam, well, fuck. I may have lost my mind a little. I saw red thinking he maybe showed up after she got home last night. That he touched her. That he kissed her. That he—I force away the thought. She said he stopped by this morning, and I’m choosing to believe her. For my sanity, I have to. I knew she was seeing Rutherford, but ever since the engagement was agreed to by all parties—okay, all parties except for her—I can only think of Taryn as mine. Fuck, Iwantto make her mine, and isn’t that a total mindfuck?
“Okay, look. I can’t think of a single way that you don’t end up with my ring on your finger tonight.”
Her eyebrows shoot up at my bluntness. It’s the second time I’ve said it this morning, but I can’t let her leave me without understanding what’s about to happen.
“I know you hate that, alright? I get it. But, it’s a ring, not a wedding ceremony. They’ll give us until after graduation for that. It gives our clans some time to plan for things before they have to invest in the outcome. It also gives us some time to figure this all out.” I give her a soft smile. Try to be reassuring. She’ll have time to get to know me. To get comfortable. She frowns in return.
“What does that even mean? Plan what? What outcome?”
Jesus. Did her family tell hernothingabout our business? About why we’re even doing this? I lean in to get closer to her across the table. I’m sure to anyone else, it looks intimate, because she mirrors my posture, ready to listen.
“Peter Nicopolis leads the Greeks from the Great Lakes to the Atlantic,” I tell her in a low voice. I honestly don’t know why I’m whispering. Everyone knows this. At least, Ithoughteveryone did.
“Theo’s dad?”
