“I’m more than aware of Declan’s meeting. I am also aware that it has yet to begin, given I’m the guest of honor.” I lean over the stand and point to the notepad in front of him. “If you double-check your books, I’m sure you’ll see my name listed: Z. Ahzimi. Z for Zahra.”
His eyes flash between mine and the notepad, in disbelief. He refuses to relent. “That…can’t be…”
Fucking hell. Declan’s diligence in keeping my identity hidden was a smart idea in thought, but in execution, it’s pissing me off.That’s probably what he wanted anyway.His respectful demeanor toward me may have my staff fooled, but I refuse to give in. Especially when I know the truth about him. When he had initially proposed this lunch, it took everything in me not to drive over to the McAlister manor and put a bullet in his head. But I know better. I have to keep my temper in check. And so I agreed, intending to use this meal as another chance to obtain more information from him.
Gaining his trust will be imperative, and will make it all the more sweet when I finally get to watch the life drain from his eyes. Revenge is a dream, one that’s proving to be harder and harder to achieve, given I can’t even get through the damn door of this restaurant.
“I understand you’re just doing your job, but I feel it imperative to warn you that I’m beginning to lose my patience. And things get really messy when I lose my patience.” The threat to my voice is clear. Unfortunately for me, it has the opposite effect on the host.
“Doll, you’re not the first, or frankly, twentieth girl that has come crawling back for more after a night with McAlister. I very much like this job, and if I let in every one-night standwho claimed they were something more to him, I wouldn’t be standing here still. You’re more than welcome to stand outside until he’s done to see if you can catch him. If he doesn’t opt to leave through the back to avoid your crazy ass. But beyond that, I’m afraid I can’t help y—” He’s cut off by the sound of dress shoes clicking on the floor.
“There you are. I was wondering what was taking so long. Aidan informed me your car arrived ten minutes ago.” Declan’s massive frame takes up nearly the entirety of the door frame. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up to reveal his inked arms as he toys with a ring on his index finger. A ring with his family’s sigil, the ring of the Irish boss on his finger.
The bile in my stomach continues to rise, outraged at the audacity he has to wear his father’s ring. I shove my hand into my pockets as they curl into fists. “It appears there’s been a misunderstanding. Evidently, someone here believes I’m your mistress and not the heir to the Persian Empire,” I scoff, shooting daggers at the man in front of me, whose face has turned as pale as a white linen sheet.
The snap of Declan’s jaw slamming shut with rage causes the host to visibly cringe. His eyes dart toward mine, filled with terror, as he bows the top half of his body down, as if he’s ready to kneel and beg for forgiveness. Declan crosses his arms around his chest, more than happy to see him sweat it out. I have no desire to entertain this.
“Stand up. No need to make an even bigger scene than what has already transpired,” I snap.
The host slowly rises, though I can see him shaking. “Ms. Ahzimi, I am so,sosorry for my ignorance. Please forgive me. I-I just assumed?—”
“No apologies needed. I would recommend that you leave interrogations to the bosses next time. It’s clearly not yourforte.” I don’t even wait for a response, entering the restaurant with Declan trailing behind me.
A slow wave of silence comes over the room that had just been filled with chatter. I feel dozens of eyes fall upon me, taking me in, and I hear a few shocked breaths from the patrons who can’t contain their shock as they see me enter. As they piece together thatIam Naser’s heir. Though I’ve imagined this very moment hundreds of times, none of my mental preparation compares to how on display I feel right now. Declan makes a subtle movement to extend his elbow out for me to hold onto. I shake my head. I won’t,can’t, stroll through the restaurant on the arm of a man, even if he is the deadliest man in the city. I have to stand on my own. Even if I can barely feel my legs at that moment.
Declan leads us over to a fairly intimate booth tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, ideal for discussing current affairs without worrying about prying ears. We’ve barely sat down when a waiter with dark brown hair approaches the table. “Can I get you both something to drink?”
“McAlister Whiskey, on the rocks, for me. The new shipment that we’ve launched.” Declan’s eyes are on me, not giving any attention to his surroundings. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s being respectful or trying to size me up like a lion would prey. Probably the latter.
“I’ll have the same. Neat,” I announce with no hesitation. Declan raises an eyebrow at me as our waiter scurries away. “What? I don’t want the ice to dilute the taste.”
“Your father hated whiskey.” A smile forms on Declan’s face, as if he’s recalling a fond memory. As if he isn’t the monster that took my father away from me.
“I am not my father,” I state, as if I need to make that clear.
“Obviously,” he teases, though I can tell something has made him uncomfortable by the slight scrunching of hiseyebrows and the way he bites his lip. It's then that I notice the slight scar that occupies most of his lower lip and slightly extends down his chin. “Just trying to get to know you a bit better. Though I can understand why talking about your father is a sore subject.” He gives me a sympathetic look, and I hate how sincere it looks.
“I certainly miss him, but that’s not the only reason why I don't want to discuss my father. It’s hard enough making your own legacy as a boss when you’re the son of a legend. As his daughter…” I trail off, not needing to elaborate. “Plus, I don’t think this is the place to discuss the other concern I have brought to your attention about our fathers,” I whisper.
He gives me a small nod. “Understood. About all of it.”
“Shall we discuss the new trade routes?” I shift into business mode.
“The shipments are all in place and ready to be dispersed.” The McAlister’s successful whiskey business makes an excellent cover-up whenever we need to disperse our weapons. Underneath each carton of liquor was enough bullets and guns to support an army. And it did. Our army. “And how did the imports go?” Declan inquires.
The Irish aren’t the only ones who have a secondary business. Our barrels of dried saffron and tea had arrived a few nights ago, the hidden security equipment and computer chips alongside it. Between the weapons and the undetectable spyware we would install, thwarting our enemies’ plans and winning wars should be easy. We just have to ensure all our supplies make it to our other branches throughout the states. “Everything is as planned. I have my best pilots ready to fly. They take off from New York in a couple of hours and should land in San Francisco by tonight.”
Declan nods. “Excellent. My men will meet yours at the runway and move to immediately disperse the goods.”
“And you're sure traveling at night is the safest?”
“Aye.” His thick accent rings clear. “Our vans are black, with no license plates, of course, and we have confirmation that the sheriff is throwing a big retirement party for one of his buddies. All the police that night will be occupied.”
While the Boston police and politicians have been firmly in our back pocket for decades, our influence in other major cities is still in the works. Slowly but surely, we will get enough of them on our side. Everyone has a price, even if they deny it.
Before I can update Declan on how our Chicago branch is faring selling his guns, a different waiter, one with piercing grey eyes, interrupts. “I have two whiskeys for the table.” He sets down the glass with ice in front of Declan before quickly dropping off my drink with trembling hands and scurrying away.
If Declan notices how uneasy the waiter is, he says nothing. I watch as Declan swirls the whiskey a few times, letting the ice mix in. I do the same, except my eyes are laser-focused on the liquid inside of my cup, which, when I hold it to the light, is a slightly different hue than the one in Declan’s. Bringing the liquor to my nose, I inhale deeply. I probably look like a snobby whiskey drinker, trying to show off that I can scent the hints of cinnamon and citrus in this particular batch, and initially, thatisall I can scent until a hint of something else starts to come through. I slam my glass on the table, startling Declan, who follows suit.
