He hesitates for a second before leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Do you think Ciara knows about this?”
I grind my teeth as I consider the reality that my wife could have been involved in my father’s death. “I have no idea, but I’m going to find out.”
Cormac exhales slowly as he takes his phone and pockets it. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“No.” I smile without humor. “But I’ll handle it.”
As we leave the pub and head outside into the crisp autumn air, I turn to face Cormac. “Remember, not a word of this to Brennan or Kieran.”
He dips his chin at me, and I give him a slap on the shoulder before reaching into my pocket for my keys.
“Ronan?” he calls as I open up the driver's side door.
“Yeah?”
“You might want to stop lying to yourself about her.”
I stare at my brother. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Cormac tucks his hands into his pockets. “It’s written all over your face, brother.”
Fuck. Am I really that obvious?
He waves. “Give me a call if you find out anything.”
It’s all I can do to nod before sliding behind the wheel of my Mercedes, my thoughts completely hijacked by Ciara.
Driving back through the city toward Washington Heights with my hands tight on the wheel, my mind is painfully loud, playing my brother’s words on repeat.
First, Kieran’s comment about me not treating Ciara right, and now this?
The marriage was meant to be nothing more than a business deal, but somewhere along the line, feelings have developed, and that scares the shit out of me. So, of course, I’ve kept her at arm’s length, because that’s a hell of a lot easier than letting her in.
But I know Ciara, and she won’t put up with my hot and cold attitude for much longer. She’ll walk away, consequences be damned.
From a purely business perspective, I need to tread carefully because if Ciara does decide to walk, it will create one hell of a headache for me, which isn’t something I need right now.
Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to try and keep her happy…
Before I can second guess myself, I pull out my phone and make a call.
“Didn’t expect to hear from you today,” Liam answers, amusement threading through his voice.
Liam has worked for my family for years. He lives in Vegas and mostly takes care of our casino-related operations on the West Coast. His access to high-powered clients has come in handy over the years, but that’s not why I’m calling him today.
“I need a suite in Vegas. Something romantic and private.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I pull my phone away from my ear to check he hasn’t ended the call.
“Liam?”
“Sorry, did you say romantic?”
“You heard me.”
“Okay, now Iknowyou’re sick.” He chuckles.
“And make a reservation at La Rosetta.”
