Someone was singing an old Gaelic song somewhere over in the corner, and I stopped to appreciate the slightly drunk, but still beautiful, roll of his words. The singer kept to the tune, even though there was some slurring.
“Is this what it’s like in Ireland, Rowen?” Fionn shouted, grinning widely as he rocked to the music. His flushed cheeks gave him more of a youthful look, which I didn’t think was possible until now. His messy, natural brown hair, which was usually neat and combed to perfection, made him appear laid-back, something that he usually wasn’t.
“Aye, it is.” I smiled at the thought of home. I missed it, even if I’d now figured out who my adoptive parents really were. As much as I’d found a place to call my own in New York, it never quite lived up to the gentleness of Ireland with its rolling hills and neighborly attitude. Even in the big cities like Dublin. But nothing beat Dundalk. It wasn’t a small town, but neither was it big, and it was the kind of place where you could go for a drink at a pub and spend five hours talking to a neighbor at the bar.
Fallon touched my shoulder, and I realized I’d zoned out.
Fionn had obviously gotten bored because he was scheming about taking down the Reyes Cartel, and he spoke with dramatics that involved pointing his fingers like guns and shooting them.
“Enough, boy,” Daire ordered in a deep tone. He smiled, though, and laid a kiss on Fionn’s cheek.
I raised my eyebrows at them, and Daire smirked at me.Finally. Good for them.
“Let me get you some beers,” Daire said. “What do you want?”
Fallon glanced at me. “You’re the expert on Irish beers. What should I have?”
I snorted. “Eh, nothing here is quite as good as at home.” Curling my arm around his shoulders, I shook my head. “But if ye must choose, don’t be going for the stereotype. Guinness’s okay, but I reckon ye’d enjoy a Murphy’s.”
“Murphy’s it is!” Fallon leaned against me, and I laid a kiss on his temple.
“Since we’re celebrating, I’ll have a good vodka and 7UP. Been a while since I did that. Make it a double.”
“It’s on me.” Daire winked, and Fionn poked him in the belly.
“Only I’m allowed to be on you, Daddy Daire.” Fionn pouted, causing Daire to laugh and lean over to lay a long kiss on his mouth.
“You’re drunk—” He stroked Fionn’s chin. “—but you’re cute when you’re jealous.”
“I’m not,” he whined.
“Fionn,” Sloan said sharply, earning an innocent but inebriated blink from his nephew.
“With all due respect, Sloan, he’s my boy. I can handle him.” Daire tilted his head to acknowledge Sloan’s leadership but kept his hard stare.
Sloan’s dark eyebrows rose. “He may be your boy now, but he’s still my nephew, and the future of this company. I won’t have him embarrassing me.”
“Then I will handle it... sir.”
Awkwardness accompanied the tension between the two, which had me shifting in my seat. I didn’t remember a time when there had ever been an ounce of hostility between the boss and his second-in-command, but something was happening I couldn’t and didn’t want to understand. I found it easier to ignore the drama because getting involved only got you into trouble.
Sloan tilted his head, and Daire left the table to go get our drinks. Sloan’s mood had darkened, and Fionn gave his uncle a puppy dog look.
“He’s my Daddy,” Fionn murmured, low enough that I could barely hear him. Sloan certainly caught the words, however, because his spine stiffened.
The boss’s jaw tightened, and he didn’t say a word to Fionn. He merely grabbed his glass of whiskey and took a large sip. The reaction dampened Fionn’s mood and his shoulders slumped. I’d always thought Sloan would be happy if Fionn and Daire got together. Over the years, he’d made it known that he thought something was happening between them with a few well-placed smirks and comments.
But again, it was none of my business. A change in topic might help, so I cleared my throat. “Boss, how do we know that shite Reyes is in the city?”
Sloan seemed to appreciate the new subject because he relaxed. “He was spotted by one of our associates exiting JFK.”
Fionn wriggled in his seat to inch closer. Even though he was drunk, he slid on his business face—or attempted to. His expression of concentration looked more like he was trying to not take a shite where he sat. “He wants you to know he’s here. He wouldn’t have gone through JFK if he didn’t. Heknowsyou have people watching the airports.”
Sloan nodded. “I believe you are right, which annoys me. He’s trying to taunt me.”
Fionn rocked to the side and his eyebrows dipped. “We should take him, guns blazing. Show him who’s boss.”
Sloan made a small sound of amusement. “As much as I’d love to agree with you, Fionn, a boss must be careful not to attract the attention of the pigs. The last thing we want is for you, or me, to end up in prison. We can still send a violent message without a public execution.”
