“Fuck you.” She snorts. “You know I can still kick your ass.”
“One, you wouldn’t because it wouldn’t be a fair fight, and two, don’t women lose their edge after they give birth?”
Saoirse has me in a headlock within seconds, tightening her arm around my throat as we laugh. “Oh, really? You’re still slow, little brother.”
“Little!” I gasp, fighting to escape her. Not that I’ve ever managed to in the past.
“I’m two minutes older, remember!”
“Yeah, I can tell by the wrinkles.”
“You asshole!”
We wrestle for a few minutes longer until Saoirse releases me, panting. Facing each other with breathless smiles, she attempts to adjust my messed up tie while I do my best to fix the curls that have fallen loose from her hair.
“You ready for this?” she asks softly.
“To face everyone and know they only see me as the wreck scraped off that stairwell and not the general I’m supposed to be?”
“Don’t do that,” she scolds softly. “Everyone down there has their shit, you know that. No one has a single leg to stand on if they want to judge you. And I won’t let them.”
I roll my eyes and then finally take her offered elbow. “Do you think Brenden would be proud of us?”
Saoirse pauses when we’re halfway out the door. “Yeah,” she says after a soft pause. “But I think he would be mad that Ma isn’t here.”
“Seeing Italians under our roof is a harder pill for her to swallow after what happened to us.”
“I know.” Saoirse pats my forearm. “But tonight is all about forgiveness. I just wish she were here.”
Saoirse was right about one thing. No one stares at me as we descend the grand staircase in Gifford Manor down to where friends and family mill about the entranceway and the lounge, sharing drinks and stories. Cormac is near the door with his wife, Evelyn, greeting Holly Franks as she walks through the door in a bright yellow two-piece suit. Cormac made good on his promise all those years ago and she’s been like one of the family ever since we learned she was the love of Brenden’s life. Taking care of her is the best way we can honor him.
We greet her with a smile, and Saoirse keeps a tight grip on my arm as we walk through the party. Rocky Barati, the new Italian Don, greets me with a smile and an apology. He’s been saying sorry for the actions of his advisor, Domenico Del Prete, ever since the truth was revealed some eight months ago.
That bastard had been working with the Chinese Triad and one silent, mysterious benefactor to fill the gap in human trafficking ever since the Russians tried to shut it all down. He’d beenworking in secret for years and even planned to use it to make a grab for Italian power. He might have succeeded if he hadn’t kidnapped me and my sister, Saoirse. Unbeknownst to him, Saoirse had long caught the attention of Domenico’s distant son, Bruno, and together, they were able to bring a stop to Domenico’s reign of terror. No matter how often I tell Rocky that I don’t blame him, he won’t stop apologizing. His wife, Sarah, a detective down at the NYPD, also offers her apologies but quickly directs our conversation on to happier topics like their children. Saoirse’s eyes light up in delight for a chance to brag about how great her son Liam is doing.
On cue, Bruno appears with a sleeping Liam in his arms. “I’m going to put him upstairs,” he says softly to Saoirse. “He’s done his rounds as expected of any eight-month-old.”
Saoirse leans down and presses a light kiss to her son’s forehead, then hastily wipes away the lipstick stain. “Alright. I’ll check on him in an hour.”
Hugo flashes me a smile and departs in time for the Russian Godmother, Anastasia Remizova, to make her appearance. She’s dressed in a blue dress that moves around her like it’s made of water. She greets us warmly and congratulates Saoirse on her son while praising the beauty of the party. Her partner, Erik, lingers nearby, and we make brief small talk about the latest football game until they move on.
“How’s your leg?” Saoirse asks as we pause by the bar for a rest. “Do you want me to get your cane?”
Shaking my head, I order a bourbon. “It’s fine.”
“Like really fine?” She presses me. “Or a macho kind of fine? No one here will judge you.”
“You keep saying that and it makes me feel like people are judgingyou.”
“I guess it’s because I feel like they’re judging me.”
Our eyes meet. “Why would you think that?”
She shrugs one shoulder and leans on the bar next to me. “I see the way they look at me. Ever since Liam was born, I’ve tried my best to hunt down this third mysterious benefactor, but I keep getting caught up in things like my own health or caring for my son.”
“None of those things are bad.”
“I know, but I swore to find out who else was behind all the bullshit that happened to us. And I feel like the longer I take, the more people judge me for not putting an end to this disaster and the more suspicious I look.”
