“Well, I guess that could be arranged. Maybe a visit from your brother?” I raise an eyebrow, knowing that will strike a nerve. I’m pretty certain my father knows who tried to assassinate him.
“Rather him than you,bastardo,” he spits back. I feel myself go cold. I don’t know what I’ve ever done to earn so much contempt from this person, but it’s beginning to get old.
“Perhaps you’d like to meet someone else,” I say, seeing Emma lingering at the door. It’s about time the old man met his daughter-in-law. I catch her eye and crook a finger. She’s clearly feeling generous because she steps into the room – my wife doesn’t usually respond well to being “summoned.”
“What the fuck is this?” my father demands, his voice barely audible over the rasping of his lungs.
“Papa, I’d like to introduce my wife, Emma Caraldi. Emma, this is my father, Ernesto.”
Emma glances at me, then aims a smile at my father.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” she says politely.
“Nice piece of ass,” my father says, his lip curling as he looks her up and down. “Does she fuck as well as all those other dumb bitches you like to keep around?”
I feel my skin begin to burn. It burns hotter at the sound of Emma’s sharp intake of breath.
“So what did he do to find you, dollface? Buy out the whole whorehouse?” he goes on.
My fists clench so hard I feel my nails cut into my palms.
“Don’t—!” I begin to warn, but Emma stops me.
“Whorehouse, Mr. Caraldi?” She’s gone back to that posh princess voice that I’ve grown to love as much as the bad-ass Irish accent. “I hear you liked those too, and I don’t think you’ve left any unspoiled by your filth. Raoul wouldn’t want to go near your sloppy seconds.” My father’s face goes blood-red, and I grin and step back, folding my arms as I prepare to watch the show.
“Who the hell are you, and who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, bitch?” he snaps.
“I am Emma Carladi, sir, your daughter-in-law. And the daughter of Tommy McErlane. And I think I’m talking to a bitter old cunt who isn’t even safe when he’s surrounded by a horde of armed guards.”
My father splutters for a second, trying to find his wits.
Poor fucker. I guess it’s not really fair. He’s just come out of surgery, after all.
I should be defending him.
Or not.
“McErlane?” he scoffs, then flicks black eyes at me. “You hitched yourself to one of those stinking Irish packrats?”
My fists are still clenched, but I’m proud of the cool smile I manage.
“Stinking Irish packrats who happened to take over half your empire before Raoul stepped in, Mr. Caraldi,” Emma replies. Her expression is impassive, though I can recognize the flare of venom in those beautiful blue eyes.
My father snorts again. “Don’t try to fool me with your bullshit. You people are scum. No class among you…aside from maybe your mother.” Emma’s features tighten, and I fight the urge to reach for her hand; she’ll only take it as a sign that I think she’s weak, and nothing could be further from the truth. “God alone knows why she married that pig you call a father. Died in childbirth,” he scoffs. “She probably killed herself rather than touch him again.”
“From what I hear, you’ve had bad luck with the ladies too, Mr. Caraldi. Though I believe in your case, it’s a matter of killing them yourself after they try to run from you.”
The words are sharp enough to cut me, but I’m more interested in their effect on my father. His heart-rate monitor beats a discordant rhythm that should be worrying me. Right now, I couldn’t give a fuck. Of course, the nurse’s station might start to take note.
“I know how to control a woman,” my father finally rasps out once he’s caught his breath. “Of course, it looks like this idiot here could use a lesson or two.” His eyes are scornful as they land on me. I give a mild shrug. “Though maybe it’s good he’s not much of a man. No balls means no McErlane heir.” He wheezes out a cough, shooting daggers at the pair of us.
“You think I want to spread your genes any further than they need to go, Father?” I say. I’m pretty proud of how well I mask my rage. Emma’s gone pale, though, and now I step in again, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her up against me. “We came here to be at your side. To let you know that you’re not alone in this world.” He blinks up at me as I lean down closer to his face. “But you know what? That was a lie. Because youarealone, Ernesto Caraldi. Your own brother tried to kill you. Your precious son Dario has better things to do than find out if you survived your surgery. And the bastard you couldn’t give the time of day to no longer thinks you’re important enough to care about.”
I straighten and turn to Emma, who smiles at me.
“You good, Buttercup?”
“Peachy.” She squeezes my hand, and without looking back at the bitter husk of a man lying in the bed behind us, we leave the room.
