I jumped.
He hissed but gently took my hand and placed a tumbler of whiskey in it. “Drink.”
I followed his direction while trying to unscramble my thoughts.
“You don’t have to look so frightened.” Those bare knuckles brushed down my cheek.
I choked on the burning liquid, somehow managing to finish it.
Letting out a curse, Liam retreated. He leaned against the boardroom table and kicked a heel over his ankle, partially sitting on the thing. The seemingly relaxed stance was exactly how Connor behaved.
It all came rushing back.
Chapter 42 – Liam
“Boss isn’t looking to have his funds tied up for eighteen months while you play with your tools and trucks,” Igor stated, spinning his glass of vodka around.
If your boss bothered to attend the meeting in the first place—I bit my tongue to keep from lashing out at the fool.
“These numbers are astonishing,” Pierre murmured and shifted the papers in front of him. “You have quite the business here, Mr. McDonagh.”
Every time one of these eejits opened their mouth, a veiled insult came at me. I’d never heard them be this disrespectful with my father. But I knew tonight’s meeting would be a test. They wanted to know if our organization was strong enough to continue the interests of the underworld.
We were.
“That piece of paper is just an empty promise.” Igor threw back his drink. “Boss is going to need something more tangible.”
I flexed my gloved fingers over my knee. “Meaning?”
The glint in Igor’s eye was a trap. “We didn’t know you were so eager to get married. There were much better offers out there.”
“Yes, and who are the Morellis?” Pierre chimed in.
One of the lackeys chuckled.
Connor and Seamus should have been here. But the latter was running the third shift at the construction site, and the former had been on his way when his course was rerouted to tail my wife.
Just the thought of Gabriella leaving the house made my skin crawl. I resisted the urge to check my phone. The bleeding device was a stone, weighing down the inner pocket of my suite jacket.
“The Morellis are none of your concern,” I informed the arms dealer.
Pierre lifted his hands in submission. It was only for show. He knew damn well who and what that organization was: another joke to laugh at me over when he returned to his chateau for a glass of stuffy, sour, fermented grape juice.
Igor drummed his fingers on the table. “Boss has a niece. Pretty little thing. Sings and dances. If you were interested in a change of alliances—”
“I’m not.”
The twitchy fucker glared at me. “It doesn’t have to be a divorce. We could make it look like an accident.”
I leaned forward, rising slightly out of my seat. “My personal relationships are not up for discussion.”
And the representative of the bratva was perilously close to having his forehead decorated with a teeny, tiny hole for breathing threats about my wife.
“What my savage friend is so indelicately suggesting is that there are always opportunities if you choose to consider them.” Pierre swept a hand through the air. “But let’s return to more friendly topics. Is there any chance we can invest in the current build?”
“No,” I growled. “You had that chance last year.”
Pierre sighed dramatically. “Yes, and we were foolish not to take your father up on it. But, is there a possibility you can start this—” he tapped a slim finger on the papers “—project immediately?”
