It’s possibly the only word I’ve spoken that’s somewhat intelligible.
He grins as if happy to answer. “Because my father rotted in a prison cell while Grandpa Seamus sat in his fancy house playing king. While Uncle Ronan got to take over the clan when he was never supposed to in the first place! My dad gave his all to them, and what did it get him in the end? Nothing! He was left to take the fall for everybody.
“You think it’s fair to let Uncle Ronan take what was ours? My dad was the heir, and I washisheir! The heir to the fucking heir!” he rants, gripping tighter at the steering wheel. “Now it’s time to retake our rightful spot again. The clan is ours, even if we’ve got to burn it down to the ground first. It’s what they deserve.”
Before I can ask more questions—or do my best to with the oily rag in my mouth—he turns down a street that’s darker and more desolate than any of the others. The kind of street where half the streetlamps aren’t working and there’s an abandoned car or two parked against the curb.
We’ve left Manhattan altogether, and I’d been so distressed I hardly noticed. By the looks of it, we’re in Mott Haven.
Eddie gets out of the car and props open the rear door before he drags me out to more protests on my end. I’m squirming and jerking against his hold as he forcibly pulls me to my feet and clamps a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t make me pull my gun,” he threatens. “’Cuz if that’s what it takes to keep you in line, I will, princess.”
I’m practically perp-walked from the towncar toward what looks like an old warehouse.
My mind immediately goes to Ronan. He has to be on his way by now, right?
What if he’s not able to track me down to this place?
The panic inside my chest only grows as Eddie shoves me through the doors. We step through a dark entryway and then come out on the other side to a dank and dingy warehouse floor, lit only by flickering bulbs in the ceiling. The room itself is full of old, water-stained crates and machinery that looks as if it hasn’t been used in years.
Other male voices meet my ears. But they’re not speaking in English.
They’re speaking in a language I don’t immediately recognize. Then I remember the huge, hulking man who had accosted me in a boutique a few weeks ago.
He was Albanian. He was from the same family Dad was having tensions with in the black market. Part of the reason he even agreed to Seamus’s proposal to marry me off in the first place…
As Eddie and I walk deeper into the warehouse, I’m able to place faces to the voices. We come around a stack of crates to a group of men who are gathered. Each one as menacing and unnerving as the next.
Dren Kosovo and his minions.
He’s what I imagine a boss of an underground crime syndicate would be—broad and bald and exuding blood thirst.
He’s flanked by his men as the gag is finally removed and I’m shoved toward him. His amber-hued eyes rake over me as if assessing whether I’ve been worth the trouble they’ve gone through. Then he grunts out a thick laugh.
“Ah. The princess has arrived,” he says. “She has come a little rough around the edges.”
“I had to teach her place,” Eddie answers. He gestures to the slashes on his face. “She might not look it, but she’s a little firecracker, this one.”
Dren grunts again then steps closer. So close I question if he’s about to sniff or touch me. I force myself not to flinch as he hovers so close I can hear his ragged breaths.Smellthem as they enter the air surrounding us.
“You and your boss have done excellent work,” he says. “The Callahans had no idea they had a snake in their midst.”
“It wasn’t hard,” Eddie says smugly. “They were too busy suspecting everybody else to look at what was right in front of them.”
Dren chuckles. “Yes, well… your boss will be pleased too. He will be rewarded handsomely. This is exactly what he promised. Both the Langstonsandthe Callahans, served up on a platter.”
My brows knit as I question what’s going on. Who is Eddie’s boss if not Dren and the Albanians? How can I possibly escape this situation, and is there a way to even warn Ronan about this?
Most alarming of all, what are their plans for me?
They’ve said it themselves—I’m just some sheltered princess. Some pawn in this war. Are they about to use me as a bargaining chip of some sort?
I have my answer only a couple seconds later as Dren goes on.
“With the Langstons out of the picture, the weapons black market will be wide open for us to claim,” he explains. “With the Callahans destroyed, the Irish will no longer rule this city’s underworld. A new era will begin.”
He snaps his finger at one of the men to his right. He’s younger than the others. Possibly teenaged, if I had to guess. The more I stare at him, the more I notice a resemblance between him and Dren. His son maybe?
