File in hand, I head downstairs, the morning sun streaming through the high windows, casting long shadows across the runners. The house is quiet. River left early this morning for her flight, tears and hugs, and promises to visit. It’s just us now.
I push open the double doors to the dining room, expecting to find an empty table or maybe my woman anxious to share breakfast.
I freeze.
Sitting at the head of the table, calm as you please, is an elderly woman. She has perfect white curls, a twinset camel-colored blazer, and she’s sipping coffee from one of Conor’s bone china cups.
Instant recognition. Claire Ryan.
I don’t reach for my gun, but every muscle in my body coils tight. I force a smirk and stroll into the room, pulling out the chair opposite her.
“Top of the mornin’ to ye,” I drawl, leaning back and crossing my arms. “An honor to meet Lexie’s grandmother. And the famous Claire Ryan.”
She doesn’t flinch. She puts her cup down with a softclinkand nods graciously. “A pleasure to meet the infamous head of New York’s Irish Family, Mr. Donovan.”
“Liam, please.” I glance around before selecting a fork. “Do I need t’eat quickly, then?”
She taps a manicured finger on the table and tilts her head, her eyes cunning and assessing. Similar to Lexie’s, but hidden behind decades of steel. “Whatever for?”
I peer around the empty room. “Just waiting for the men in black suits to haul me away. Perhaps they’re rappelling down the chimney as we speak?”
Claire smiles, small and dangerous, and lifts her coffee cup again. “Perhaps I am not here to oversee such nasty business. We both know it’s unwarranted…andwhy,” she hints, gesturing to the file I’d placed on the table when I sat down. “Or perhaps I simply wanted to see the man who has my granddaughter so…flustered.”
The staff bustles in with the food. I stay seated, watching her, but I lift the basket of steaming rolls and offer it to her.
“I’ll have the steak and pork sausages, please,” she informs the server, not looking away from me.
I crook a smile. “A woman after me own heart.”
I oblige her, serving the meat onto her plate before helping myself to Eggs Benedict and the potato pancakes. I pour her fresh coffee, tea for myself, the domesticity of it jarring against the tension.
“Care to share why it’s unwarranted, Ms. Ryan?” I add a dollop of honey to my roll.
She cuts into her sausage, precise, clinical slices. “I knew your father, Liam.”
I stiffen. The knife in my hand stops moving.
“You’re nothing like him,” she adds, popping a piece of steak into her mouth.
I slowly butter my roll, forcing my shoulders to relax. “I will take that as a compliment.”
“Please do.” She chews thoughtfully, surmising me. “I know you have been operating through certain channels to purge the Family of its filthy enterprises. The sheer volume of wealth you’ve walked away from…it’s impressive. Stupid to men like Eamon, but impressive.”
She knows about Eamon. Of course she does. “I would prefer to sayredirectedthe wealth.” My net worth is still in the hundreds of millions. Billions is an underhanded and unnecessary amount.
“Am I to assume you are here to take Lexie with you?” I ask, my voice dropping an octave.
Claire dabs her mouth with the napkin, then folds her hands on the table. “The thought crossed my mind. To lock her in handcuffs, kicking and screaming, until we reach an off-the-grid house in witness protection. I still have the clearance to make you disappear, Liam.”
“But…?”
She takes a deep breath and releases it, the mask slipping just enough to show the grandmother beneath. “Perhaps she has shared a few things with me.”
“You know about?—”
“Brett. Yes.” Her eyes return to steel. “Two days. You killed for her after two days.”
I slice into my potato pancake. “And now, it has been a week. Are you also intrigued to know how our relationship will progress?”
