Uncle Frankie.
His sheer presence steals the air from my lungs. If he weren’t so terrifying, he’d be truly devastating. He’s clutching a crystal tumbler half filled with amber-coloured liquid. He swirls it around the glass as he stares at me intently. ‘Welcome home, Mrs Kincaid.’
Dominic rolls his eyes. ‘I see you’ve helped yourself to a drink,’ he says dryly, ushering me forward. ‘At least let us get one before you start interrogating my wife.’ He pushes past his uncle and tugs my hand to follow him.
Ciaran and Cathal hold their breath like they’re waitingfor Frankie to detonate like a bomb. His eyes narrow, squinting at Dom, then he laughs, long and deep and low. ‘You’ve got some bollocks, I’ll give you that, Dom.’ He shakes his head.
Cathal and Ciaran exchange a look as we all follow Frankie through to the kitchen. The house is as light and bright as always, but today, there’s a different type of darkness shadowing the place.
Inside, Dom rests against the kitchen counter, wrapping his arm protectively around my waist. He motions for Ciaran to pour the drinks. I don’t even attempt to decline it.
‘So, congratulations.’ Frankie prowls across the tiles towards us, his silver eyes sweep from my left hand to meet my eyes, before perusing every inch of my body.
‘Thanks.’ Dom takes a sip of his whiskey. ‘Heard you have a present for us.’
‘The present is your next breath,’ Frankie’s voice is low and cold. ‘Use it to explain yourself to me.’
I take a huge gulp of whiskey. It burns as it slides down my throat, and I cough.
‘I don’t have to explain myself to you, or anyone else,’ Dominic says with quiet, steely confidence.
‘Oh, come on.’ Frankie’s dead eyes dart between us. ‘Which one were you going to spin me with? Whirlwind romance? Love at first sight? Or are you going to try and tell me that you happened to be in love with Rory Kavanagh’s fiancée long before her father traded her like a whore to save his own skin?’
‘Does it matter?’ Dom cocks his head. ‘The end result is the same. Aoife is my wife. She’s a Kincaid. Kavanagh broke the accord when he sent his men to my house.’
‘Like you fucking knew he would when you stole hisbride.’ Frankie’s voice turns my blood to ice in my veins. The weight of his attention returns to me.
I swallow thickly. ‘He didn’t steal me.’ My chin juts out as I meet Frankie’s steely stare. ‘I ran to him,’ I say quietly. ‘And I’d do it again.’ I don’t break eye contact.
47
DOMINIC
Pride curls in my chest—slow and dangerous. Only the brave survive. And my wife is the bravest woman I’ve ever met.
Frankie studies her as she holds his gaze, like she has every right to be here, which she damn well does. The seconds tick by in agonising silence.
Finally, he exhales and takes a slow sip of whiskey. ‘You’ve got more steel than your father, by all accounts.’
Aoife doesn’t flinch at the insult.
Frankie shifts his attention to me. ‘Leave us.’
Ciaran and Cathal exchange a look and gravitate to the doorway.
‘Don’t even fucking think about it,’ I snarl at my brothers. ‘I’m not leaving her with him.’ Frankie might think he’s the head of this family, but he hasn’t lived here for decades. He hasn’t seen the rot creeping back into our streets—the trafficking. The same heroin that stole his niece, our sister.
Ciaran and Cathal stand rigidly. I hate putting them in this position, but we have to hold our ground.
Frankie arches a silver brow. ‘Don’t you trust me alone with your wife? Or is it her that you don’t trust?’
‘I trust her with my life,’ I reply truthfully. ‘But I refuse to be told what to do in my own fucking house.’
A flicker of amusement touches his mouth. ‘You’re not being told. You’re being tested.’
I hold his gaze. Silence stretches between us all again. The tension in the room is palpable.
‘Leave us,’ Aoife says quietly, glancing at Cathal, Ciaran before her big blue eyes land on mine. ‘I’ll be fine.’
