It’s a battle not to laugh, despite the fact my husband and his brothers are plotting a murder.
Dom opens the back door for me, and I slide across the leather.
‘Welcome home,’ Cathal says with a smile. A rush of warmth surrounds me like a weighted blanket as it finally sinks in that I have a home. I have a family. It might not be the family I was born into, or the family I thought I’d marry into, but right now, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Dominic’s hand settles on my thigh as we weave through traffic and out onto the motorway.
‘Where to first?’ Cathal asks, glancing at Dom in the rearview mirror.
‘We take Aoife home, then on to the warehouse,’ he says grimly.
I swallow hard.
‘There’s something you should know.’ Ciaran is suddenly serious.
‘What?’ Dom barks.
‘Frankie’s at your place.’ He sighs.
‘What the fuck is he doing there?’ Dominic snaps.
Silence fills the air. Every hair on my body prickles to attention as I recall the only thing I truly know about my husband’s uncle. ‘You don’t fuck with Frankie.’
‘He has a wedding present for you, apparently.’ Ciaran shrugs, but his voice is ominous.
‘How very generous of him,’ Dom drawls, dangerously low. I swear the temperature inside the BMW drops by five degrees.
No one speaks for the rest of the drive. When we reach the gates, Lewis and James are both wearing matching grim expressions.
Cathal lets down the window.
‘He’s inside,’ Lewis says warily.
‘Is Kai with him?’ Ciaran leans over Cathal to look at Lewis.
‘No. He’s alone.’ For some reason, that unsettles me more. What kind of a man struts straight into Dominic Kincaid’s house alone—family or not. Dominic is notoriously deadly.
Which can only mean one thing.
Frankie is even worse.
I swallow thickly as we cruise slowly up the long driveway. Dominic meets my eye. His lips are pressed into a tight line. ‘He’ll have questions. Just answer them as best you can.’
‘Where’s Sheila when you need her?’ I mutter, and despite the situation, Dominic snorts.
‘Sheila refuses to be in the same room as Frankie.’
‘Since when?’ We pull to a stop outside the house. There’s a Lexus parked in Dom’s usual spot, and I gather it’s not an accident he chose that space and not one of the three others beside it.
‘Since he butchered a barman for getting his drink order mixed up.’
Nausea rises in my chest.
‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ Dom murmurs in my ear. ‘I’ve got you. I always will.’
Ciaran opens the back door for us, and Dom helps me out. My legs are like jelly as we cross the steps to the front door. It swings open a split second before Dom’s finger swipes over the keypad.
A man fills the doorway—and I mean fills it. He looms over us, not just tall—but solid too. Broad shoulders strain beneath his tight white shirt. His sleeves are rolled neatly to reveal forearms corded with quiet sinewy strength. His hair is silver at the temples. His skin is deeply tanned. Sharp cheekbones cut clean lines through a devastatingly handsome face. But it’s his eyes that are truly striking—steely, cold, sharp, and assessing.
