“What’s up with your friend?” I inquire.
“He can come off as difficult at times. He doesn’t speak. There was an incident a while back, his vocal cords were damaged.”
I think back to the first couple times we’ve interacted. I guess… yeah, I’ve never heard him utter a word.
Eamon continues, “He’s a furiously loyal friend.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “Does he know sign language? I had a tutor who practiced with me when I was younger. I becamefluent. Even though hearing aids allow me to hear, I still wanted to have another way of communicating.”
He takes out his phone, bringing the productive conversation to a halt. I miss the warmth of his touch, instantly.
“Not sure actually…” he finally replies. “Sorry, little fish, I have something urgent to attend to on the other side of town.” He stands from his seat. “I’ll pick you up at your place. Eight o’clock.”
I smile again.
“Great. It’s a date.” He turns to stride away, then stops suddenly, returning back like he forgot something. He puts out his hand for me to place mine in his again, kissing each knuckle individually, as he watches my reaction. “See you soon, beautiful.”
My cheeks heat and I can’t help but admire the way those slacks hug his delicious ass as he walks out of the bar.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
EAMON
My father has my men eating from the palm of his hand by the time I arrive back in town.
I had to get away long enough that I could figure out what I was doing next, without my father breathing down my neck. I’d say my time was rather productive; I have a direction now.
Patrick told stories about his heyday asPaddy Musclesand how any man that dared square off with him, never saw another sunrise. His face beams as he reveals how the harbor's fishermen love our families’ secret recipe. The chumbuckets we provide lead to bigger fish being caught.
He kept the story about the Murrays and Lombardis until I came back. I guess he thinks I need a refresher, as if I had forgotten; I haven’t. I know how the families used to get along. Even work together. Hell, I’m pretty sure our mothers had already planned marriages to one another's children. Now, Patrick spits on their family name with distaste, saying they never deserved to be in this city in the first place. I hate hearing their names thrown around so carelessly, especially from his mouth.
When he isn’t reminiscing about his iron fist reputation, he is emptying bottles of my top shelf whiskey. He’s only been here five days and he’s already cleaning me out. I’ll have to ask Connor to drop off another case before the end of the day.
It’s a quiet Wednesday, at the Bay Boxing Club, so Patrick Murray called for a sit down. He wants to discuss what he’s been up to over the past few years in Ireland.
My father sits at the head of the custom marble conference table, leading the meeting about how he’s revolutionizing the gambling business. His head is so far up his own ass, he doesn’t realize it’s all been done before. He’s established a niche with speakeasies, making gambling easier for the international market. Money taken in is ushered to an offshore bank account, through web-serves located in Costa Rica where betting is legal. I tried not to yawn too wide during his speech.
“I would like to see all operations go virtual. It makes it much more complicated for law enforcement to track.”
Men gathered around the table turn to one another, either nodding their heads or muttering in agreement. Everyone is simply trying to pacify the technology challenged man.
“As eager as I am to implement this method here, that’s not why I’ve made this trip…” His once relaxed position becomes more rigid, as he leans forward in his chair, forcing his thick fingers to fold together on top of the long table. He wets his lips before speaking, “Son, your mother, Ar dheis Dé go raibh a hanam…”
Everyone at the table briefly closes their eyes and respectfully gives a moment of silence in lieu of my father’s words.
“She supported this plan wholeheartedly.”
I shake my head and calling his bullshit. “No, she supportedyou, not what you're trying to do.”
He wasn’t used to being talked back to. His face turns shades of purple even while he tries to school his features. The boorishman speaks concisely, breathing heavily in between each word. “We evaded the Maxi Trial so we can continue with dignity.”
I’ve heard enough. I stand from my chair; my men mirror the action.
In turn, my father’s men bounce from their seats.
“SIT DOWN!” Patrick bellows. His voice booms through the small meeting room. Everyone looks at one another with suspicion. Slowly, bodies begin to lower into their chairs along the long table. “This will be happening!” He informs the room, but it’s primarily directed at me. “I’ve already put things in motion. Honor is putting family first!”
