Over the past couple weeks, you could say I’ve become an expert at reading her expressions.
Oona answers before I even knock, the silver-blonde caretaker instantly opening her arms up for a hug. Though she’s more than a head shorter than I am, I let her engulf me in an embrace and give me a squeeze like I’m her son.
“You get beefier every time I see you, don’t ya? Anybody ever tell you that?”
“You, the last time I came around,” I grunt.
“There’s a limit, Kill! No need to be the size of a bloody mountain!”
“I’ll shrink when I get older.” I gesture toward Jhene who’s been more than happy to hover off on the side unnoticed. “This is?—”
“Yes, yes. The girl from the pub. I’m aware.” Oona’s sharp eyes sweep over Jhene in a typical maternal manner. “Ah, you poor thing, you look like you could use a proper meal. Lucky for you I’ve made sandwiches. Come on now, come on.”
Jhene’s brows jump, then she spares me a bemused look before she listens. I watch her pad after Oona, who leads her down the hall and out of sight.
Let’s hope Oona’ll be able to keep her entertained long enough for the clan meeting to take place.
I pivot down the hall that leads to Ronan’s office.
The room’s already crowded when I walk through.
Sean’s sprawled in one of the leather armchairs, his red hair sticking up at odd angles and a smirk permanently etched on his freckled face. Teagan’s by the window, arms folded, his expression almost as disgruntled as mine.
A handful of other buttonmen, like Cian and Brady, fill the remaining chairs while others opt to lean against the walls.
But they’re not the only ones who’ve turned up—Seamus Callahan sits by the fire with his whiskey, his face gaunter than I’ve ever seen it. Yet no matter how sickly, his rheumy eyes still track my every move as soon as I stride into the room.
Ronan’s spoken about how his father’s never satisfied. He’ll never be good enough; he’ll never have histrueapproval.
It’s easy to understand how his younger son would feel that way—I’mnow on the receiving end of his hard, unblinking, dissatisfied glare.
Thing is, I couldn’t give less of a fuck. I never asked to fill in as Clan Chief. It was never a position I’ve coveted, so he can shove his dissatisfaction up his ass for all I care.
Judging by how frail and gnarled he looks, he should be more concerned with the cancer eating away at his insides.
“Glad you could join us,” Sean calls out, adding a chuckle. “We were starting to think you got lost!”
“Blame traffic or whatever the fuck’ll make you feel better about being stood up,” I growl in answer. I stride over to the front of the room where Ronan’s desk is. “Let’s get this over with. What’s the situation with the Bratva?”
The casual energy evaporates from the room as the men straighten up and we get down to serious business.
“The situation,” Teagan answers, “is that tensions are still escalating. The Bratva hit another one of our associates’ businesses the other night. This time the car wash. Trashed the place and intimidated Mr. Gonzalez, the owner. Small potatoes in the grand scheme, but it’s the third incident this summer.”
“So we hit them back,” Sean says, cracking his knuckles. “Show those grimy bastards what happens when they fuck with the Irish. Simple.”
“It’s not that simple,” Teagan counters. “We’re spread thin ever since we expanded our territory. Then the men we lost dealing with the Albanians and even Lochlan and his crew months ago. Ronan—ourrealClan Chief—isn’t even here to decide. Starting a war right now would be?—”
“Ronan’s on his honeymoon, not dead,” Sean interrupts. “He’ll be back in a few weeks. In the meantime, we can’t just let the Russian fucks walk all over us.”
“No one’s suggesting we let them walk all over us, you asshat. I’m suggesting we be strategic about our response.”
“Strategic.” Sean snorts. “That’s a fancy word for doing nothing.”
The argument continues, voices rising and falling as the men debate tactics and territory and the best way to handle a threat that’s been growing since before Ronan left.
I try to follow along, offering input where it makes sense, but the truth is, I’m out of my depth here.
I’m not a leader. Not a commander who wages wars.
