Page 58 of Guilty as Sin

I sit back in my chair, trying to piece together who Brioni is. She knew not to approach the closed curtain, even though she was clearly aware that Liam was inside. She even asked permission before approaching.

Personally, I’d hate being shut out like that. And even though I’d planned to lead a separate life from Brady, I never liked the idea of him keeping his darker dealings from me. But now, if our lives are actually intertwining…

I deserve to be involved.

Orla’s already recognized it. But what matters most is Brady’s opinion of me. It’ll take more than unconfirmed intel about a warehouse to show him that I’m capable. I feel the viper inside me stretch, ready to prove herself.

Brioni glides into our secluded corner, greeting us all with her usual cheer.

“Won’t you have some dinner, love?” Orla opens the lid off the creamed cabbage, revealing plenty of leftovers. “Liam, fetch the woman a plate.”

“Oh no thank you, that’s alright.” Brioni catches Liam by the arm to stop him.

It’s such a casual touch, almost subconscious on Brioni’s part. But the way Liam freezes, he could be experiencing a cardiac event. If he’s a black-and-white movie star, then the film has stopped. Yet Brioni seems completely unaware of the effect she has on Liam. On all men, really, given how she didn’t notice any of the customers’ stares as she moved across the bar. It’s different from the way I pointedly ignore them. Brioni is pure innocence.

“I just stopped by for a drink,” she says. “I’m headed downtown to meet a friend.”

“Does this friend’s name start with an H?” Finn asks, his broken nose twitching with a sneer.

Someone’s knuckles crack. I can’t tell if it’s Liam or Brady, or maybe both, because all four of their fists are clenched. I feel my eyebrows lift halfway to my hairline. If Brioni’s friend “H” is a platonic girlfriend, I’ll eat every quarter that I gave to Kieran.

“Of course, love,” Orla says. “We’re happy whenever you stop by.”

Orla’s astute. She knows how each member of her family feels about Brioni, and the common theme is protective. Orla must also know how each member of her family feels about me. A week ago, the common theme there would’ve been distrustful. And though I don’t care much about changing Finn’s mind, the fact that I’ve swayed the insightful Orla makes me feel more at ease around the O’Sullivans, almost as if I could someday be one of them.

Now there’s a dangerous thought.

Chapter 27

Brady

Cora surprises me by wanting to stay at the pub. After the rest of my family leaves for the night, she makes her way behind the bar. The customers are dwindling, but Erin says she’s happy for the help.

So we stay.

As she cleans glasses, Cora chats with Erin the way she chatted with Peter—like she’s known her for years. She asks for stories about Erin’s cat, whose name is apparently Nightshade.

It’s fitting for Erin. I’ve never seen our pub’s manager in anything other than her black leather coat and black jeans. And she’s always got on heavy, dark eye makeup, which makes her look like she knows her way around poisons. But her cat’s name is another fact about my personnel that Cora knew before I did.

My wife is good at charming people. It’s the skill of a sociopath, of someone who excels at this mafia life. And fuck me, it is sexy to watch her wield it.

When it’s past midnight, the only patron left is Old Bob. He nurses his Tullamore and water on his usual stool, his book of large-print wordsearches open on the bar in front of him.

“We’ll close up,” I tell Erin. Cora gives me the slightest frown, but Erin doesn’t seem to mind being dismissed.

“Whatever you say, boss.” Erin takes the dish towel from her shoulder and tosses it at my face. As I snatch it from the air, I see Cora’s frown flicker again. It’s almost too fleeting to notice, but it fills me with vindictive joy.

So my wife is the jealous type.

She’s even jealous of Erin, who I’ve never once considered messing around with.

Erin bids us goodnight, clapping Old Bob on the shoulder on her way out. All of the closing tasks are pretty much done. The wooden chairs are stacked on their tables, the floor is mopped, the soda gun’s cleaned, the ice is burned. But still, Cora busies herself.

She takes it upon herself to dust the liquor bottles. They’re four shelves high along the mirrored wall behind the bar, and she’s thorough with each one. As she stretches up to reach the top shelf, I take the opportunity to admire her shapely ass.

She catches me in the mirror. With her pouty lips in a disapproving smirk, she bends her hips to lean forward, stretches up just a little bit more. The woman is temptation itself. I want to push up her dress and turn her ass red for teasing me like that, then fuck her from behind until she can’t walk straight.

“Grab the Jameson,” I tell her. I pull out two shot glasses.