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Mention of the Brennans charged my blood with contempt, but I held my tongue. I’d done my best to avoid letting my true feelings on the merger be known to anyone, especially my brother. Call it innate or call it irrational, but I harbored a special kind of hatred reserved for those connected with the Brennan name, including the woman I’d never met.
Was I shocked that Raphael hadn’t consulted with me, at the very least, before agreeing to marry the widow? Not entirely. Was I insulted? No. Hurt? Perhaps.
“You may need to add the Albanians to that list,” I suggested, hiding the effects of my internal reflections with a casual tone.
Raphael waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. They’re nothing more than fishermen with bargain-basement guns and frail backbones. They’re hardly worth the salary we’re paying our foot soldiers to keep them in line.”
“Not according to Molotov. Two knees were the price he paid for his convictions.”
Liam cursed.
Finn whistled.
Raphael chuckled. “You kneecapped the son of the Pakhan?”
I raised an eyebrow.
Raphael’s laughter of approval boomed. “I’ll hand it to you, brother—you really are a savage fuck with lead balls.”
Could he offer an alternative as effective? How else was I to deal with the surplus of useless emotions trying to surface in light of the Brennans’ pending arrival?
“The Albanians,” I stated.
“Are a waste of our resources.”
When I didn’t respond, Raphael let out an irritated sigh. “Let it go, Lucifer. The Albanians didn’t steal our fucking gun shipment. Their business is crack and whatever the cartel has on sale.”
“And flesh.”
Raphael’s eyes narrowed. “Aye.”
My gaze drifted briefly to my cousin before returning to meet Raphael’s cold glare. “Finn said the number of missing girls from Suffolk County has increased since Athair—” I dragged my thumb across the raised scar on my bottom lip, my reminder to tread carefully. “Since his incident. Javier Delgado said his sister and her friend haven’t been seen since they left the Celtics game a week ago Saturday.”
Raphael’s icy expression was unwavering. “Javy Delgado started that rumor because he doesn’t want anyone to know that he knows that his whore sister is shacking up with some nameless prospect in Dorchester. He promised her snatch to the cartel for payback on the last loan he defaulted on. This is exactly why we let Mejia’s men handle the street dealers. My tolerance for junkies is nil.”
Raphael’s blatant disregard for one of the few honorable things our family stood for had my pulse ticking up a notch. I made a conscious effort to relax before I shattered the glass in my hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Finn’s uncomfortable shift in position.
Raphael straightened, finishing his drink in one telling gulp.
“All I’m saying is—” I started.
“Pray tell, dear brother,” Raphael snapped. “Indeed—enlighten me.”
A whiff of something that likened criticism and my twin turned into a petulant child.
“All I’m saying,” I repeated, “is that our father has never condoned the dealing of human flesh. His policy on the matter is nonnegotiable. Perhaps with him being ... incapacitated, the Albanians are seeing this as an opportunity to retaliate for the way he’s limited their business.”
It was no secret that even when our father was well, the Albanians still found ways to keep their human-trafficking ring afloat, but they’d never dared to hunt for merchandise in our backyard before.
A devious grin unfurled. “I think the word you were looking for is was. It was nonnegotiable, Lucifer. Need I remind you that Athair appointed me as his successor when he named me underboss? Therefore, he’s entrusted all former and future policies to me. Knowing how you’re always so quick to apply blind faith to anything our father says or does—surely, you trust his decision in this case, aye?”
He’d thrown similar sentiments in my face in the past, suggesting the loyalty and respect I held for our father were misguided and naive.
I found Raphael’s insinuations contradictory and hypocritical.
My father was a wise man. I liked to believe that had he known his health was a concern, he would have named a new heir apparent. The inexplicable tension that existed between my father and brother since around the time we’d turned ten years old had grown more pronounced with each passing year since Raphael had begun serving as underboss. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to those within the inner circle that since becoming boss, Raphael’s ideals had ventured farther away from those our father had deemed the pillars of the syndicate. Was it an act of mutiny with our father one foot in the grave? A rebellious fuck-you to the man who’d tried his best to raise us to be good men by syndicate standards?
Only time could provide those answers.
