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A valet comes around to open my mom’s door then mine.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. O’Conner,” the valet says as he tips his navy blue hat. “Miss O’Conner, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Hello, John,” my mother says politely. She nudges me with her elbow and gives me a harsh look as she straightens her skirt with slightly shaky hands.
“It’s good to see you, too, John,” I say quickly. I try to smile, but my stomach is turning flip-flops. The face of the valet isn’t one I remember. I have no idea if I have met him before or not. I probably won’t remember him later, either.
It doesn’t matter how long I’ve known about the arrangement my parents made with Sean Foley’s father or how much I’ve tried to prepare; I’m still nervous. The obvious discomfort of my parents doesn’t help at all. Being called to the Foley family home the day before the wedding has left us all on edge. The meeting is unexpected—just as unexpected as the massive stroke that took Fergus Foley’s life two days ago.
“Martha! Cormick! I’m so glad you’ve made it safely!” Sean Foley himself opens the door and carefully traverses the steps as the valet takes off with the car. Sean approaches with one of his henchmen—a huge monster of a man—just behind him. “And Kera, of course”—Sean takes my hand and kisses my knuckles—“so good of you to come.”
I look into Sean’s dark eyes. They sparkle, making his smile appear genuine. I feel heat rising to my face as I glance from Sean to the stern face of the tall man behind him.
Every muscle in my body tenses, and I quickly look to the ground. Sean Foley’s henchman embodies the phrase “If looks could kill.” I don’t know if he’s angry or not, but his presence alone is unnerving. I suppose that’s why he’s around.
“I hope the weather holds out,” Mom says as she glances at the clear blue sky. “I hear a storm is headed our way. It would be a shame if we had to hold the ceremony inside.”
My father glares in her direction, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Fergus Foley is dead; we’ve been called to a spontaneous meeting, and she’s talking about the weather. It’s nothing more than a hopeful hint that the wedding hasn’t been called off entirely.
I rather hope it has been.
“No worries about that.” Sean’s voice is soft. I’m not sure if my mother even hears him—she’s looking nervously at my father, probably wondering if he’d slap her right in front of Sean—but Dad hears the tone of Sean’s words. He glances at my fiancé with
slightly narrowed eyes.
Sean Foley is tall and very easy on the eyes. I have a picture of him on my nightstand at my parents’ house, and I look at it all the time. His smile is quick and reassuring as he continues to hold my hand to lead me up the steps and through the huge double doors to the marble-tiled foyer beyond.
Sean pulls his hand away from mine as soon as we’re inside, and a woman in a severe black suit takes our coats and disappears off to the left as the rest of us head to the right with Sean in the lead. The henchman behind him sticks to his left shoulder as we head down a long hallway to a spacious, open room lined with bookshelves. There’s a desk, several comfortable chairs and couches, and one of those globe-shaped stands for holding expensive liquor without having it on display. Sean moves to sit in a large, wingback chair. All the other seats in the room are angled toward him, rendering him the center of attention.
As soon as he sits down, his whole demeanor changes. A crooked smile crosses his face as he looks from my father to my mother and back again. There is still a sparkle in his eyes, but it’s no longer reassuring or friendly. It’s more like static electricity—as if there is lightning flashing around in his brain. He never looks at me. For a long moment, there is silence as I glance around the room.
The henchman stands just behind his boss. I remember seeing him before when I was invited to dine at the country club with the Foley family and my parents. He’s a foreboding man, and his size alone makes him memorable though I don’t recall his name. He’s taller than Sean by a good three inches, and he’s so big, his shoulders brushed the sides of doorway as he entered the room. I can understand why he’s acting as a bodyguard for the mafia kingpin. No one in his right mind would go up against him. Even though he’s an attractive, dark-haired man, I can’t even look at his face for more than a second.
There are three others in the room, and despite my nervousness, I recognize them all. Neil Foley, Sean’s older cousin, is standing by the globe with a glass of something dark in his hand. He’s haggard and gaunt, and his gaze doesn’t leave the ground as we all sit on the couches surrounding Sean. Teagan Foley, Sean’s sister, leans against a bookcase with her phone in her hand. She’s a beautiful woman with golden hair and a lot of eye makeup. From what I have gathered, she is a math genius, and she handles the family’s bookkeeping.
Leaning back against the couch, opposite where I sit between my mother and father, is Lucas Elliot. I have no idea what he does in the organization, but I know he was a very important advisor to Fergus Foley. I suppose he’s Sean’s advisor now.
“I hope you received the flowers I sent to the funeral home,” my mother says, breaking the silence.
“I did,” Sean replies. He snickers through his nose as he takes a cigar from a box on the side table near his chair. “Thank you for your condolences. My father will be greatly missed by some, I’m sure.”
Sean rolls his eyes and grins. He pats his front pocket, glances at the table, and then turns toward his bodyguard.
“Deklan, do you have a light?”
I nod to myself, hearing the name of Sean’s strongman. With so many people in the Foley family’s organization, I was going to have to focus on memorizing names.
“Yes, sir,” Deklan responds.
“Have you decided on a date for the services?” my father asks.
“The services will be private,” Sean says curtly. He holds the flaming end of Deklan’s lighter to the tip of his cigar, but it won’t light. He scowls at the end. “Family only. We won’t be publishing the time.”
“Of course,” Dad replies. I watch his lips twitch and wonder what else he wants to say. He’s obviously holding something back.
“Will we have to push back the wedding?” My mother’s voice is quiet and timid. She doesn’t even look up from her hands as she speaks. “We can, of course. Whatever you need to do.”
This is her fear. If the wedding doesn’t occur, they are still in the Foley family’s debt, and it’s a debt my parents have no other way of paying. Money laundering might be a lucrative business, but my father has a serious issue with Texas Hold’em, a game he claims to be good at but constantly loses.
