Eamon turns back to me, his expression completely unreadable. And somehow that scares the hell out of me.
“I know this timing isn’t ideal, but I'm afraid we have a great deal to discuss, Maria.”
“Eamon, this isn’t the time,” Vincenzo says in a stern voice. “We’re focused on Francesco right now. Have some respect.”
“I understand, Vincenzo. But I’m afraid it has to be. These are matters that can’t wait.”
“Matters about what?” Mom says.
“About the future. About your family's safety.” Eamon glances back at Lochlan. "About a contract your father signed a year ago."
The way he says it makes my blood turn to ice.
My mother sucks in a sharp breath.
I look at Lochlan. This time, he won't meet my eyes. Instead, his stare is locked on Ronan, white-hot anger crackling in the air between them.
Luna wraps an arm around my waist, sniffling.
Meanwhile, an imaginary noose winds itself around my throat like a threat as Eamon turns his attention to me.
I’ve spent the last twenty-two years running from my father's world.
Looking at Eamon Molloy's smile, I realize now I never really escaped.
I was just on a longer leash.
CHAPTER 2
LOCHLAN
The second myfather says the word “contract,” I know I’m fucked.
I’ve seen that look on his face before, too many times to count. The satisfaction of a man who’s already won the game that nobody knew they were playing. But it was the last time I saw that look that flares bright in my memory, when I told him I was leaving the family business. For good.
The old bastard just smiled and said, “We’ll see.”
He’s wearing the same look right now, standing in a hospital waiting room at four in the morning. A chill slithers down my spine because whatever comes next, I’m not going to like it.
“This is a conversation best had in private,” my father says in a smooth, calming voice. As if he gives a shit about how the DiMicheli women are feeling right now. “Maria, perhaps there’s somewhere we can speak?”
Maria DiMicheli’s face is tight, her eyes red-rimmed but sharp. She doesn’t trust him. Smart woman. She nods toward a hallway, and we all walk down the quiet corridor toward the cafeteria. It’s quiet and relatively empty, so my father can drop whatever bomb without too many prying eyes — and ears — witnessing the aftermath.
My father leads the group. Ronan is on his heels. Maria follows, her arm linked with Luna’s. Vincenzo, Francesco’s consigliere, the guy who showed up covered in his boss’s blood, walks with them. His hand is on Maria’s shoulder, steadying her. Tension is heavy in the air as they wait to hear what words my father might say to shatter them even more than they already have been.
Then there’s Adriana.
She walks like she’s heading into a boardroom negotiation, not a conversation that could destroy her entire life. And knowing my father, it will most likely come damn close to that. Her spine is straight, shoulders are back, and her chin is lifted like she’s daring the world to challenge her.
I watched her hold her family together for hours tonight. She refused to break even when breaking would have been easier. Adriana stood strong in the uncertainty and kept breathing. Like a warrior. A boardroom barracuda.
I’d read about her, heard about her cutthroat reputation as one of the most powerful women in the technology industry, and how she singlehandedly built one of the most prestigious strategy consulting firms on the East Coast.
She’s damn impressive. And it takes a lot to impress me.
My eyes refuse to wander away from her. I shouldn’t be noticing the slope of her neck. The way her dark hair falls over her shoulders. The way her gown clings to the curves of her body.
But I notice. God help me, I notice.
