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I grimaced. “Maybe.” Deciding we needed a change of topic, I asked, “Did you love your great-grandparents?”
If I’d expected a yes, I didn’t get it. He snorted before he let out a hoot. “No. They treated Mom like shit.”
“They did?” I asked, annoyed on Aela’s behalf. “Why?”
“They were Catholic,” was his wry retort. “She was unwed and had a baby. She had no desire to get married, did whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, and it killed them that she was successful at it too. They shamed her for her art, discredited her when they could, but they didn’t deserve to die the way they did.”
I leaned forward. “How did they die?”
He stuck his finger under his chin, in the soft flesh there that was perfectly shaped to take the muzzle of a gun. I’d shoved one there many a time myself.
“Execution style,” I mused, a little taken aback that I was having this conversation with my fourteen-year-old.
I was pretty sure Aela would be pissed if she knew the topic of our discussion, but having made the decision to let the ball lie in Seamus’s court, to let him lead the way and figure out how he wanted to get to know me, how he wanted to take this forward, I wasn’t about to change the subject and treat him like he was a little kid.
He wasn’t.
I knew exactly what boys his age were capable of, and even if he didn’t have the experience I had, he was a lot wiser to the world than I’d thought.
“Your mom know you’re aware of all this?”
“No.”
“How did you find out?”
“You said it yourself. I’m like Conor.”
“Christ,” I muttered under my breath. “That’s exactly what we need.”
Pride made his shoulders straighten, and I almost rolled my eyes at the sight.
Instead, I scraped a hand over my face and questioned, “Why would anyone execute a pair of great-grandparents?”
“They were jerks.”
“Jerks are rarely slaughtered,” I dismissed. “They must have pissed someone off.”
“The Garda said it was a home invasion gone wrong.” He shrugged. “I don’t think that’s true.”
I contemplated that, contemplated his stance, and asked, “Do you want me to look into it? Is that it?”
“If you want to.” His gaze flickered over to me and back to the screen in a flash. “I didn’t even like them.”
But he’d loved them, otherwise why would he ask for help?
“They treated Mom like shit,” he carried on.
“They were good to you though.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Granddad had four brothers. That’s how I know how brothers usually act around each other. He hated two of them, one refused to go to the funeral. Then the other two, he was on speaking terms with, but they weren’t real friendly.”
“We weren’t raised that way. We were raised to go to war for one another,” I informed him softly. “We give each other crap, but when shit rains on us, we always buckle down and protect the family. It’s how we’re wired.”
“That’s intense.”
“I guess it is.” Softly, I murmured, “I’ll ask Brennan. When he was there last, he made some connections in the Garda.” Well, he’d coordinated a mutual exchange with the IRA. We shipped them guns, and they acted as our heroin mules. “He’ll put some feelers out, so will Conor. Once people know who’s asking the questions, they’ll soon fold to the pressure.”
“Really?”
