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“If he starts dropping F-bombs,” Aoife told him, her sweet voice like a song, “then we’ll bring him to you to reprogram.”
“If only kids could be coded,” Conor said with a sigh, but he stared at Jacob the way most of us did.
Like he was an alien.
He was more of a toddler now, but we all remembered the days where he pissed and shat and cried all at the same time.
“Speaking of coding, I need you to give Camille access to the penthouse.”
Conor nodded. “I’ll sort that out when I get home.”
“Thanks, Con.”
“No worries.”
“Let’s get back to the matter at hand, eh?” Aidan rumbled, his brow puckered in a way we’d all come to recognize—he was coming down off a high.
“What matter? That Da’s a prick?” Conor chirped.
“Yeah. That matter,” Aidan groused. “Look, it’s all right for you fuckers, Conor and me are the sitting ducks now.”
“Fuck you, Aidan. I really saw you coming to my defense when I had to get married and Da beat the shit out of me,” Eoghan groused, his glare morphing into an apologetic glance at his wife.
Inessa’s lips twitched, so I figured we hadn’t started a Baltic War on that front.
“Yeah, well, that was different.”
“Why was it?” Eoghan snapped.
“It just was, okay?” Aidan blew out a breath. “Conor, do you feel like being fitted up with some Italian snatch? Because theFamigliais where he’ll make his next deal. You just watch.”
Conor pursed his lips. “Is Italian snatch hairy?”
Aoife groaned. “Don’t be gross. Italians have heard of Brazilian waxes too.”
He blinked. “Oh, it’s the French who are supposed to be hairy, isn’t it?”
“Back in the sixties,” I said wryly. “Get back to this decade, Con.”
“Why? It’s so much more pleasant in the past,” he said with a smirk. “But you’re not wrong, Aidan. If we don’t take a stand, we’ll find ourselves married to any bitch Da wants to make a deal with.” He wagged a finger at me. “You know what, Bren, this was smart of you. Taking the matter out of Da’s hands.”
Aidan muttered, “This is going to turbo-charge things with him. Just you watch us being married off to terrified cu—”
“Aidan!” Aoife snapped. “Language!”
He shot her a glare, but Finn smirked and said, “The ‘C’ word is a bit much for church, Aid.”
My elder brother grunted but, shoving his hands in his pockets, muttered, “Maybe.”
“No maybe about it,” Aela warned as Shay started shuffling toward us. She slung her arm around his shoulders and asked, “You okay, Shay?”
He hummed, cast us all a glance and frowned. “What’s going on? You talking about me?”
Conor snorted. “Your shiners are old news, kiddo.”
Shay grinned. “Really? The way Mom keeps going on about them, you’d think it was front page material.”
Aela reached up and scrubbed her hand over his hair. “First and last time, Shay. I warned you—you come back with more black eyes, you’ll be grounded until you’re eighteen. Minimum.”
