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Fuck, I didn’t know when we’d be attending Sunday dinner as a family. I didn’t even know if Senior would force us to attend.
As I wondered how that might turn out, if I was about to get kneecapped for refusing to force my wife to eat Lena’s roast, Conor muttered, “Go home and be with your wife, bro.”
“Yeah. Night, Kid.”
“Night, Finn.”
For a second, I stared down at my phone once he cut the call.
After a couple minutes, I stopped wondering if Kid could ever be happy with a woman who’d been through more shit than the pair of us combined, and I gathered the files together that I’d need.
In the morning, I’d have my assistant bring over anything I forgot, but I set myself up with enough work to get me through the night.
Loaded down with papers, I returned to my Porsche, headed home, and got myself situated in the office.
After I settled behind my desk, a half hour later, I heard Aoife stir in the bedroom.
I didn’t lift my head to look at her when she hovered in the doorway, but I knew she was there, knew she watched me work for a couple minutes before she returned to our bedroom.
Proving, yet again, that Conor was right.
“Little shit,” I hissed, hoping that one of his bugs picked up onthat.
