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“How could we forget? That was fucking brutal.”
He wriggled his shoulders. “I might have started that.”
“What?!”
Junior whistled. “You might have had a point here, Finn.”
“Apparently.” I stared at Declan. “Finish your story.”
He rubbed his eyes. “My crew, back when I was a teenager, we started pulling heists on pawn shops. Without Da’s approval.
“One day, there’s an argument over who’s getting the bigger cut, guns go off, and half the crew’s dead.
“Not gonna lie, brothers, Cillian Donahue and I were shit scared. We were the only ones left, and we knew we’d have to explain what went down… so we blamed the Haitians.”
“Fucking hell,” Junior drawled. “You changed the face of the city with that stunt.”
He cleared his throat. “Did more than that. Cillian, that rat bastard, blackmailed me over that shit for years. Got me tied to that cunt of a sister.
“I hated Deirdre with every bone in my body. Aela was my side piece at the time when she should always have been my woman. Worst day of my life was when I had her tagged as mine like she was fucking property because I had to have a ring on that bitch’s finger and not hers.”
Junior’s mouth gaped. “You hated Deirdre?”
“I did.” He pulled a face. “Made her pay in the end though. Her death wasn’t as… well, I might have been able to stop it from going down that way.”
“Fuck.”
“About sums it up,” Declan agreed. “Then, of course, there’s the fact that I’m pretty fucking sure Shay’s grandparents were killed by the IRA—”
I straightened up. “What?”
“Yeah. Shay told me this story about him being shoved in a closet by his grandma and then hearing an argument and shots fired. I think that’s it for my secrets.” He looked sheepish. “Anyone else got something to share?”
Brennan blew out a breath. “‘Round about the time you were pulling heists on pawn shops, Dec, I was fucking Mariska Vasov.”
My eyes rounded. “The Pakhan’s wife?”
“Your wife’s mother?” Declan spluttered. “That’s fucking sick, man.”
“Fuck off. It was a long time ago. Anyway, Camille came to me.” He grimaced. “You might as well know… she’s the one who offed Vasov.” His tone turned proud. “Hit him over the head with a glass paperweight. Maxim Lyanov helped clean shit up.” He scratched his chin. “He wants Victoria for his bride, but I promised Camille that if she doesn’t want him, she doesn’t have to have him for a husband.”
Junior blinked at him. “You gotta be shitting me.”
“I wish I were, brother.” He wriggled his shoulders. “But I’m not.”
“You guys know Jen, right?” I tossed in.
“Aoife’s best friend? She came for Christmas? The one who kept trying to bang you, Aidan?”
Junior snorted at Brennan. “That one. She’s related to us.”
“How?” Declan spluttered.
“One of Paddy’s progeny,” Conor intoned grimly.
“How the fuck did you know—” I shook my head. “Those goddamn bugs are going to be the fucking death of me.”
He just smiled. “I think that’s most of the secrets for now. Unless… Eoghan, you feeling up to sharing with the class?” It was more of a command than a request.
I glanced at Eoghan who murmured, “I’m MI6.”
Conor smirked. “My brother’s James Bond.”
Though most of the brothers’ mouths gaped more than Ghostface’s, Declan was the one who rasped, “Wait a fuckin’ minute. They’re English! We’re goddamn Irish!”
My lips twitched.
I’d never looked at it that way until now.
