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“Because you got me,” Con said, his tone pained. “You accepted me.”
“I don’t get it. Senior accepted you.”
“Da thinks I’m a fucking machine. He treats me like I’m an iPhone,” was Conor’s bitter response. “Need to bug an office? Send Con in. Need a program that’ll protect the family homes? Doesn’t matter that I fucking hate coding security programs, nope, Conor’ll do it.
“Want to record every single soldier in our Firm? Con will trawl through the millions of recorded minutes.” Then, pointedly, he snarked, “Want to get money out of someone’s account because they stole it from you? Con will get it back.”
I blinked. “Shit.”
“You think I want any of that?” Kid rasped. “I’m his fucking monkey, Finn. He makes me dance.”
Shoving a hand through my hair, I stepped back and plunked my ass on a stool. “I just thought you liked doing that shit.”
“I got used to it. I didn’t have much choice.” He grunted. “It’s okay. I accepted that’s my lot, and I’m fucking good at it. I never thought about complaining either because what was the use?” He jabbed his spoon in our uncle’s direction. “But he’s the reminder I didn’t need.”
“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have a relationship with Paddy. This is a second chance for both of you.”
“I’d like that,” Paddy said. “I missed you, Con.”
He tipped his chin up. “What about Jen?”
“Who the fuck is Jen?”
Conor narrowed his eyes. “Your daughter.”
“I ain’t got no daughter,” Paddy sniped.
“You do,” I said softly. “It’s been confirmed several times.”
“Who the fuck is this Jen?” His bewilderment was genuine—I’d tortured enough men to know the difference between candor and bullshit.
“Jennifer MacNeill. Her mom’s name is Diana.” Conor bit off, “Don’t make out like you don’t know her. You put her up in one of the buildings over on 35th.”
“Diana MacNeill?” His face scrunched up in confusion, but slowly, it cleared. “She had a kid?”
“Yeah, she did. And she wasn’t raised right, neither.” Con slurped up some milk from his bowl. “That’s on you.”
“I didn’t know she had a kid,” Paddy whispered, staggering over to join me at the kitchen counter. “I got a daughter?”
“You do,” I confirmed, shooting him a look, curious as to what he’d feel about this.
His eyes rounded. “I got a little girl?”
“Yes,” Conor snapped. “Which part aren’t you understanding?”
I glared at Kid. “Leave him be, Con. I think he’s glad.”
Paddy’s mouth worked. “Does she know I’m her dad?”
Scrubbing my hand over my hair, I admitted, “She does. You know when you came to my place?”
“Yeah.”
“Jen was the friend with Aoife in the kitchen.”
He cringed. “She knew I was there?”
“Yeah. Aoife would have told her.”
“She didn’t want to meet me,” he said mournfully. It wasn’t a question.
Conor, eating his cereal with more aggression than was warranted, watched Paddy with eagle eyes, scanning him for truths and lies.
I figured that our uncle had shocked him. His response was unexpected.
Conor, for whatever reason, liked the unexpected.
And maybe it was wishful thinking, but that gave me hope for them.
It really did.
