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“It’s the decision of the table.” My father isn’t giving an inch. “These decisions have already been made, Connor. All that’s left is for you to make yours—but I caution you against deciding too quickly to send Saoirse and me away.”
“You’re not worried about Liam.” Connor snorts. “You’re worried about your own power. If another family takes over, they might not turn to you as their right hand, even if Saoirse does marry into that family. You’ll fade into obscurity, and that’s worse than death to you.”
“It’s true that I don’t want to lose the power I’ve worked all my life to build.” My father shrugs. “That’s not a crime, lad, to not want to see my life’s work crumble to dust on the follies of one man. But it’s not my hands that Liam’s blood will be on if you refuse this. It’s yours, Connor. I can’t protect Liam without power. We can help each other—and you can help your brother.” My father holds Connor’s gaze, driving the point home. “Who knows? If you hadn’t left, perhaps you could have talked your father out of his own mistakes. Perhaps he would still be alive.”
Anger ripples over Connor’s face, his jaw tightening. “I won’t take the blame for my father’s treachery,” he says harshly. “Nor should I.”
“Perhaps not,” my father says agreeably. “But at the very least, you will have to take responsibility for what becomes of your brother and his family.”
“I’ve built something here.” Connor’s lips press together thinly, his anger obviously barely restrained. “On my own, not on my father’s back. Something I’m loathed to leave behind.”
“So you’ll trade in a kingdom to keep on ruling a city? And not even that, a corner of a city, made up of alleyways and stinking ports?” My father smirks. “You’re better than that, Connor, and you know it. You’d be a fool not to come back and take what’s yours, take the power that’s offered you. The city of Boston at your beck and call, the power of one of the greatest criminal alliances stateside, a beautiful virgin bride to call your wife and bear your children. You’d give that up—for what? To trade arms to the IRA and MDMA in London clubs?”
Connor lets out a sharp breath. “I want to talk to Saoirse,” he says abruptly, and my father frowns.
“She’s right there.”
“No.” Connor shakes his head, turning to fix me with his bright blue eyes, and I feel a fine shiver run down my spine. “I want to talk with her alone.”
