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CONNOR
Dinner is in a private room at a local pub, chosen by me specifically because it’s far off from the kind of place Graham and Saoirse regularly dine at in Boston and almost certainly from the type of place that my brother would have taken her when they were together.
I want to hammer home, as deeply as I can for Saoirse, that I am not my brother and that I do not value the same things. If I go back to Boston, certain trappings are going to be pushed onto me. For one, the McGregor family home, which Liam likely expects to take up residence in with his new bride, if he hasn’t already. Money—more than I already have—a driver, bespoke suits, the best of everything. Nearly unlimited power in Boston, which currently has no strong mafia or Bratva presence, and everything that goes along with that.
I don’twantthose things. The power is the only part that appeals to me, the possibility of going back and turning Graham’s schemes on their ear, remolding the Kings in my idea of how things ought to be. When my father was alive, he’d tried to make me into the leaderhe’dbelieved I should be. It had never mattered to him what my dreams or goals were, my thoughts or hopes for the Kings and my future, only what he envisioned and how I could continue that long after he was gone.
It’s not just the prospect of Saoirse’s body or saving my brother’s life that makes me consider Graham’s proposal. It’s the idea that, without my father there, I could accomplish the one thing I never thought I would be able to do.
I can make the Boston Kings my own.
Graham and Saoirse aren’t there yet when I arrive at the pub with my men. We’re escorted back to the room I reserved by a prettily plump hostess with wildly curly red hair, with who Jacob takes an instant shine to and strikes up a conversation the moment we’re seated. I take a spot midway down the table, purposefully sitting next to Jacob with Quint on my other side, so I can observe Graham and Saoirse without sitting next to one of them.
Niall is the next to walk in, and I grit my teeth as I see him stride into the room. I haven’t seen him in years until he popped up in London a few days ago, but now I see him with fresh eyes after watching him and Saoirse talk on the plane. He’s a ruggedly handsome man, rough around the edges, with sharp blue eyes and wearing a black leather jacket that he seems to wear perpetually, scuffed around the collar and cuffs.
His appearance is a lot like mine these days, and somehow that irritates me more than if he’d been my polar opposite.
“I don’t recall inviting you,” I say tautly as he takes a seat across the table, motioning for a waitress.
“Aye, well, I invited myself to Dublin, so I did the same tonight,” Niall smirks. “I’m the voice of the other side in all this since the man himself can’t be here.”
“I didn’t ask for input from the other side, and I can guarantee neither did Graham.”
“And how can a man make measured decisions unless he knows all sides?” Niall narrows his eyes at me. “You’ve been gone a long time, Connor. You don’t know your brother well any longer. He’s a different man now than you knew.”
“I guessed that. The Liam I knew wouldn’t have betrayed his family to marry some Russian slut.”
The table around us has gone very quiet. I can see the waitresses hovering in the background with the beers the men ordered, unsure what to do with the sudden heightened tension in the room. I see Quint’s hand flick towards the gun I know he’s carrying, and Jacob makes a small hand motion, telling him to stand down for now.
The last thing we need is a gunfight in a public place—but Niall is trying my last nerve.
Especially considering the way he looks at Saoirse.
“Are you certain of that?” Niall asks quietly. “After all, Connor, what has thefamilyever done for Liam? His father never loved him, called him a changeling, and blamed him for his mother’s death. You abandoned him, and then rather than raise him up to his proper place, his father chose his bastard half-brother instead and tried to start an uprising that would have spanned the entire Northeastern states.” He pauses, his jaw set as he stares me down evenly. “I’ll be honest with you, man. I told Liam the same. I thought he was a fool to throw over Saoirse for the ballerina. But you can’t look me in the eye and tell me you think Liam had no reason to put what he felt was his own happiness over his duty to his bloody fuckingfamily.”
I start to speak, but Niall shakes his head.
“And you can’t speak to me of duty, either,William Davies,” Niall growls. “You left your family for your own happiness and belief in what was right, and now you want to fault your brother for doing the same? That’s horseshite, and you know it. Leave Liam and the Boston Kings alone.”
“Get out, Niall Flanagan.” Graham’s voice echoes from the doorway, and I look up to see him walking in, dressed casually in dark jeans and a button-down with a navy blazer over it, Saoirse at his side. She looks as gorgeous as always, in a dark blue dress that clings to her curves and the black leather jacket from the first night thrown over it. I don’t miss that the colors she’s wearing and her father’s match, as if it’s another subtle signal thrown my way, a reminder that her loyalty is to her family.
Not if I marry you, Saoirse O’Sullivan. Your loyalty bloody well ought to be to me, after that.
“And here I thought we were having dinner,” Niall smirks, not moving from his chair. “I hear this place has excellent shepherd’s pie. It’s been years since I’ve been to the home country—”
“Get the bloody hell out,” Graham grinds from between his teeth, his face flushing ruddy as he glares at Niall, striding towards the table with Saoirse just behind him. I watch to see if her gaze flicks to Niall, if she shows any emotion at all, but her face is as blank as I’ve ever seen it.
Quint’s hand twitches towards his gun again.
“This is meant to be a private dinner,” I say evenly. “A place for us to gather before we meet tomorrow, not a place for you to come and spy for my brother. Listen to Graham before I have my men take you out by force and make a scene. If you want to talk, we can talk later. But not here.”
Niall rises slowly. “Enjoy your dinner, then,” he says gruffly, shoving his chair in. His eyes skate over my gathered men as if taking the measure of them, and then he turns on his heel, striding out of the room. I see him glance at Saoirse as he passes her, but she remains perfectly still, not so much as looking at him as he sweeps past.
Maybe I was being paranoid.
Contrary to what I’d made it sound like to Niall, there’s not much talk of business around the dinner table. The beer flows freely, with the men telling more and more raucous stories as the night goes on, Jacob frequently palming the red-headed waitress’s ass each time she comes back with a fresh round of drinks. I notice that Saoirse just picks at her food, sipping at the pint of hard cider she ordered. She looks on edge, avoiding my gaze throughout the meal and not saying a word, which seems unlike my sharp-tongued princess.
Mine. My princess.It’s in that moment, I think, that something shifts, and I know how it’s going to be.
