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Climbing the narrow, carpeted staircase, through the partially hidden doorway off the VIP room, I round the landing, stepping into Connor’s domain.
The upstairs space at Oracle used to be used for storage until Connor requested use of it from Sean. He’s turned it into a sleek, quiet gambling den –like something from the nineteenth century. I like it up here –there’s a calming quietness to it – though it’s dimly lit.
There are five large, oval poker tables covered in burgundy felt. They are large enough to seat eight gamblers and a dealer, with striped, padded chairs ringing them. Connor refuses to have music playing up here, but you can hear it faintly from the VIP room below.
There’s also no bar. The circling waitresses take orders, collect them from the backroom bar, and bring them to patrons. This room isn’t about watching the gambling or being seen. If you’re not playing, you’re not allowed in.
My eyes find Connor where he’s standing in the middle of the room, his hands in the pockets of his sharp, dark gray suit, his eyes dancing over the tables as he watches the gambling.
Occasionally, he will play, but that’s usually when the Russians convince him later in the night. They’re determined to best him. It doesn’t happen often. Our Lucky doesn’t usually have off nights.
Catching my gaze, Connor nods to the dark-haired, Eastern European man at the table closest to the door. His rowdy companions quieten down immediately as my shadow falls over their table, but this arsehole keeps mouthing off at the dealer.
If there’s one thing Connor doesn’t accept at his tables, it’s disrespecting his dealers. Well, also cheating, but I don’t have to kill people for disrespecting the dealers. I only rough them up a bit and send them home for a month.
The mouthy arsehole starts mocking the others for “being pussies” when they fall quiet.
He shuts up pretty fucking quickly as my hand closes around the collar of his shirt. I jerk him upright, out of his seat, his chips scattering across the table. As the others scramble for them, I turn my glare to the table.
“House keeps the lot,” I grunt. At least three of them shudder at my tone, everyone shunting the chips they can reach in the dealer’s direction.
The arsehole pleads with me as I drag him out of the room and down the stairs. Shoving him up against the wall beside the back door out to the alley, I drive a fist into his gut, using my hold on his collar to tug his head back up when he doubles over in pain.
“Ye come in here disrespecting our staff; ye don’t come here for a month. Ye understand?”
He groans his understanding, much less mouthy now. I drive another fist into his gut, hauling him back up.
“Next time, ye don’t get off with a warning,” I hiss, shoving him out the back door, slamming it after his retching, stumbling figure.
Job done. Maybe I’ll go through to the VIP room to watch Mellie. My gut churns when it becomes obvious I don’t need to go to the bar to see her. I freeze as I turn and come face to face with Mellie, holding a box of whiskey, her eyes wide.
Jesus fuck. I quickly school my face into a blank mask, tucking away all the darkness so she can’t see it.
“Let me help ye with that box, lass,” I tell her gruffly, reaching for it, expecting her to flinch away.
But she doesn’t, this little blue-eyed lass of mine. Mellie steps forward to hand it over, falling into step beside me. As we are about to walk through the door back out to the VIP room, she turns and rests her small, slender hand on my forearm.
“I wanted to say thank you.” She smiles softly. “For the other night. Sorry, I fell apart on you.”
“Ye were upset,amhuirnín,” I murmur, shifting uncomfortably. “There’s nothing fer ye to be to be sorry about.”
“Well, thank you for helping me. And for listening.” She blinks, looking like she’s trying not to cry again. “Sometimes I miss Dad so much, and it feels like there’s no one I can talk to about him.”
“Ye can always talk to me, lass. Whenever ye want.”
As we walk through the door, I swear I hear her say, “if only everyone were as nice as you, Niall.” But surely not. The lass just saw me threatening to kill someone. She can’t think I’mnice.
Chapter Nineteen
NIALL
Ever since he found out Tiggy was pregnant when she got shot in our warehouse battle with the Romanians, Seamus has been completely over the top protective of her.
She still has to be guarded every moment, but now it’s because he’s paranoid someone will try to take her again. Which means someone always has to be watching her. Still.
Usually, Liam gets assigned the job since he’s the crew’s bitch at the moment. As he was the one who was supposed to be guarding Tiggy when she got taken, Seamus figures he’s the one who will watch her the most carefully now.
“Where the fuck is he?” Seamus snaps, bitching because Paddy’s running late.
