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How could I ever hope to have a husband who would put me first if I wasn’t willing to do the same for him? That was why, when Conner asked about the reason for my mother’s death, I couldn’t tell him. Not if it meant he’d get involved. If he and the other Irishmen drew my father’s wrath, they’d all be in danger. It wasn’t worth it if I could handle the matter myself without putting them at risk.
With Conner sniffing around, interjecting himself, I needed to make my move.
Whether procrastination of the inevitable or exertion from the night before, I was slow to rise the following morning. Conner was long gone by the time I plodded into the shower. My limbs were filled with lead and the weight of responsibility. But offsetting the troublesome burden was an erotic soreness between my legs that reminded me of hope and better things to come. It reminded me that the reason for my decision was worth the potential consequences.
An hour later, I was ready to face my day, no matter what that might entail. I’d gotten such a later start that it was already approaching noon by the time I entered the kitchen. Stomach still churning to keep pace with my tumultuous thoughts, I only managed to force down a banana before I decided to get the ball rolling and call Pippa.
“Hey, sis. What’s up?” she answered warmly.
“I just need Uncle Agostino’s phone number.”
Silence.
“Whyyy?” she asked warily.
I had worried this would happen. “It’s not really something I can talk about.”
“Nope,” she shot back. “Not acceptable. Not again. You’re telling me what the hell is going on. I’ll be there in ten.”
I stared at my phone, the line dead. I never even had a chance to argue.
Well, shit.
Pip would see right through any lies, and I doubted she’d let it drop until she’d wrung something from me. I considered what I might tell versus hold back, but suddenly, it all seemed pointless. I was going to talk to Uncle Agostino as soon as I was done with Pip, so I might as well give her the truth.
True to her word, Pippa was at my door just over ten minutes later. As soon as she was seated with me at the kitchen table, I started from the beginning. The trickle of information became a burst dam, every incident, and emotion from the prior seven months spewing out from its prison deep inside me.
“That son of a bitch.” Tears pooled in Pippa’s eyes, but it was fury that sparked in her golden irises. “I’m glad you’re going to make him pay because someone needs to.”
“I know.”
“This is just too much. I need a fucking drink before I drive there myself and gut that pig.”
I huffed out a small laugh. “I could probably use a drink myself.” I was so damn worried about Sante and how this would unfold. If my father got word that I’d gone to the Donatis and my uncle didn’t act quickly, there was no telling what my father might do before he was stopped.
“What do you want?” I asked, scouring the liquor cabinet. “There’s loads of whiskey.”
My cousin grimaced, doing a full-body shiver.
“Yeah, same. Vodka or tequila?”
“He have any Patrón?”
“Ah … yeah, there is some in the back.” I got on my tiptoes to retrieve the wide glass bottle then brought it to the table where Pip sat with two plain shot glasses. “Salt and lime?”
“Nah.” She waved off the suggestion. “Feels too much like a celebration. Think I need the burn.”
I couldn’t argue with that. After filling our glasses, I raised mine in the air and threw back the clear liquid. Pip followed suit, both of us coughing as the fire scorched our throats.
Once we recovered, a heavy silence joined our little party.
“This whole time, huh?” Pip finally said, her voice hollow.
“Yeah.”
“I feel awful that I didn’t know.”
“You couldn’t have,” I tried to assure her.
