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Her hand darts out as if to snatch it back. But I pull away, taking another heavy slug. Tooth-rotting dose of sugar or not,somewherein this candy-sweet mix is some caffeine. Presumably, at least. As I swallow, my nose wrinkles.
“Something’s off with this milk.”
“Oh, it’s oat milk. I’m going dairy-free.”
I wrinkle my nose. My sister rolls her eyes again. “Dude, come on. Gift horse. Mouth. No peeking. You ever heard that one?”
“This shit tastes like itcamefrom a horse’s mouth—wait—”
But in my exhausted, beaten-up state, I’m too slow for Callie’s sugar-fueled speed as she plucks the cup from my hand again.
“Enjoy the hangover, ass.”
I sigh, rolling the ache out of my shoulders and shoving my fingers through my hair. “I’m not hungover.”
“Jeez. Could’ve fooled me.” Callie glances at her watch. “How is it thatwe’rethe early ones?”
She’s got a point. Of all my siblings, Callie tends to be my partner in minor clock-related crimes. Like being late for family dinners. Or to meetings called by our oldest brother Ares, the relatively new head of the Drakos family empire.
That’s actually why we’re here today: a full family meeting in the brand spanking new offices of Thermopylae Acquisitions—so named after the place where the fabled three hundred Spartan warriors held their ground against thousands, because our grandmother Dimitra truly believes we’re the descendants of the shirtless guys with the CGI abs from the movie300and nobody can convince her otherwise.
This new—andlegitimate—business venture is the start of a new direction Ares is trying to push our historically criminal family in. I mean, yes, crime is still very much on the table. But with a fully above-board real estate and private equities management firm, we can betterhidethose crimes. Not to mention launder our dirty money much more easily.
“Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”
My little sister snickers as she drops into the chair next to me. “Well, I was checking in at The Banshee on my way in. So I was practically right around the corner.”
“And how is your new Irish pub?”
She grins widely, the excitement shining in her eyes. “Oh my God, it’s lookingsoawesome. You’re coming to the soft opening next month, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Recently Callie, my sister-in-law Neve, andhersister Eilish went in together on buying an older Irish pub in the West Village. At first, I was skeptical, figuring Callie just wanted a place to party. But as they’ve gone through the process of remodeling the place into an amazing spot complete with a basement lounge and small stage, hiring staff, and working on branding and marketing, the more I’m convinced Callie might actually be a natural at this.
“Anyway, that’s my excuse for being early. You?”
I grunt noncommittally. When she sighs and passes the coffee back to me, I force another mouthful of not-even-close-to-milk and sugar down my throat. Callie gives me a smug look.
“Let me guess, you didn’t sleep at your place last night.”
I shrug. Callie snickers.
“Shall I bother asking what her name was, or should we stick to something easier for you to remember, like hair color? Or maybe cup size?”
“Ha-ha-haaa,” I drawl. “For the record, I was out with Sean.”
“Wow. Have youactuallymade your way through every single woman in New York so that you have to bat for the other team now?”
“Oh, we’ve got all the jokes today, don’t we,” I mutter. “SeanFarrell. And again, I’m not hungover. I’m fucking sore. That motherfucker put my ass through the wringer last night.”
Callie bites back a snorting laugh. “There aresomany tasteless jokes I could make right now.”
I roll my eyes. “Boxing, you fucking weirdo.”
She chuckles. “Yeah yeah yeah, I know.” She arches a brow. “I'm not surprised you're seriously hurting this morning. Sean is a beast.”
Sean Farrell, aka the son of Dominic Farrell, head of one of the vassal families to the Kildare Irish mafia family, has become a good friend of mine. Less than a year ago, if the two of us were fighting, it would have most likely been in the street instead of a ring, and there’d have probably been knives involved, possibly guns, not boxing gloves.
