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“No daughters?” Lo makes a face like it’s odd.
I didn’t think much of it when I was younger. “You’re gonna struggle to find a lot of girls by blood in the older generations. The ones that I do know of, they died pretty tragically, but that’s not what you’re asking, so…” I trail off.
Connor meets my gaze, and I don’t shrink beneath his penetrating stare. “Whatever you think is pertinent, please share.”
“I don’t know what could be pertinent,” I admit.
“Anything you can share,” he amends. “We’ll start broadly.”
I nod again, but a knot twists tighter in my chest. Alright, gonna have to spell out the math then. “One of the six sons is my grandpop Bobby—wasBobby. He’s dead. Died when I was a baby. I was told by pneumonia, but I don’t know if that’s true. Bobby’s brothers are my dad’s uncles, so I have five uncles—greatuncles, technically.”
My family history is even murky to me at times, but my great uncles were mentioned so frequently it’d be hard to forget that branch of the crooked tree.
The (Great) Uncles:
Marty, the firstborn.Dead.
Bobby, the favorite child.Dead.
Paddy, the troublemaker.Alive. Incarcerated.He’s Colin’s grandpop.
Kerry, the free-spirit.Dead.
Finley, the follower.Alive. Incarcerated?
Raff, the baby brother.Alive. Incarcerated??
“I don’t care about technicalities in this instance,” Connor says swiftly. “GoodPIs can give me that. We need what can’t be found in records.”
I try to breathe. “Which two uncles were missing from the report?”
“Rafferty and Patrick,” Lo says.
“They go by Raff and Paddy.”Makes sense why the tree grew.“Uncle Paddy had ten boys, and those boys have countless kids of their own. I don’t know most of ‘em.” I scratch the back of my head. “Paddy, I think is still in prison. Raff, I dunno.”
“He’s been recently let out,” Connor confirms.
I stare off. “Yeah, I didn’t know that.”
“What’s that look?” Lo asks me, his frown deepening. It causes bodyguards to step around my chair and examine my face. I can tell Thatcher follows Tony like he’s keeping a close eye on him.
Theonlyperson behind me is Farrow.
Heat gathers under my AC/DC shirt, but I force myself not to tug the collar. “I don’t like him.”
“Why not?” Connor questions.
“I don’t like most of my family,” I say, my pulse racing in unnatural ways.
“Do you feel like Rafferty could be more involved with the assault?” Connor asks.
“Maybe. It’s not impossible.” Gears click strangely in my head. “How’d you even miss Uncle Raff?”
“Why do you ask?” Connor studies me.
I’ve dreamed about Papa Cobalt looking me over like I’m a legend. Now I’m just associated with criminals.
Now I’m just a rat.
