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I sit back, crossing my arms over my chest, waiting. But he stops talking and stares at the fireplace instead, sipping his whiskey like he’s trying out for a dramatic part in a Shakespeare play.
I snap my finger at him. “Hello? Nolan? This is the part of the monologue where you tell me something useful.”
He glares at me. “I’m thinking of how I can put it.”
“Just say the words. You’re starting to freak me out.”
“Do you know who her family is?”
I hesitate, not sure how to respond. “Uh, she’s got a mom in the city,” I say. “Her father ran off when she was little. She’s not close with the rest of her family from what I can tell. She never really talks about them.”
He nods, not looking surprised. “Ever wonder why?”
“No, not really. I don’t talk about my family, either.” Which isn’t a good point, considering I don’t talk to my family because they’re assholes.
“Jamila’s father was a member of a minor but powerful Pakistani crime organization.”
My mouth drops open. “What? Are you serious?”
“Very serious.” He turns to face me. “Ten years ago, they began expanding their operation by smuggling heroin through Afghanistan, into their home country, then into America through Turkish intermediaries. We found out about the scheme and while they weren’t undercutting our margins in any significant way, we still couldn’t abide them selling in our city.”
“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand. “You sell heroin?”
He ignores my question. “We tried to negotiate first. I offered them generous terms, but they weren’t interested. Things escalated. There was a minor but bloody war.”
I groan, putting my face in my hands. “You didn’t tell her father, did you?”
“No,” he says, but hesitates. “Probably not. I did kill some of her cousins though.”
“Not you, personally?” He doesn’t respond. “This is insane. No wonder she hates you!”
“I wanted her to be the one to tell you, but I can see that’s not going to happen. Believe me when I say, this isn’t ideal.”
“No kidding,” I say, sitting back with my eyes closed. “She’s never going to forgive me for this.”
“You didn’t know.” He steps toward me but thinks better of it.
“Why does she hate you, but not Carson?” I open my eyes again. “You’re both Crowleys.”
“Carson wasn’t involved in the war. He negotiated the settlement. He was the carrot, while I was the very sharp and very bloodthirsty stick.” He smiles slightly, head tilted. “I might’ve made my reputation during the fighting.”
“This is unbelievable.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. If I could fix this—” He grips his glass. “But there’s nothing I can do.”
“How did the war end? Where’s her family now?”
“They’re still active, but on a smaller scale these days. They pay tribute to our family, while we provide some logistical support. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship, ten years out, but if Jamila heard about me from her father’s side—well, let’s just say that I’m not involved with them for good reason.”
I stand up, walking away. My head’s swimming. No wonder she hates Nolan and is acting like I married a monster.
From her perspective, Idid.
“You have to fix this.” I turn to him, hands on my hips. “I don’t know how, but you do.”
“I can’t go back and change history. I did what I did back then and I don’t regret it.”
“Nolan—”
