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I’m not the naïve, innocent daughter my father raised. And it’s time he realized that.
“I apologize, Father. But I need to go. We can have lunch another time.” Shock widens his aging eyes just before I turn on my heel and walk to the door where Liam waits. The bodyguard ducks his head to try and hide the smirk tugging on his lips, but I notice. And it makes my own lips twitch in response.
What do you know? Standing up for myself feels good.
I’ll have to make a point to do it more often.
Chapter6
Declan
It’s been hours since we escaped the smoke-filled gambling den following the unexpected attack, but my lungs still burn from inhaling the suffocating fumes. Scratches and burns mar my face and hands, but my injuries could be worse. The motive of the explosion is still unknown, but if it was intended to kill me or Santiago, it was a weak attempt. Whoever planted the bomb needs to hire a better explosion expert.
The last I checked, Enrique and Juan shared the same superficial injuries, but the younger gang member insisted his grandfather get checked out at the hospital. With his old age and the way he collided with the poker table that crashed against the wall across from the office, he very well could have had more substantial internal injuries.
Jane hobbles into the office, interrupting my thoughts. “Our team is done examining the scene, and Santiago’s men are done with the sweep. The police have officially roped off the gambling den and opened an investigation into the explosion.” She settles on the couch cushion next to me with a heavy exhale. She was farther from the office, missing most of the debris that flew across the room, but she did sprain her knee when her leg got caught between two chairs when she fell from the impact of the explosion.
I nod.
I’ll owe the police commissioner a favor for allowing us first access to the scene, and I’m sure it’s going to be a big one. Christopher Grasso is a decent man. For years, he resisted following the footsteps of his predecessors to work with different criminal organizations in the city. He had morals. I’d argue he still does. But experience taught Gasso that corruption is ingrained in the police department and city leadership at levels that he cannot hope to touch. So, he wisely chooses to turn a blind eye to our white-collar crimes and racketeering schemes, but he makes us pay for his compliance. Usually in the form of funds donated to the police departments, support for colleagues in different political positions, and more.
As long as my family doesn’t engage in violent crimes that threaten everyday citizens, criminal families are allowed to carry out their business unmolested by the commissioner and his cops. Provided we make the appropriate payments.
“Did they find any leads?” I ask. Most homemade bombs have signature designs that can identify their maker.
Jane shakes her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary aside from the fact you were right. The bomb wasn’t designed with much firepower. It seems like it was more of a warning shot than anything.”
Interesting.
“What about Santiago’s men? Did they have anything to say?”
“No, they were pretty tight-lipped.”
Of course, they were. Their most profitable gambling den was just attacked with their leader inside. I’m sure their organization is in an uproar, wanting to know who is responsible. They’re likely wondering if the attack is a one-off or if it’s a sign of things to come.
“Where’s Myles?” I ask after the other member of my family who was present at the scene of the attack. Like Jane, his injuries were minimal. But you’d think he was fatally shot with the way he grunted and groaned limping out of the smoky building despite the fact he was the farthest one away from the office.
“He’s ‘resting’.” She puts air quotes around the word as she rolls her eyes.
“Good.” I’m not in the mood to placate my whiny relation, and having him out of the way while I discuss the situation with the most trusted members of my inner circle is convenient.
Right on cue, Joseph enters. My good-looking friend is, like most members of our “family”, a relative whose bloodline is difficult to trace back to mine but I don’t doubt we’re related. The Irish who arrived in New York in the early twentieth century formed a tight-knit community, and their children married one another for decades. Even those who don’t share my last name are related in some way.
“Wow, didn’t mean to interrupt your Sunday golf game, Grandpa,” Jane teases. Joseph wears a pair of khakis and a blue polo with a baseball cap. He does look like he walked off the putting green.
“Cute,” Joseph replies wryly.
Jane shoots him a mocking grin.
Despite the seriousness of our situation, I chuckle at their antics. Jane and Joseph have spent their entire lives making jokes at the other’s expense. There was a time I thought they might end up together, but my second quickly shot down that idea with a derisive snort and a vow that Joseph Connor was the last man in the world she’d ever be interested in.
Joseph shakes his head at the mouthy brunette and turns his attention to me. Concern tightens the corners of his eyes. My face must sport fresh bruises since the last time I checked. “What’s the damage?”
“Superficial wounds,” I reassure him. “For all of us.”
Joseph glances at Jane to confirm my words. She says, “We’re fine. The bomb wasn’t meant to do lethal damage.”
“What was it for then?”
