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“It sure was nice of Patrick’s mother to have the same number of sons as you did daughters, right, Mama? Makes pairing up the wedding party easy. I am sure I’ll meet him tomorrow, and we have all week to get to know each other.” She bit her tongue to keep from uttering the snide result resting there. Surely, her mother wasn’t trying to matchmake every one of them with a member of the O’Brien family. Only one of them needed to marry the other for the merger.
“Tsk, tsk. I’mnotmatchmaking,mio caro. Besides, I heard you have a date with his brother Shawn tomorrow…” her mother said with a pointed look.
“I wouldn’t call it a date.” She shrugged it off. “He asked me to go grab a coffee.”
“Sounds like a date to me.”
“You are impossible.” She laughed lightly before turning toward her father. “I’m going to head home unless you need me for something.” She left off the impression she was asking this time.
“Go, rest. Enjoy yourself,” her father said, giving the ultimate permission. She smiled her thanks and rushed to leave before her mother could change his mind. She didn’t stop, didn’t look back. Getting behind the wheel of her car, she kicked off the heels, turned up the music, and headed to her house.
Freedom.
She finally had one minute without her family and some space to breathe.
CHAPTER 2
Shane
“HELP. Trapped in building. Fire.”
“Shane, I love you, brother. Find out who did this.”
“It’s all yours now, brother. Don’t let Pa down.”
“Find Frankie. Keep her safe.”
His brothers’ texts blowing up his phone had Shane’s adrenaline rushing through his veins like liquid lava. There was an air of urgency, desperation to them. Slipping his headphones into his ears, he tried to call his brothers as he drove. Patrick’s phone went straight to voicemail. Shawn answered, or at least someone did.
The sound coming from the other end of the phone turned Shane’s blood to ice—desperate screams filled the air. In the background, he heard what sounded like gunshots, a baby crying, an old woman keening, and someone praying loudly in Italian, then the desperation of someone calling out to God in Gaelic. There was a loud crash, what sounded like a wooden beam falling, then the phone went dead.
He called 911, told them to get there as soon as possible, then hung up on the operator. He tried again and again to reach his family, calling each number. No one answered.
He prayed as he sped recklessly down the road. He prayed and begged God not to let what he heard on the phone be happening. He called every number he had—his parents, brothers, aunts and uncles, his father’s first in command.
Everyone he knew who would be there.
No one answered.
No one.
Not a single person answered his call.
Flooring it, he drove as fast as his old truck could go to the address he had plugged into his GPS. Out in the middle of fucking nowhere. Surrounded by fields and trees as far as the eyes could see. He smelled the smoke, choked on the thickness of the fog before he reached the driveway leading to the banquet center.
He was a hard man. On more than one occasion, blood of his enemies had coated his body, blood he had spilled from a life he had taken with no remorse, the enemy who had deserved to die. He was a battle-tested warrior—a fucking Navy SEAL.
Yet his hands trembled, and his knees buckled under him as the color drained from his face at the sight.
There was nothing he could do.
Nothing.
He was too late.
Too fucking late.
He should have been there.
