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He smelled of leather and patchouli, but I wasn’t able to enjoy the pleasant scent. I was too busy watching his every move as if I could stop it.
As if I could ever imagine stopping him.
He was an enemy of Enzo’s, so God only knew what he’d do to me for witnessing what he had just done.
I’m going to die.
That’s all I was particularly worried about at that moment.
“Haven.” My chair violently jerks forward, scraping loudly against the hardwood flooring and jolting me out of thoughts from just hours ago, only to discover my brother glowering down at me as if I’m the one who did all of this. A patch of light brown hair hovers over one of his green eyes, and his red scar near his left barks just irately at me. “Speak.Do you know how much fucking shit we’re in?”
No.
Why would we be in trouble?
I meet his slitted brows and eyes and try to rummage something to spill off to him, but I’m shell-shocked. I just watched a man—one that tried to rape me practically—get gunned down.
Then I was threatened.
“I told you—”
Cillian’s fingers wrap around my throat, and he squeezes. His face gets in mine, and it takes everything in me not to headbutt him right now. “Enzo Bianchi isdead. The alliance isgone.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“What do we need them for?” I mutter because I haven’t been privy to that part yet. I was only told that my name was shoved across a table for another man to marry.
One I’ve never met before.
“You don’t need to know that.”
I immediately shut down from my brother. If he wants to keep secrets and use my life for his gain, then I’m done. He’s supposed to be protecting me, but instead, he’s throwing me in danger. Why am I going to want to help him when I know he’s going to get desperate enough to do something even more rash?
And I’m going to be the receiving party in that scenario.
“Cillian, leave the lass alone,” Papa says, sounding bored at my brother’s intimidation of me. Though, he won’t step in the middle of it and physically stop it. “We’ll speak of this tomorrow.”
“A few words,” my brother presses through his orders, gripping the edges of my throat harder. “I need to know who did this, and I need to knownow.”
What if I told him? He wouldn’t know.
The O’Clery man didn’t utter a word to me, but his actions were clear. When I expected him to do something unspeakable to me—shoot me, draw out a knife and stab me—he lifted his hand and pressed two fingers firmly into my temple.
And then he drew his thumb down as though his fingers were a real gun.
He really didn’t need to say anything. The message was understood.
You speak. I kill you.
“Sister, I swear to God—”
“Cillian,enough,” Papa chides with some steel to his tone. “We’ll manage this tomorrow. Get some sleep.”
My brother releases me and spins around, straightening his spine against Papa’s words. “Wecan’t. The Bianchi’s are going to want a statement from us, and mysisterleft without callin’ for the proper help. Without the proper action.”
“There isn’t a reason for us to kill Enzo,” Papa claims. “Yet, I gave my only daughter to ‘em. This was an alliance that the Bianchis knew would benefit us all.”
Cillian scoffs, his back to me, which I’m grateful for. I can’t take any more of his fury and impatience right now. “That doesn’tmeananything. The Irish and Italians have never gotten along. This could’ve been a ploy. And it could look like one on our part now because his fucking body is missing.”
