The posture of pride I’ve earned day in and day out working for the Kovalyov Bratva.
I shrug. “Was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by. Not much in the way of a warm welcome, though. I’m beginning to think you’re not happy to see me.”
Da says nothing.
I slump into the seat closest to him. I rest my elbow against the table and cross my ankle over my knee casually.
“No, no, don’t get up,” I say with a flippant toss of my hands. “I’ll make myself at home.”
Da grimaces. “You haven’t changed.”
I meet his eyes, the corners of my mouth turning up ever-so-slightly.
“On the contrary, Father, I’ve changed quite a bit,” I say icily. “You want me to fill you in on the last thirteen years?”
“You were a fool to come back,” he bites, his eyes darting past me to Kian. “And you were a fool to bring him.”
My little brother stiffens noticeably. It makes my jaw twitch with anger.
“From what I’ve heard, it sounds like you could use some help around here,” I interject.
Da looks back at me with mild interest. “Is that right?”
“The Kinahans are closing in,” I say. “You need all hands on deck.”
“That is not your concern,” he says. I can see the simmering fury behind those calm blue eyes. “You are no longer clan.”
I lean in a little. “Wrong. I am and always will be an O’Sullivan,” I murmur. “You can’t kick me out any more than you can drain the blood from my veins.”
“I think you’ll find that’s exactly how this works. I am the don.”
I shrug and slouch back. “I’ve survived gun fights, knife fights, ambushes. I’ve cheated death again and again. I think I can handle one old man’s ego.”
“Cillian!” Ma’s voice slices through. “Respect your father.”
“I have respect in spades,” I say without taking my eyes off Da. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to agree with you.”
Kian clears his throat, clearly trying to help me out. “Ma, I’m starved.”
“Both of you must be,” she says, jumping on the trivial topic. “Dinner is in an hour. Quinn will show you to your room, Cillian.”
I look at Da, who’s said nothing. He refuses to even meet my eyes. “Sounds lovely, Ma,” I remark. “Can’t wait to have the fam breaking bread together again.”
* * *
An hour later, after I’ve showered and changed, I come back downstairs. The sun is setting in the gardens beyond the glass. Night will be here soon.
Da is where I left him. I wonder if he’s moved a muscle, though it’s impossible to say—he has thirty or forty pairs of the same crisp white shirt so there’s no telling if he showered and changed or not.
“Just you and me for dinner, eh?” I say. “This’ll be a lively conversation, I’m sure.”
He’s still staring holes in the surface of the table a few inches away from where his folded hands rest.
For a moment, I think he’s going to ignore me.
Then he says, “Your brother is helping your mother and Fiona in the kitchen.”
I haul a chair out and relax into it. “Very well then. I’ll just sit here and be silent.”