He grunts in response.
True to my word, I do just that. Look around at the dining room, the table, my hands, the gardens. Nothing feels quite real. Like it’s all some bizarre, lifelike dream.
That effect doubles down when I feel Da’s gaze shift onto me. It’s a physical sensation, like the air in the room has dropped ten or twelve degrees.
I meet his gaze. Those eyes have intimidated many a man.
I refuse to let them intimidate me.
“You look like a man,” Da begins.
Is the old son of a bitch getting soft on me? It almost sounds like a compliment.
“But,” he adds, “looking and being are two different things.”
Ah. There it is. Back on track.
“You have learned nothing in the time you’ve been away,” he says. “I had hoped for more.”
I laugh scornfully. “Well, let me just say, I’m an hour into this little visit and really enjoying how things are going. Can’t wait to continue impressing you.”
“That’s all I’ve ever needed to take in the measure of a man,” he replies dryly. “And you are still a boy.”
“Why?” I ask. “Because I don’t brood around like you?”
“No. Because you think life is a game.”
“Maybe it is.”
Da growls low and slams his fist down on the table. His nostrils flare with rage.
But it’s over as soon as it happened. He regains composure. Adjusts his cuffs and slicks back his hair.
“What has Kian told you about everything?” he says coolly.
“Enough,” I answer. “Enough for me to guess the rest of it. You’re in trouble.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Da replies. “In fact, there’s a lot that Kian still doesn’t know.”
“Fill us in then, why don’t—”
BANG!
Before I can even finish my sentence, the kitchen door is thrown open violently.
I’m on my feet immediately.
I see Ma first. She’s being shoved back into the room—with a gun pressed into the back of her head.
The man standing behind her is in full tactical gear. A mask covers his features, but I can see the deadly glint in his dark eyes.
A moment after, Kian is marched into the room in the same fashion as Ma. Both look calm, but I can see the tension in their arms and the rigidity of their postures.
More men pour in after the first pair.
They’re all armed and dressed the same. All masked. All bristling with violence.
I don’t have to ask to know who they are.
Apparently, my real welcome party has arrived.