“God help us all. Is there something in the water over in Ireland?” Artem inquires.
“I speak only the truth,” I say solemnly. “Don’t believe me? Just ask your wife.”
“My wife tends to see only the good in people,” Artem replies. “She doesn’t see ugly.”
“That must be true. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have married you.”
“I take it back,” Artem seethes. “You’re on your own.”
I laugh. “I should go. I have more shit I need to sort through.”
“Right,” he says, before a chuckle escapes him.
I take the bait. “What’s funny?”
“I was just thinking… We’re both dons now,” he explains. “Ironic, really.”
“I know. Who would have thought you’d end up being don?” I tease. “I mean, Budimir was the one who had the vision necessary for leadership.”
“Asshole. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”
“Kiss your wife for me.”
“Only if you kiss Saoirse for me.”
“Asshole.”
Artem chuckles, we say our goodbyes, and the line goes dead.
I run my hands over my face and look around Da’s office. There are a bunch of pictures of the O’Sullivan dons that came before. My grandfather, my great-grandfather, all the generations of men before them.
But there’s no image of Da.
Certainly not of Sean nor me.
Though I notice a space in the corner of the portrait wall. It looks like it’s been cleared specifically for another portrait. Kian, maybe? I’ve never been the type to care about ceremonial shit like that.
True, the gravestones had bothered me a little, but only because they’re so fucking passive-aggressive. That’s always been Da’s style.
I get up and head out of the office.
I need some real sleep, but instead of going to my room, I detour to the room I know Saoirse’s in. The door has been locked from the outside, as per my instructions. I wonder if she’s figured that out yet.
When I unlock it and slip inside, Saoirse’s fast asleep with all her clothes still on.
She’s sleeping soundly, exhaustion having pushed her deep under. She looks peaceful in sleep. Younger, too. Maybe she’d look just as young in her waking state if her head weren’t so full of worries.
I have to resist the urge to touch her, mostly because I’m pushing the creep meter enough just by being in her room.
Instead, I just stare down at her soft features, marveling at the classical beauty she probably doesn’t even know she possesses.
She’s the one that turned me away all those years ago.
But somehow, I still feel as though I’m the one that failed her.
“Don’t worry, Saoirse,” I whisper softly, watching her eyelashes flutter gently through a dream. “I left you once. I won’t make the same mistake again.”