I’m inclined to agree.
“Master Sean, your father is in his study,” Quinn says in his creepy monotone voice. “He’s waiting for you.”
Sean makes a left for the study. I follow behind him.
“Your presence is not required, Master Cillian,” Quinn adds.
I give him my best grin. “Are you trying to keep me with you?” I ask. “‘Cause I’m flattered Quinn, really I am. But I’ve got business to attend to.”
“I believe the don wants to talk to Master Sean alone.”
The don.
When I was a little kid, I used to pretend that I was don, and one day, men would use the title on me with the same kind of reverence.
I don’t anymore.
Mostly because I realized it’s not reverence in their tone when they refer to my father.
It’s fear.
I’ve never wanted to be feared.
My father, on the other hand? He’s never wanted anything else.
“Come on now; don’t hurt my feelings,” I say, slipping past Quinn and quickening my pace until I’m right behind Sean.
“You don’t have to do this,” Sean mutters to me as we approach the don’s door.
I shrug. “The television in my bedroom’s on the fritz,” I tell him. “I need some entertainment.”
“You’re an idiot.” He doesn’t crack a smile to soften the comment, but I know he means it with love.
“Again with the compliments,” I tease. “You really know how to make a fellow feel special.”
Sean pushes the door open. We slip into Da’s private study.
It’s every bit as impressive as the rest of the house. If there’s one room in this place that exudes power and luxury, it’s this one. The beating heart of the O’Sullivan Manor. And really, of the whole O’Sullivan clan.
It all comes back to this.
Bookshelves brimming with leather-bound volumes snake around the room before ending at the full-length windows that overlook part of the garden. Lush carpet mutes all footsteps, and the high ceilings swallow up the rest of the noise.
It’s eerily silent. Eerily dangerous.
Of course, nothing compares to the deadly aura of the man sitting behind the massive teak desk.
Just as the thought flits across my mind, my father’s light blue eyes land on me.
“Cillian,” he says tonelessly. “Is there a reason you’re here?”
I glance towards the fully-stocked liquor cabinet opposite the full-length windows. “Uh, I came for a drink.”
Da narrows his eyes.
“Or perhaps some fatherly advice?”
“Here’s some,” Da replies dryly. “Don’t come until you’re called.”