“Are we?” I seethe. “Because for the last twenty years, we’ve felt pretty separate.”
Cillian sighs. “Are you really going to do the whole angsty teenager thing now?” he asks. “Because let me be honest—at your age, it’s not so cute.”
I ignore that. “I need to neutralize Rokiades first,” I continue, talking as much to myself as to him. “He’s the more dangerous threat at the moment, and Lombardi might have information about their plans.”
“And the girl?”
“The girl is innocent in all this,” I retort. “She’s a victim. I don’t see the need to do anything other than protect her.”
“She’s a high-value commodity and should be exploited as such, Kian.”
As if I didn’t fucking know that.It’s why I’m so on edge. Rokiades isn’t going to be able to form a true coalition without Renata. Drago is dispensable, but she isn’t.
It won’t matter either way. I don’t want that sick fucker getting his hands on her under any circumstances. I won’t let that happen.
“I’ll keep you posted,” I tell Cillian. “Take care of your family.”
“Take care of yourself, Kian. Saoirse worries about you.”
I smile, knowing that he’s hiding his own concerns in his wife’s sentiment. I’ve learned to read between the lines over the years.
I pour another drink from the bottle on the table and lean back in my chair, wondering how the hell I even ended up in this mess. I should’ve killed Renata the second she opened the door of that Long Island shithole. It would’ve spared us from all of this. But we’re long past that point. And the things I feel for her now are—
Before I can put a name to those emotions, I hear the door to my office swing open tentatively.
I’m expecting one of the boys, but a glance to my side reveals Renata’s graceful profile. “Hi,” she says awkwardly.
Raising my eyebrows, I put my half-empty glass down and sit up a little straighter. “What are you doing here?”
“Aisling told me where to find you.”
I gesture for her to sit down next to me. Surprisingly, she does. Her expression is mellow, but her body is tense.
“I never really knew my mother,” she says abruptly. She’s not really looking at me at all. Her eyes are fixed on the distant horizon.
“I didn’t know that,” I say, wondering where she’s going with this. “Hell of a conversation starter, though.”
She ignores the joke as if she didn’t even hear it. “And my father… Well, he wasn’t really interested in me at all. I don’t even remember him glancing my way, much less kissing me or hugging me. I was raised to age five by maids and nannies, most of whom only stayed around because they were terrified of what would happen if they tried to quit.”
She hesitates. I say nothing. Just giving her the space to say whatever it is she came to say to me.
“As for Drago…”
There it is. Here comes the truth.
“…It was just him and me for a very long time,” she says. “I suppose I’ve simply gotten used to making excuses for him.”
“Why?” I ask. “Because he’s the only one who never left you?”
She winces. “Is that pathetic?” she asks in a small voice.
I sigh. “No, it’s not.”
“I know you don’t understand,” she says. “I get it. It’s hard to understand when you don’t have the complication of hating your siblings and trying to love them at the same time.”
“There are moments I’ve hated my siblings, too,” I admit.
“Really?” she asks. “When?”