"Horlicks?"Michael lowers his eyebrows over his nose.
"It’s a malted drink favored by children and senior citizens," Sinclair explains.
I scoff. "Your insults are a clear sign that you’re envious of my position in life."
"And what might that be?" Sinclair drawls.
"Experienced enough to know when I need to forge an alliance with the enemy."
Silence descends. The men narrow their gazes on each other.
"It’s not enough." Sinclair tightens his fingers around his glass. "You think you can come in here and swear your loyalty to me and my friends and wipe out everything that happened?"
Michael’s jaw flexes. A nerve pops at his temple. "Let me make one thing clear." He leans forward on the balls of his feet. "What my father did to you and your friends" —he holds Michael’s gaze— "was wrong. Nothing I and my brothers can say or do will ever make it up to you."
When Sinclair and his friends were school boys, they were kidnapped by Michael’s father and his associate. Yes, I know everything about both of these men, right down to their sexual preferences. I never do business, legal or otherwise, with anyone unless I have them thoroughly researched. So, did I know that Michael’s father kidnapped the Seven? Let’s just say, it’s my business to see patterns where others normally don’t. I’d suspected it, but even I couldn’t say with confidence that Sovrano Sr. was the responsible party. Not until now, when Michael admits it.
Sinclair’s features harden. The muscles on his neck stand out in relief. His jaw moves. He’s so tightly wound; I’d be surprised if he hasn’t already cracked a molar.
"You have the gall to walk into my house and confess to your father’s sins?"
"I am not my father. It’s why I’m here." Michael widens his stance. "That, and the fact that Karma wants to spend time with her sister. Much as I’d like to deny it, the reality is that we are linked by family. For the sakes of our wives, we don’t have a choice but to find a peaceful resolution."
Sinclair’s expression grows even more resentful. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you planned it this way."
Michael drags his fingers through his hair. "When I kidnapped Karma—"
"—the fuck?" Sinclair moves so quickly, his glass turns over. He grabs Michael by his collar and hauls him to his feet. "You kidnapped her?"
Michael glances down at where Sinclair’s fingers are fisted in the front of his shirt. He raises his gaze to Sinclair’s face. The men exchange looks of anger and hatred, tinged with frustration. I lean forward to intervene, when Sinclair releases Michael. The Don straightens his collar with a flourish.
"Karma more than held her own. The moment I saw her, I knew life was going to change. I just didn’t realize how much. I took her to Sicily, married her, and fell in love with her, but not before she stabbed me with my own knife."
"She stabbed you?" I chuckle.
Michael grins wryly. "Perhaps it’s why I fell for her. That woman would never allow herself to be in a position of weakness. She’s my other half, my soul mate." Michael surveys Sinclair’s features. "A sentiment you’re familiar with, too, I believe."
Sinclair rolls his shoulders. "My wife is my world. She’s my North Star. The reason for my existence. Without her, I’m nothing."
"And without her sister, I’m nothing," Michael murmurs.
"Doesn’t change the fact that your father kidnapped us. He held us for nearly a month. He tortured me and my friends, in ways we can never share with anyone. He changed the course of our lives. He traumatized us as children. We bear the scars of it, and could have well turned out to be the kind of people who would have been a menace to ourselves and others. We were lucky we had each other to turn to. More importantly, we found our better halves—the women who reached in and unlocked the empathy we’d hidden for so long, we’d forgotten it existed. It’s thanks to these women that our lives were turned upside down… for the better. If we hadn’t met them… If I hadn’t met Summer, I’d have killed you as soon as I saw you."
"And I’d have shot you as soon as you socked me earlier." Michael lowers his chin to his chest.
"Then we both have much to live for." Sinclair cracks his neck.
"Much to look forward to." Michael looks at Sinclair in a considering fashion.
"There’s one way you can make up for some of the things that happened," Sinclair says slowly.
"We work together rather than against each other." Michael drums his fingers on the counter. "And we’ll be strengthened by blood ties."
I glance between them. "Whatever it is, the two of you owe me a part of it."
The two scowl at each other, then at me. Sinclair’s glare deepens. "You’re a motherfucking cunt."
I reach for a cigar from the box under the bar, and using the cutting tool, snap off the end. "Takes one to recognize one."