I’m on my feet before I entirely know what I’m doing, my hands slamming against the hard wood of the table. “We sit at this table because the King who leads our families has always valued the input of the others. ButIlead the Kings. Not you, Colin O’Flaherty, or you, Finn O’Leary, or any of you others who might agree with them but are too cowardly to speak up.Isit in this chair, at the head of this table.Isay that we will make an alliance with the Bratva, conjoining with their truce with Luca Romano and the Italian mafia, so thatallof us may eat at the table where the great families of this city feast. When I tell you that I believe Viktor Andreyev, that I believe the friendship he has offered me and the terms of that, youwilllisten and heed me.” I clench my jaw, my gaze meeting every man in turn. “I am not my father, but Iwillrule here in his stead.Ní éilíonn mé go nglúine tú, ach iarrfaidh mé ort bogha.”
I do not demand that you kneel, but I will ask that you bow.
A heavy silence falls over the table.
“Aye, lad,” Connor O’Flaherty says finally. “You’ve a little of your father in you after all, I see that. But a great many of us would like to hear the O’Sullivan’s words on the matter. And he is not here today. I wonder why that is?”
“I hear Saoirse O’Sullivan waits to hear your response to her father’s offer,” O’Leary says, his eyes narrowing. “A man who wishes to lead us would not falter at marrying an Irish princess and making her our Queen, now would he?”
“Saoirse O’Sullivan is a fine choice.” Denis Mahoney speaks up then, his ice-blue eyes fixed on mine. I feel a quaver in my gut at the expression on his face because I know well enough how close Mahoney and my father were. I know, too, that he sees me as a pale shadow of what my father once was. “Royalty among us, and a beauty to boot. Sign the betrothal contract, lad, and you’ll find us all a great deal more amenable to your plots and plans for the future of the Kings.”
A silence falls again, and Denis Mahoney stands up, looking around the table. “I think we’ve discussed all we can today, lads. I know I’ve had all I can stomach.”
His gaze locks with mine again, bright and defiant, and then he turns and strides out of the room. There’s a rumbling around the table, but each of the other men slowly stand as well, glancing at me as they file out.
A cold feeling settles in my belly as they do. I can feel how fragile the reins of power are, how quickly they could snap in my fingers, and I remember something I once heard my father say to my brother—myrealbrother, Connor McGregor. His namesake, the one who was meant to rule after him. The one he forgot when he embraced his bastard son in his treachery.
I was always forgotten by my father, even when I stood at his side. And now I see that has farther-reaching implications than even I might have seen.
“They shouldn’t be able to do that.”
Niall Flanagan’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn slowly to look at him. He’d been standing there silently throughout the entire meeting, steadfast and ready to defend me physically if need be—which would never happen here. No man sitting at this table would resort to blows. But Niall is my right hand, my enforcer—and in many ways, even though he works for me now as he once worked for my father, like an older brother to me, seven years my senior.
“No man at this table should walk out on you. You are the King, the head of these families—“
“I know, Niall. I know.” I rub a hand over my face, letting out a long breath, my shoulders sagging with exhaustion now that it’s only he and I. “But what should I have done? Thrown the table over and pitched a fit like a wee wean? Threatened violence?”
“Your father was feared—“
“Aye, and look where that led us.” I lean forward, letting my head drop into my hands. “Connor should be here. It was him that was meant to lead, not me. He was raised for it—“
“Aye.” Niall comes around my left side, dropping into the nearest seat. “But it’s you that sits here now, Liam. There’s no use looking back and thinking of what might have been. It’s unfair, aye, but that’s life. And there’s plenty right here in front of you that needs your attention.”
I groan, not looking up. “You’re talking about Saoirse.”
“Aye, I am.” Niall’s gaze rests heavily on me. “You’ve been gone some weeks, Liam, but while you were in Russia, things didn’t stop here. The O’Sullivans are restless. Your hesitance to sign the betrothal contract is on the verge of being seen as an insult to them. Saoirse is young, beautiful, well-connected, and rich. There’s not a man alive who wouldn’t leap at the chance to wed and bed her, and yet here you are, dithering over it like a lad.”
“If you think so highly of her, marry her yourself,” I growl into my hands. “Relieve me of this burden.”
Niall snorts. “As if a woman like Saoirse would ever look twice at a man like me. No, it’s a King she’s meant to marry, and you specifically, Liam McGregor. She’s not even a shrew—for all I hear, she’s a pleasant lass despite being a wee bit spoiled. So what—“
I raise one eyebrow, looking at him sideways over my fingers, and Niall winces.
“It’s the ballerina, isn’t it?” Niall asks with a sigh.
I don’t want to tell him that yes, it is Ana. I know what his response will be.
But it’s the truth.
Anastasia Ivanov.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since I set eyes on her at Viktor’s safe house. I don’t know exactly what it was that came over me when I’d set eyes on the pretty, petite blonde in the wheelchair, but in the days since, it’s felt almost as if I’m a different man—as if there was the Liam McGregor who didn’t know Ana Ivanova, and the one who does now.
The process of arranging my marriage with Saoirse O’Sullivan predates my meeting Ana. And up until recently, I’d been alright with the idea. I hadn’t been thrilled with the prospect of giving up my bachelorhood—most men of my status keep mistresses or sleep around on their wives, but I’ve never felt comfortable with that idea—but Saoirse is beautiful and pleasant enough, from the few occasions I’ve met her. A wife that I would find tolerable, perhaps even come to love in time.
It’s not what I’d expected for myself, not having been meant to be my father’s heir—but it wouldn’t be the worst fate. Everything Niall and the others have said about Saoirse is true. She’s beautiful, rich, elegant, and well-suited to me and my station.
It wouldn’t be the worst fate—if it didn’t mean giving up Ana.