Which only means we’re enemies. Not a loving husband and wife.
Just enemies who fuck, yet happened to be married.
Fine by me. I’ve never wanted nor asked for a real wife.
Dad appears in the doorway without knocking, sweeping into the room in his usual serious mood. He’s dressed in a wool sweater in the same pattern as our family tartan, his white hair neatly combed, a cigar clenched between his teeth despite his recent cancer remission and explicit orders to avoid all tobacco.
He takes the seat across from my desk, folding one leg over the other at the ankle. He looks at me with his sharp green eyes—the same eyes I inherited—and I know this isn’t a social visit.
“Nice of you to come by, Dad,” I say with a hint of sarcasm. “What can I do for you?”
He grunts before plucking the cigar from his mouth. “Is there any wonder? This alliance between us and the Langstons… it’s still not satisfactory. It’s not panning out how it should.”
“As in?”
“As in,” he goes on stonily, tapping ash into the tray on my desk, “so far, we’re getting the short end of the stick.”
“We’ve got shipments coming. One in December.”
“Three whole bloody weeks from now,” he says, his old Irish lilt emerging as his temper rises. “Meanwhile, we’ve already started providing Malcolm protection from the Albanians. We’re landing ourselves in conflict we didn’t have. We’re doing all the work, and they’re reaping the benefits.”
The warning from earlier today comes to mind. Dren’s enforcer that had turned up to give us a message from him.
“One of Dren’s men came to The Banshee. His enforcer Amar. He made it clear they’re not happy about the alliance.”
“That’s to be expected. Dren thought he’d be able to crush Malcolm in the black market. With our protection? Not so much,” Dad says, blowing smoke. “But the Albanians are nothing to us. They can kiss my flat, wrinkly arse. It’s the principle of the matter. We’re essentially working for free.”
“And the possibility they might have friends in other places. Probably the Italians. Possibly the Bratva.”
Dad nods, leaning back in the chair. “Now you’re thinking like a true Clan Chief. By the way, we’ll be providing Malcolm cover for the upcoming NYPD Widows Charity Gala at Cipriani Wall Street.”
My brows lift in surprise. “Any particular reason why?”
“For starters, he asked. Part of this arrangement. But otherwise, I said yes for obvious reasons—you know who shows up to that sort of event, don’t you? Every politician and bigwig worth his salt. Including the crime families. Best believe the Albanians will have someone there. As will we.”
I assume he means himself. But then he continues.
“I expect you to go. You and Simone, since it’s a high-visibility charity gala.” He taps ash again. “Lochlan used to go. But since… well, he’s not available anymore.”
I exhale slowly. “I’d rather not.”
“It’s not optional, Ronan,” he snaps. “We must continue ingratiating ourselves into these circles. Your marriage to Simone helps do that. Malcolm Langston and the police commissioner golf together. It opens up doors for us that’ve been closed. Show up and play nice. Keep her under control and acting the part. You’re in charge, not her.”
On that note, he gets up and strides out of the room, leaving a trail of cigar smoke in his wake.
I sit in silence, staring at the doorway and running a hand through my hair.
I’ll have to act in public again with Simone. Pretend we’re a happy couple. Smile for the cameras. Play the part of the dutiful husband.
Something I’m not at all looking forward to, considering how much we can’t stand each other.
Simone refuses to look at me when I finally return to our bedroom. She’s already in bed, facing the opposite wall, keeping to the far edge of her side as if to put as much space between us as possible. Her body’s rigid, her breathing shallow and steady, like she’s trying to convince more than just me that she’s asleep.
I don’t bother her, simply stripping down and climbing into my side of the bed.
She’s gone in the morning when I wake up. Already downstairs, avoiding me further.
Perfectly fine with me. I have no use for her except when my sexual needs have to be met.