Dad’s eyes move to Nate for the first time since we arrived. I can see the wheels turning in his mind as he tries to come up with a name to match the face of his children’s closest childhood friend, a boy who spent more days at our Nantucket estate than he ever did. A name a normal parent could recall within nanoseconds.
“Nathaniel,” Milo says finally, a smug smile playing at his mouth when he finally pulls the name from his memory banks. “Nathaniel Knox.”
Nate nods tightly.
“I had lunch with your father a few weeks ago.”
Nate says nothing.
Milo’s eyes narrow. “He didn’t mention you still lived in the area.”
“He doesn’t know.” Tension stiffens Nate’s shoulders. “We don’t keep in touch.”
My heart falters at that information and a pang of sympathy shoots through me. Nate’s never been close to his family — his relationship with his father makes Milo and Parker’s bond look like an ad for Hallmark — but I’m surprised to hear he’s cut them out of his life completely.
The three men stare at each other, a trifecta of tension. It’s so awkward, I’d like nothing more than to edge slowly backward out of the room and make a run for it. Unfortunately, that’s not an option.
Clearing my throat, I step into the middle of the office.
“Enough. You’re all acting like babies.” I turn to address my father first. “I’m sure you already know the basics but, to recap — three days ago I was kidnapped by some seriously scary dudes who have a bone to pick with you. Personally, I would really not like to repeat the experience. One black eye is enough for a lifetime.”
His face softens as he stares at the fading bruise beneath my eye makeup. “I didn’t think they’d come after you. I’m sorry, Phoebe. Truly.”
Parker scoffs. “Sorry doesn’t mean shit when your daughter’s been kidnapped and beaten.”
“Parker,” I admonish. “Blaming Dad won’t help things.”
“Why not?” he asks. “It’s his fault.”
“Parker. Not the time.” Nate’s voice is gruff enough that my brother falls silent. When he turns those dark eyes on my father, the older man shrinks back at the intensity in them.
I’ve been on the receiving end of that same stare more often than I’d like — I know exactly how Dad feels, at the moment.
“Care to share how you’ve managed to piss off the entire Irish mob?” Nate’s words are clipped, totally controlled. Not an ounce of emotion slips out. “Mac made you his business for a reason.”
My father tugs at his collar in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. When he collapses back into his leather swivel chair a few moments later, I just about fall over.
Milo West, showing weakness? Unheard of.
“I’ve made some mistakes,” he admits, voice choked.
Parker laughs darkly. “Understatement.”
I glare at him.
“Why does Mac expect a commission from you?” Nate asks, pinning my father to the spot with just the force of his stare.
“I don’t know.” Dad’s face is flushed. “My development project has nothing to do with him. He doesn’t own the land.”
“Not in name, maybe.” Nate folds his arms across his chest. “But that whole area is Bunker Hill gang territory. Everyone knows that. It’s the reason the waterfront has never been developed. No one will touch Mac’s land with a ten foot pole.”
“Until now,” I add softly.
“Only way a deal like that goes through is if there’s some kind of arrangement in place,” Nate says in a deadly soft voice. There’s more danger in that gentle tone than I could muster screaming at the top of my voice.
When Nate yells, you know he’s pissed… but when he whispers, you run and don’t look back.
Milo shifts uncomfortably. “What exactly are you accusing me of, Nathaniel?”