The cab swings into the blocked-off space in front of the Lancaster. I tilt my head back and take in this new luxury building my brother-in-law Trace snagged when his cousin Griffin assumed control of the Irish Mob in Lower Manhattan.
I’ve been here before, but the all-glass façade, steel trusses, and a lobby that smells like an expensive hotel never fail to impress me.
I live ten minutes north in a three-bedroom condo that my sister Shea found for me. It’s luxury and low-key, which is perfect for me right now. I needed my own place after leaving my mother’s condo in Queens.
After my father had been poisoning her for months, and she had almost died, she needed round-the-clock medical care. I didn’t have a job, so I made that my job. Her MS is still a factor, and she’s in a wheelchair, but thanks to Kieran, she has nurses, two assistants, several guards, and drivers.
We don’t talk about our father. He slowly destroyed his relationship with every single one of our siblings. Then he violated his oath to protect Shea-Lynne, his only daughter, by ordering her to marry a Dunbar prison warden in exchange for my release. When Kieran got a call from Lachlan, he ordered our father’s death within seconds.
Lachlan carried out the order in even less time.
Each of my brothers, who are fathers now, could not be any different from the man who raised us. Thank God for that.
The Lancaster doorman nods with recognition and lets me pass to the elevators. Tracemade sure I always have access.
I share the elevator with an obscenely beautiful woman and two dogs that are so small, I can’t even tell what they are. While I’m staring at them, I feel she’s looking at me. My eyes stray to her hand. No ring.
I’m about to ask her about the dogs, a conversation starter since I need to meet and quickly marry someone—anyone, but thoughts of my dark-haired hookup flash through my mind.
Damn, this is going to be a problem. Forgetting aboutherisgoing to be a problem.
When the elevator door slides open to Shea and Trace’s floor, I give the dog mom a polite smile and get out. Each level in the Lancaster has only two apartments, an east-facing and a west-facing unit. I hook a left toward the east side. I’m steps away when the door swings open.
“Hey, you,” Shea-Lynne says and follows it up with a solid hug. “You missed last week. I actually felt your absence, you brat.”
I was tracking a dealer, but I didn’t tell them that. Just made up some excuse.
Inside, I pass a narrow hallway to the open kitchen. Shea and Trace don’t have children. My sister couldn’t have them, and Trace got a vasectomy. He didn’t want kids if they weren’t going to be hers. A selfless sacrifice. Makes me feel even more guilty. My poor sister couldn’t have a kid, and I had one without even trying.
Shea isn’t running those calculations in her head as she looks at me with warm, loving eyes. She didn’t want to work for the family business either. Escaped it for nearly a decade, building something of her own out in East Hampton.
Then Vegas happened.
One reckless weekend, one drunken mistake, and she woke up married to my best friend with no memory ofhow it happened.
It should have been a disaster. Trace’s blood on the floor, and Lachlan’s gun still smoking. Instead, they fought to be together. I was already gone by then. Heard most of it secondhand. But I was there for the wedding. Ma was my date. How sad is that?
The aroma of garlic and basil hits me, knocking me from my thoughts.
“Something smells good,” I say, feeling stupid for showing up empty-handed.
“It’s takeout.” Shea breezes past me. “You know I don’t cook.”
“You working later?” I ask her because she’s in one of her signature black suits.
“Yeah. Fundraiser,” she says, oven mitts in hand. “The Langston Foundation.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up hearing that name. Medical Royalty, but under the coronation robe, they’re power mongers and very corrupt.
“Do they book a lot of parties with you?” I ask.
Shea brings a tray out of the oven and pulls the foil cover away. “I just signed an exclusive contract with them.”
“Nice.” My mouth waters at the chicken breasts in savory sauce with spinach and bowtie pasta.
“You made it.” Trace’s deep voice enters the room before he does.
He speaks with a thick brogue like his cousins, like my older brothers. My first year at undergrad, I trained myself to talk without the accent. Darragh did, too. It was already faint and not hard to shake off. Most people don’t know we were born in Waterford, Ireland.