Page 3 of Poison and Wine

“Alliances can be made unwillingly.” Gripping his whiskey glass, he threw back the contents before he spoke. “I should be disappointed that none of you guessed what I’m speaking of, but then I have to remember none of you randy fuckers give a shite about commitment.” He nodded his glass at Kellan. “Except maybe you.”

While my brows furrowed at his comment, Quinn sucked in a harsh breath. “You’re talking about marriage.”

“Aye, boyo, I am.”

I tensed. “A marriage between us and who?”

“The Italians.”

I groaned. “While an alliance between another Irish family is hard enough to swallow, the thought of mixing blood with Italians makes me want to boke.”

“It could be worse,” Quinn remarked.

“How so?”

“It could be the Bratva.”

“True,” I chuckled mirthlessly. I couldn’t even begin to imagine our family aligning with the likes of them. “So, which Italians did you have in mind?”

“The Neretti’s.”

A growl reverberated through my chest while Quinn and Dare cursed under their breaths. “You can’t be serious,” I demanded.

Seamus narrowed his dark eyes at me. “If you think you can do a better job making the decisions for this family, put me to ground and see where it gets you.”

I held up my hands. “I’m not knocking your judgment, Seamus. It’s just of all the Italian families they’re the last one I would want an alliance with.”

The Neretti’s had held a powerful stronghold in New York City and the boroughs since the turn of the century when their first ancestors had come over from Sicily. While the Kavanaugh’s had grown their wealth through liquor and gambling, the Neretetti’s dirtied their hands with prostitution and pornography. Some of the earliest snuff films were financed by the Neretti’s. In later years, they had elevated themselves to wine and dine with politicians and the elite, but their business dealings remained in a seedy underbelly.

With a shake of his head, Seamus argued, “Once again, that shows your lack of discernment. Joining forces with the Neretti’s ensures we keep power and gain territory as well.”

“And what do they possibly get out of the union?”

“They’re an old name family, but they’ve lost too many men in the last couple of decades. They need the manpower that we and our allies can provide to protect their territory.”

Dare glanced between us. “Just which one of us do you plan to marry off?”

Seamus opened his mouth, but I beat him to it. “Me.” The moment the words left my lips dread filled my chest. Anger soon replaced it. After everything I had seen and done, I was pissed at myself for feeling dread at the thoughts of marrying.

At thirty-one, I shouldn’t have been surprised by an arranged marriage. By the time I was twenty-five, two marriage contracts had already been dissolved between myself and other Irish families. Both were because of betrayals by the girls’ families. Like many in the mafia, my father believed a man shouldn’t be wed too early. He should learn the ropes of the business while also enjoying himself with as many different women as possible.

“Why you?” Dare countered.

“Don’t tell me you want to get roped into this?” Seamus asked.

With a grin, Dare replied, “Fuck no.”

I eased back in my chair. “Of course, it has to be me—I’m the first-born son and leader of this family.”

“The alleged pick of the litter, eh?” Dare teased.

“Fuck you, third born,” I threw back with a smile.

He flashed me a wicked grin. “Third born yet blessed with a third leg for a cock. I’ll manage.”

While Quinn and I chuckled, Seamus shook his head. “Don’t count any of yourselves out of being part of a marital alliance. We need to make as many as possible.”

“Just not the Bratva,” Dare muttered under his breath.

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