Page 13 of The Love Destroyers

“I suspect the feeling isn’t mutual.”

“Maybe you’ll suspect differently when I give you some free intel about your new in-laws. Their last name isn’t James.”

“Excuse me?” I say, nearly dropping the flask again. I slide it back into the garter, doing it quickly because there’s no Seamus in here to tease.

“Their family had ties to organized crime, but they weren’t interested in continuing in the family business.” She shrugs. “So they changed their last name from O’Malley and moved out of the state. Still…it’s colorful.”

“You’re telling mesheis involved in organized crime?” I ask in a doubtful undertone, nodding my chin at my brother’s delightful wife. It’s hard to believe she’d be capable of it. Sure, she’s tougher than she looks—I wouldn’t have let Anthony marry her otherwise—but she’s not hardened. Nothing about my bubbly sister-in-law screams guns and concrete shoes and cannoli.

True, I’m no true crime fanatic. My knowledge of organized crime comes fromThe Godfather, and Rosie does not fit that world. For one thing, she’s Irish American, not Italian American. For another, she’s sweet and sunny.

Seamus, though…

I could definitely see him being mixed up in that kind of shit, even if he hadn’t made the offer to kneecap Jeffrey. It’s there in his eyes and the way he carries himself, casual but aware, always aware. And I’d be lying if the thought didn’t turn me on.

“Did I say that?” Nicole asks, pointing to herself. “I didn’t say that. I said the family has ties to organized crime. Your brother knows, by the way, and he doesn’t give a shit. I mean, you can’t help who you’re related to. Ask my sister.”

I sigh, watching as Anthony dips Rosie. Of course he knows. And of course my love-struck brother has decided he doesn’t care. He did mention that she had something in her past she didn’t want getting out, and I’m guessing this handful of red flags is that something.

“But, you know,” Nicole continues contemplatively, “I’ve got this funny itch about Seamus. I’ve been wondering if he’s moved on as much as Rosie and Declan have.”

I wonder if her funny itch is because she overheard the offer he made me earlier. I’m tempted to ask, but a part of me feels weirdly protective of the information. I’m guessing Seamus wouldn’t want this woman getting involved in his business.

Which isn’t to say that I won’t be poking around in there with a magnifying glass and protective gloves. I want to know just who Anthony has hitched himself to.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, giving her a hard look.

“I figured you’d be interested too since you invited Seamus to come home with you last night.”

“What the fuck?” I say, beyond pissed. “I wasn’t…Were you hiding behind an evergreen?”

She grins more widely. “The dumpster, actually. And if you’re wondering whether I heard everything, then the answer is ninety percent. There was a lot of would they or won’t they going on, which got tedious, and I also heard a bit about your personal problem.Thatwasn’t at all boring.”

“And you’re going to offer to solve it, I suppose,” I say coldly, circling back to the thought that this woman is angling to get hired.

She shrugs. “I’m guessing you’ll need help when you finally get off your ass and decide to ruin him. I figured I’d throw my hat in the ring. Some people like saving rescue animals or baking cakes that look like hamburgers. I like ruining motherfuckers who deserve it.”

I angle my head, taken aback and interested despite myself. “Oh?”

“Oh,” she says. “I have a pretty colorful history of it. I can send you some information.”

“So youarelooking to get hired.”

She smiles and tsks, looking almost disappointed in me. “No, Emma dearest. I’m trying to be your friend.”

“I don’t need any friends,” I lie.

I’m not anti-social, precisely. I had friends in Charlotte, people I regularly had brunch with and met for drinks. But there’s nothing like a brush with infamy to show you who your real friends are—and it turns out, I didn’t have any. The minute word got out about the restraining order, I was the one they were talking shit about over their mimosas.

“That’s what I used to think too,” she tells me, then nods to her gorgeous husband across the room. He grins at her, his eyes full of warmth. “I was also wrong.”

“What’re you going to do about Seamus?” I ask.

“You’re deeply concerned about him, aren’t you?” she replies, her gaze back on me.

“Hardly,” I retort. Waiters have started circulating with silver trays topped with full champagne glasses. I grab two. Nicole, probably guessing, correctly, that the second glass isn’t for her, does the same. As soon as the waiter moves along, I say, “But it’s relevant. They’re family.”

“Doesn’t that mean we’re family?”

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