Page 12 of Inferno

The constant threat of me running away keeps him on his toes.

It also helps me assess his reactions. If he’s hiding anything from me, I’ll read it in his eyes.

“You are many things, Charlotte. But running away in fear is not who you are.” His fist hits his enormous chest.

“Only teasing.” I stick my tongue out and hear his laugh as he walks down the hall. I turn to look into the floor-to-ceiling mirror and stare into my dark blue eyes.

Charlotte is in there somewhere.

I pull my hair over my shoulders, letting it cascade down my front, stopping just over my breasts.

A smile twitches at my lips as the sun beats on the deep purple strands scattered through the ends.

The first color I’ve actually stuck with.

Maybe I can fit in one more round in the gym before Vlad’s home to ruin my day.

Chapter 3

DECLAN

My knuckles turn white as I brace myself and knock on my father’s door, the wood cold beneath my touch.

“Come in, son,” his deep voice booms through.

I’m angry at him, but he’s probably more furious with me.

Twisting the knob, it creaks open, revealing him sitting behind his desk, a glass of amber whiskey swirling in his hand. The scent of aged oak and leather hangs heavy in the air.

Losing Mom last year has aged him.

She was the better half of him. The good part. That made him the father we needed him to be.

Perhaps it was the shock. One minute she was fine, cooking us our Sunday dinner. Within an hour of us leaving, her heart gave out, and Dad couldn’t save her. Nor could the doctors.

She was gone and our family has been left with a gaping hole.

“You don’t need to fuckin’ knock, boy,” he tells me with a grin, pouring my glass of whiskey as I take a seat opposite him.

“It’s ten a.m.” I joke.

“Shove it in some coffee, then. Us Quinns are made of steel.”

I nod, accepting the fiery drink, and knock it back in one gulp. The burn chases away some of my anger.

I can’t be mad at the old man. He made me who I am today.

“James’s dead, Declan.” There’s a hint of worry in his voice.

“I thought that might be the case. He was mangled.”

Dad looks down at his wedding ring and sighs.

“I got off the phone with Charles Bowen this morning. It ain’t good, son. We need to make the moves now.” He gives me a knowing look.

Meaning our alliance with the States. We have an opening to set a fresh path there, through a guy named Enzo.

We haven’t seen the need. Our shipping routes are well established, with enough guns and drugs being moved to fund our empire. And we funnel it through our whiskey distillery. It’s a neat cycle. It’s worked for generations.

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