Page 37 of Iron Crown

I turned my head to Eoghan, who was as cool as Irish cream. He squeezed my hand, his face never changing, as his fist balled on the table. It was the only sign of his anger aimed straight at Jericho. To me, though, he sent waves of comfort, as he lightly caressed his thumb on the back of my hand in soothing circles.

Blink, who had been completely still during this entire exchange, suddenly scoffed through his nose. “A toast to how I was right.”

“Right about what, you Lithuanian ass?” Jericho grumbled, still irritated.

“About the Greens being our best candidate to lead the Underground,” Blink smirked. “About our lovely Kira choosing the right man.”

I let out my own little huff. “It was never a choice.”

Blink looked at me, and for a moment, he smiled, his eyes shining with something that looked like true happiness. I don’t think I’d ever seen that expression on him before.

“Mark this day, Jericho,” he said quietly, turning to the pakhan of the bratva with complete impudence, “I was right abouteverything.”

“You’re an insufferable man,” Jericho retorted.

Blink reached forward and, one by one, picked up a glass and put it in front of each adult at the table. “I was still right.”

Jericho grumbled something that I didn’t understand, but then he lifted his glass.

“Za Zdorovye!” Jericho cheered in Russian.

“Kippis!” Yuliya answered, reaching out for the glass and downing it.

“Slàinte,” Eoghan said quieter, but downed his vodka as well.

“Isveikata!” Blink said, in what I assumed was Lithuanian.

I downed mine because it seemed like the right thing to do. I didn’t want to be left out. “Cheers.”

“What favor would you ask of me, Irish?” Jericho said, standing up, and pouring more vodka into each of our glasses again, whether we wanted one or not.

“Nothing,” Eoghan said quickly, his weary eyes not moving from the glass between his fingers.

I hadn’t drank in a while—having a two-year-old was not conducive to being inebriated—so my head already swam with drunkenness. I was officially a lightweight.

“Unless you’re able to protect my wife and child,” Eoghan said, “there's nothing I would ask for.”

“Really?Nothingelse?” Jericho sneered. “Not even the question of… oh, I don’t know, how do I know yourwife?”

I clenched my jaw, staring at Jericho Vasiliev, or Brett Bradley, with hatred searing through my soul.

Eoghan came to his feet, stared Jericho right in the eye, his sneer mirroring the Russian with amazing accuracy. “You have nobusinesstelling me about mywife, Russian.”

Jericho lifted a single brow, surprised, perplexed, but not the least bit insulted.

“If my wife has things to tell me,shecan. It is not foryouto do.”

Yuliya smiled, letting out a gentle, “Awww…” Like that was the most romantic gesture she’d ever seen.

His hand tightened around mine again, just for an instant. He told me that he was on my side. That he supported me. That hechoseto trust me.

Tears stung my eyes. My God, I adored my husband.

“I was right again, Jericho,” Blink said, a self-satisfied smile on his face, as he leaned back in his seat. “Seems that Eoghan Green is, in fact, in love with his wife. What a rarity among Mafia royalty.”

His light laugh was so unlike him that it made me almost flinch.

“Fine,” Jericho said, his eyes on Eoghan. “Let me tell you whoIam, Irish,” Jericho said, his eyes on Eoghan with the same unsettling sneer he always had. “But first, I want to knowwhyyou saved my sister.”

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