Page 1 of Hostile Bond
1
ANDRÉ
Twenty-One Years Ago
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s missing,” I answer, my throat desert dry.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s nearly midnight. Giovanni is under his bedspread. His big dog Cesar is sprawled next to him, taking up most of the space. The large-boned canine, as dark as the shadows he prowls in, doesn’t give a fuck I’ve slipped into my brother’s suite instead of returning to my own as instructed.
“Sinéad and her mother… they’re gone,” I mutter, and sink into the sofa near the TV.
I can hear the rumble of Uncle Conal’s authoritarian voice. He’s stalking the corridors for his wayward nephew, pissed at me for breaching the Hennessy Estate boundary and furious at the guards for not catching me sooner.
My best friend had vanished into the Irish fog, and I was on the hunt for her. I’d already circled grandfather's land on my motocross bike too many times to count. Frustration and anger had gotten the better of me. I knew I wasn’t allowed beyond the gates, but that didn’t matter, not when my focus was snared and my heart aching.
Completely disregarding the rules, I’d rode up to the sensors. I deliberately waited for the gates to automatically judder open, cranked the throttle, and raced under the monolithic cast iron arch between two colossal gate posts topped with ugly stone gargoyles.
After twenty odd minutes and a high-speed chase that had my heart thumping, I was apprehended by a fleet of blacked out Mercedes and escorted back to the estate.
“What do you mean, they’re gone?” Giovanni lowers his book and looks at me, his green eyes cosmic.
I shrug, not sure if I’m going to cry. Papá would beat the fuck out of me for being so weak, but he’s not here. Mama is and my brothers are too. We’re seeking asylum in Ireland until Papá has taken full control of the Colombian cartel. It wasn’t his idea for us to leave Bogotá. Mama had fought with him for days after Uncle Angelo’s assassination in broad daylight, which caused my big brother Tommy to stop talking for a while. She had wanted to come home––to her Irish mafia roots and her family who would give us protection.
“Her cottage is empty.” I tug at the Velcro on my gloves with my teeth. “I even went outside of the estate until our security team caught up with me. Why would she just leave like that… without telling me?”
Cesar’s ears prick first, then his low growl warns us that Uncle Conal has entered the room, his expression cold and stoic.
“You pull a fucking stunt like that again, kid, and I’ll have a bonfire with all of your bikes.”
I swallow hard and stare at his steely eyes—void of empathy.
“Sorry, sir,” I reply respectfully.
He’s the eldest Hennessy sibling—the heir to an Irish empire––the one whose harsh character reminds me of Papá.
“Not only did you put your dumb fucking ass in danger, but you left the main entrance wide open.” My irritation intensifies when he adds, “Don’t prove yer da right, kid.”
Fuck Papá. Fuck Uncle Conal.
Giovanni pushes himself up on the bed and pats Cesar’s head to soothe him. “His friend is missing.”
“Who?” Conal’s eyes narrow.
“My friend… Sinéad…” When I start to explain, Uncle Conal grunts with indignation.
“The girl?” I nod, pained by her disappearance. “Are you having a laugh? You risked our safety to find a stupid little girl?”
“She’s not stupid!”
“Watch your tone, André.” Uncle Conal warns. “Never put a stranger before family. Blood is blood.”
“Lo siento, tío.” I apologize to my uncle again, my gaze sliding to the floorboards and his smart dress shoes. I know my place in this household.
He’s the next in command, below my grandfather. Respected and loyal to a fault. A no nonsense mountain of a man who rarely smiles and enjoys liquor.
“Will you help me find her?” I ask seriously.
