Page 76 of Hostile Bond
“Your mother told me about the bombing in one of your hotels, André.” The Irish lilt of brogue in his voice is like a sheet of silk falling from a concealed weapon before it fires a lethal shot—smooth and fatal. “It appears as though your enemies have been allowed to get too close.” Mick takes his time to join us by the fireside, courteously offering us a glass of liquor each.
I accept and offer a tight smile of gratitude.
“This all started with Sapori. Tommy and I have it under control.” André sits forward, his rings clinking the glass as he takes it from his grandfather.
“Really?” Mick cocks a disbelieving brow. “From where I’m standing, you were too distracted to notice the danger circling? You underestimated your enemies’ resources and reach, and now my son can only be identified from his dental records.”
And my mother too, you son of a bitch!
When I clear my throat, Conal’s emotionless eyes jump to mine. Harrowing dread runs through me in a shivery chill.
“You taught me to watch my enemies’ every move and hit when they least expect it. Sapori didn’t see me coming until it was too late.” André confirms, taking a gulp of whiskey. “And the man responsible for killing Sean will be taken out within the hour.”
Conal continues to stare at me in silence while Mick lowers beside him, his countenance blank. I wrap my hands around the glass, but don’t drink. The thought of alcohol flips my stomach. It’s taking every shred of self-discipline and strength to sit here under their subtle interrogation.
“I heard you suffered an injury.” Mick's forehead creases as he studies me.
“Yes… I was shot.” I confirm, pleased to sound confident in my response.
“Who shot you?” he asks, looking right at me.
“I don’t know. Bullets were flying. I was on my knees mourning the brutal and unjustified murder of my mother.”
As André swirls the amber liquid in his glass, a solitary ice-cube tinkles. “A man known to us as Liam Callahan executed her mother.” My heart literally weeps at the false statement. “As you can imagine, the loss has been a considerable trauma for my wife. While she was in hospital, we learned that an associate of Sapori had reached out to Liam after Conal’s men removed the initial threat. A large sum of cash was found in his home. It's obvious he was offered a life-changing amount of money to kidnap Sinéad.”
I shiver, exhausted from the lies. Worn down from a charge of adrenaline mixed with a sickness in my stomach and worried for the unstable future of a mafia queen and her ruthless king. It’s tiring, forcing strength when I have zero control over the whims of the men before us.
“And what man would pull a stunt like that in our territory?” Mick grits out his dissatisfaction between his pearly teeth.
“An investment banker from New York called Scott Acer. He had an agreement with Sapori that he would marry Sinéad. As you know, I beat him to it. My guys are already on his tail, and Giovanni will take the shot.”
Wrath explodes in Mick's eyes, his expression tightening to bitter. “How does all of this lead to my son's death, Sinéad? You were there. Tell me how he died.”
Beside me, André’s gaze skates over my rigid form, the familiar threads of our bond electrifying me with strength and courage. I don’t feel like I’m still breathing, let alone a guest in the home of my tormentor's family.
Conal continues to spy my discomfort from his seated vantage point. I resist the urge to yell at him and ask what the fuck his problem with me is, choosing to fold my arms for purchase instead.
“All I remember is Mammy dying in my arms after Liam shot her in the forehead. He told me I was leaving Ireland because some rich guy wanted a mafia wife. Then he set fire to The Rusty Shamrock. After that, I heard voices and Liam opened fire. I was hit in the crossfire and vaguely remember a man who looked like him…” I point at Conal before continuing. “But younger, and not as ugly, who was carrying me.” A gust of air hisses through my clenched teeth. “Then I woke up in the hospital.”
“I found her near the parking lot.” André confirms. “Sean saved her from the burning building and then he must have gone back in to pull Jack out.”
Without saying another word, Mick sips his whiskey as if he’s reliving the alleged events to catch a loophole in the story. In the silence, André’s phone buzzes.
He removes it from his jeans’ pocket and holds it to his ear. “What’s the status?” He listens to the guy on the other end. A growl works through his throat and then he replies, “Do it. I’ll hold for confirmation.”
There’s palpable energy in the room. A thick awareness of the order to kill Scott Acer and finish this once and for all. After twenty racing heartbeats, André nods as he speaks, “Good. Now get the fuck out of there.” He finishes the call and pins me to the couch, his stare wild. “Acer is dead.”
“Well then,” Mick’s voice tugs our gazes apart, so all eyes are on him again. Darkness moves across his face, a cocktail of sadness and instinctive suspicion.
“I should thank you for your quick action, André. You’ll stay for the private ceremony in the coming days. The housekeeper has prepared your old room.” He rises, as do we all, even Conal. “You lost a mother, and I lost a son in this war.” His scrutiny of my stiffness chills me to the very bones rattling from exhaustion. “Now that you’re presiding over the Sicilian mafia, we will remain solid allies… unless...”
When he doesn’t finish his sentence, I freeze. My hand flies to my belly, coming face to face with the barrel of Conal’s revolver. The hairs on my nape rise like hackles. André roughly grabs my arm and swings me behind him. His muscles tense beneath his t-shirt, but he doesn’t reach for his weapon.
Instincts tell me to throw my drink in Conal’s eyes, snatch his gun, and shoot him in the face with it. However, I’m more hurt that my husband didn’t return the same threat.
Anger and humiliation rushes through my fast pumping veins. André growls under his breath and cocks his head at his Uncle Conal. “Is this really necessary?” He pushes his chest into the gun and glances at Mick. “Call off the fucking dogs,abuelo.”
Mick waves his hand in a dismissive gesture and beckons for his eldest son to lower his weapon.
