Page 21 of The Boss
Conversations die. Heads bow, eyes look away.
He…
He is big, the tallest man in here, definitely, but it’s not as obnoxious as I expected it to be. His combat clothes and leather jacket contrast the suits on the men around me. The room is dim so I can’t yet see the details of his scars, but I can see the expressions around him. Fear, awe, curiosity, but mostly, in the face of every Irish clan member, respect.
The man with him, his second, I’m guessing, pats some backs and shakes hands, even makes faces at the decor surrounding him, but not my betrothed. He is a man on a mission, headed straight to the head table. When he nears us, everyone at thehead table stands nervously, so I follow suit. My dog even squeaks and starts to shake again in his purse. And did the band stop playing?
He walks to his seat next to me and looks across the table.
“Father, Leonardo.” His voice is deep and rough.
And the two men, two old dons more powerful than God…
They look down as they mumble “Son.” and “Quinn.”
They. Look. Down?! The fuck?
My father basically just bowed to this man.
A shiver runs down the back of my neck, over my skin and ends up lower, warmer.
Because I realize now what I’m dealing with.
Power.
Power like I’ve never known before.
And that, well, damn. It’s kind of hot.
CHAPTER 13
Luna
Slowly, after giving a nod to each father across the table, he turns to me.
“Luna,” he dips his head forward slightly as he says my name in the same flat, gravelly tone. He does seem mammoth up this close. I’m average height but I’m a bit of a string bean, despite my hard workouts. He is like a house planted in front of me. And I see his scars now. There’s a long thin scar across his forehead down his left eye and continuing into his cheek. There’s also some mottled skin on one side, going into his hairline, burns maybe?
Still, he’s not grotesque, just…imperfect. Intimidating. His thick black hair is long like the photos, and flops down over his firm brow. He has a sharp nose and full lips set in scruffy facial hair as if he shaved yesterday but couldn’t be bothered to clean up for this occasion. His eyes are almost black and they’re staring into mine, unmoving, waiting.
“Huh h-hi,” I say, shocked. He blinks. I blink too, I think?
He looks down at the table and back at me. “Shall we?”
“Sure, yes, right.” I say as my brain starts to make neural connections again.
He pulls out my chair and as I start to sit, he does too. Everyone at our table follows his lead. The servers, chatter, music and even the damn birds seem to slowly come back to life, like he’s just given them permission to do so.
I can’t help but stare at my fiancé, wondering what happens now. Even I seem to be under some sort of spell, fueled by intrigue and fear. First, I notice he wordlessly removes the chair next to him out before a server scurries up to take it away. The spot at the table wasn’t wide enough for his frame. And I guess he doesn’t care if his second in command sits with us or not.
His eyes shift from his chair to the table and then pause on the dog.
The dog! Right!
“Oh, yes, um, honey,” I say, my syrupy voice a bit quiet and garbled because I can’t believe I’m really calling this huge madmanhoney.I gesture to the dog, “This is my baby—”
“So, Quinn!” Papa cuts me off. I don’t think he even knew I was speaking. I’m not sure he knows I’m even sitting here. He gestures to the room, “What do you think of all this?”
Quinn pauses, looking at a low vine hanging just overhead. He’s so tall he could reach out and pull it down from the ceiling, even seated. Finally he says, “It’s very detailed.”
