Page 2 of The Lies We Tell

Callum let out a low whistle. “We’ll go down to the pub and pour one out. But you’ll have to tell me if we’re celebrating or mourning.”

Matteo snorted. That was the question, wasn’t it? Celebrating or mourning. He hadn’t exactly left Sicily on good terms with his father. In fact, Lorenzo Bianchi had made it quite clear what he expected of his oldest son before Matteo slammed the door of the only home he’d ever known and never looked back.

He’d defied every expectation his father had ever had of him and then some. He’d done things his father refused to even dream of. The relationships he’d forged all over Europe, the money he’d made, the businesses he owned.

His father had never understood the vision, the end goal. And when Matteo tried to make him see, Lorenzo doubled down on the old ways that were killing them. Now he was dead. And by his own hand, no less. It seemed a cleaner death than the son of a bitch deserved.

“Matteo. Are you all right?” Maeve asked in Italian.

“I’m fine,” Matteo replied, switching to English at Callum’s annoyed huff. “My father’s dead. Good fucking riddance.”

“That’s it?” Maeve said. “There’s nothing else you want to say?”

“There’s nothing else to say.”

Heart squeezing painfully in his chest, Matteo pushed around Callum and rushed to the end of the hall. He needed fresh air in his lungs, even if it was the chilly, gray, misty air of Dublin and not the bright, fresh air of Palermo.

The pavement of the parking lot was still wet with this morning’s rain when he slammed through the doors, but the sun was trying to force weak streams through the thick clouds. Wherever it succeeded, the droplets of water sparkled gold.

He imagined the weather at home. The heat and the sun and the breeze and the crisp smell of the sea. He’d traveled all over the world, and nowhere else on earth could compare to Palermo’s sights, sounds, and smells in early summer.

But he’d left that island behind a long time ago. Going back had never felt like an option before. That part of his life was closed. Firmly. His father made sure of that. But now his father was dead. What was really stopping him from going home again?

The door opened behind him, and Matteo heard the scrape of several pairs of shoes across the pavement. Maeve stopped at his left elbow, her head barely coming up to his chest, and Callum stopped at his right. They matched in height, but Callum was easily twice Matteo’s size, roped with muscle.

Beyond Callum stood Roarke, one of Eoghan Quinn’s most ruthless soldiers. Roarke had always reminded Matteo of Alexei, his father’s enforcer. Equally ruthless and expertly skilled with a blade.

“Dead, then,” Roarke said in his deep, lilting brogue. “And the coward’s way out too.”

“Jesus, Roarke,” Maeve muttered.

“I’m only saying.”

“Well, say less, for fuck’s sake.” Maeve leaned around Matteo’s back to glare at her brother’s best friend. “You should go back,” she said to Matteo.

“Why?” Matteo asked. “What’s left for me there?”

“Everything,” Maeve assured him. “Palermo is your birthright. You can’t just walk away from it when they need you the most.”

“They don’t need me. They haven’t needed me for seven years. They have my brothers, my father’s loyal capos.” Matteo took a deep breath at the unexpected ache. “I’m sure my father has already named Domenico as his heir. He was next in line. The natural choice.”

“And what about your grand plans for Sicily? For doing what your father never could and making them pay, making them bow to you?”

Matteo scrubbed a hand over his face. “What about them? I was drunk on Jameson and whatever the fuck else you were shoving into my hands that night. It was all bullshit.”

“In my experience, being drunk makes the words more true, not less,” Roarke said.

“Aye, and you would know,” Maeve replied, a bite to her voice. “If you don’t go, you’ll always wonder,” she said to Matteo. “Family is important to you. I can tell by the way you talk about them when we practice.”

Matteo cut Maeve a sideways glance. She was entirely too perceptive for her own good.

“That’s why I should stay away. The damage is already done. Dom can handle it now.”

“What utter fucking bullshit.”

Matteo clenched his jaw. “It’s not bullshit, Callum. I have that big drug deal closing in Scotland next week and the one in Bruges the week after that. I can’t just fuck off to Sicily on a whim and leave them hanging.”

“We could be persuaded to handle a little business on your behalf,” Callum replied, rolling his eyes. “We do have some experience in the drug trade, as you know.”

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