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“I’m all good. I hear you’re heading in for some work on the hand. You feeling okay about it?”
“Feeling great, thanks for asking.” He glances at Uncle Joseph. “Listen, Ronan, I know you’ve heard the whispers. We just want to talk.”
I lean back and gesture at them. “I’m listening.”
Uncle Joseph takes over. “This thing you’re doing with the Santoro girl. I understand the idea, and it’s a solid one, don’t get me wrong. The chop shop job went right and the income’s already proving worthwhile. But what went down the other night—” He shakes his head, looking grim. “There’s too much talk, Ronan.”
“Too much talk,” Uncle Brian echoes.
“We just want to make sure you understand, that’s all.” Uncle Joseph spreads his hands. I glance at Cormac and he’s watching me, saying nothing, with a smile on his face, the snake fuck. “Using the Santoro girl for jobs is one thing, but giving her a piece of the action?”
“As payment,” I say, clear and simple.
Uncle Joseph nods along. “Absolutely, pay the girl, we all know she’s been doing good work for the family, but Ronan, she’s not Irish. Now that she’s looking over that Italian club and managing the product flow through there, she’s going to be a more permanent part of the Group, and there’s a littleunhappiness surrounding that decision. I just want to make sure you know what it means.”
I wait for him to finish. What he’s saying isn’t unreasonable. I knew it all already, but hearing it from an uncle’s mouth sends a shiver of rage down my spine.
The stupid bastards. The short-sighted, idiotic fucks. I knew the Hayes Group was too small and too set in its ways, but I had no idea they were so willing to let stupid prejudices like Irish against Italian get in the way of good business.
“How many non-Irish do we have working at the warehouse?” I ask Uncle Brian. He’s the most deeply involved with that side of the family of anyone in this room, aside from myself.
He shifts, looking uncertain. “A few, at least. Six? Ten, maybe?”
I look at Uncle Eddie. “How many non-Irish work at our clubs? How many non-Irish fight at Bloody Strike?”
“Ronan—” Uncle Eddie starts, but I cut him off.
“Cormac, how many non-Irish work on the streets? How many non-Irish do we have along the smuggling chain?”
“I hear what you’re saying,” Cormac says instead of giving me a number, because he doesn’t fucking know.
“We have a lot,” I say, looking at each of them. “It’s not because she’s Italian. Stop using that as an excuse. You all don’t like her because she’s from a dead crime family. You don’t like her because she’s in my inner circle. And you know what? You should all be thanking your lucky fucking stars she is, because that girl has brought in two big scores, which are two more than any of you have come up with in years.”
Stunned looks. I suspect the uncles expected me to roll over and defer to their ancient wisdom, but I am not in the mood. Only Cormac seems unfazed.
“It’s more than all that,” Uncle Joseph says, getting flustered. “She’s got her own motives, and we don’t know her. How are we supposed to trust her with our boss’s ear? How would you feel, if the situation were reversed?”
Not fucking good, I’ll be honest about that, but mostly because the uncles are all feckless and Cormac’s too much of a schemer. I wouldn’t trust the uncles to stand up for themselves, and I’d be sure Cormac’s only looking out for himself.
“Until I find a reason to cut ties, Valentina’s not going anywhere.” I look at all of them before settling on Cormac. He’s the real problem here. The uncles are well-meaning, but I’m not sure they understand the depth of the issue yet. “You’ve already profited off her ideas, and you’ll keep on profiting if you learn how to trust me.”
“It sounds like you made up your mind,” Cormac says, and the uncles look back at him. “Maybe that’s because you’re fucking the girl.”
There’s stunned silence. Niall pushes himself from the window and takes a step toward me, probably because he knows me best of anyone here.
“Watch your mouth, boy,” Uncle Brian says, sounding like he can’t believe what he heard. “That’s still your boss.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Cormac presses. He doesn’t look afraid, but he should be. “You’re in a relationship with her.”
“This is too far,” Uncle Joseph murmurs. “Cormac, you need to stop.”
“Let him speak.” My voice cuts through the annoyed uncles. I nod at Cormac. “Go ahead. Say what you want to say. I want to hear every word.”
Cormac’s expression falters. I stare at him, listening intently to every word, imprinting them on my heart and my soul. I can’t hurt him right now—that would only be counterproductive—but the moment this crisis is over, I won’t forget this moment, and I won’t forgive him for it.
“I just mean, I’m worried you’re not thinking clearly, that’s all,” he says, glancing at Uncle Brian and wilting slightly. “That’s all I meant.”
I keep my eyes locked on him. “All I’ve ever done in my life has been in service of the family. The Hayes Group is my top priority, and I plan on growing our power and our strength in the coming months. If that means you all have to deal with an Italian girl in your midst, you’ll learn to handle it. Have I made myself clear?”
