Page 41 of Dirty Legacy

“I have bigger problems than your mother.”

“But if there’s going to be trouble⁠—“

“They don’t know who you are yet. That won’t last long, but for now, your mother’s safe. I will bring her here before she’s in danger. Assuming you’re good.”

I press one fist into the opposite palm. “You’re blackmailing me? You’re using my mother against me?”

“I’m putting out fucking fires before we’re burned to a crisp. Yes, I’m blackmailing you, and you will not cause trouble. You don’t understand what I’ve done, but you will soon.” He curses as his phone starts to buzz. He looks down and grunts. “I have to go. It’s starting already.”

“What’s starting?”

“Hell, angel, and all the demons are coming for us.”

11

CONNOR

Deck and three guards follow me to the entrance of an upscale Italian place called Dolce Vita.

“You shouldn’t go in there alone.” Deck stands at my shoulder. He’s in a black bomber jacket and jeans, the suit discarded the first chance he got. There’s a vest underneath and at least two guns that I can see, but probably more. My cousin loves weapons.

“Declan’s mad enough as it is. I have to face him alone.”

“You might not come back out.”

“It’s a chance I have to take.”

Deck grunts unhappily. “I’ll secure the perimeter at least. Make sure the Gallaghers aren’t coming.”

“They don’t know yet.”

“How long until they do? Everyone’s aware you didn’t show up.”

“They think I got cold feet. That’s bad enough. They’re angry, but not ready to start murdering.”

“That’ll change when they find out about the girl.” Deck turns away. “Good luck in there, boss.”

I stride through the doors, leaving my men outside.

The interior of Dolce Vita’s handsome and richly decorated. There’s no hostess up front since they’re not technically open yet. A lone waitress sits at a front table rolling napkins. She ignores me as I walk past her, heading to the private room in the very back. The kitchen staff is already hard at work, the sound of music blaring and cursing in multiple languages filtering through the doors.

I find Declan Whelan sitting with his back to the wall, a glass of wine in front of him. Several guards are stationed around the room. The closest immediately closes on me, a gun aimed at my chest.

“Don’t move,” the guard says and starts to pat me down.

I keep my eyes on Declan and submit to the rough treatment. He watches impassively. When the guard clears me, he waves them away. The big men file out, leaving us alone, the table acting as a buffer.

Declan’s gaze is heavy and painful. It’s sorrowful and angry, and I don’t know what hurts most. Knowing I betrayed him, or knowing I’d do it again.

“What’s her name?” he asks, finally breaking the quiet.

“Angelina Bellandi.”

“Italian?”

“I think so. That’s my guess. She’s pregnant.”

Declan nods like he expected it. “When did you find out?”