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“It’s Harrison, isn’t it?” Cora’s the only one I’ve told about my creepy phone messages. “We could have him taken care of, you know,” she says, but my stomach drops at the thought, my face suddenly cold.
I shake my head in horror. We’re too close to discussing that side of the O’Sullivans.
“Just an option to think about.” Cora shrugs. She’s so casual about violence, the perfect mafia wife. Meanwhile, I avoid violence at all costs and let paranoia and fear rule me instead.
“I have it under control,” I tell her. When she gives me a skeptical look, I add, “And there’s a good chance it’s all in my imagination.” I say it confidently, but Cora shakes her head.
“Brioni, you have good instincts. Trust them.”
“Well…” I consider the empty shot glasses in front of us. “Right now, my instincts are telling me to drink more.” To forget everything bad in this world and simply exist among friends.
“I can help with that.” Cora reaches for the bottle of Jameson that Erin left for us.
And drink we do.
Chapter 2
Liam
I drive my black Navigator between the darkened skyscrapers of my city. I’m going slow, which is partly because of the late-night drunks, who occasionally stumble off the sidewalks. It’s mostly because I don’t want to go to this meeting.
Because it is a meeting, regardless of what Mam called it.
“Just a chat with me and your da,” she’d said. “We never see you anymore.”
They see me plenty. Practically every day. But since I’ve moved out of their annex, I do see them less than before. I’d been dragging my feet about leaving Mam and Da’s place. I’m the eldest son, and I’m going to lead our family someday soon. So it was easy enough to claim that I needed to keep learning all I could from Da. Because I do.
But that wasn’t the real reason I stayed for so long.
She was.
The girl next door.
And the real reason I left was to delay a certain inevitability. The part of my firstborn duties I’m most reluctant to do. Eventually Mam’s pestering became too much. Da’s hint-dropping became less subtle. I could tell they were about to command me outright, give me an order I’d have to obey.
So I started sleeping at my penthouse, a vacant bachelor pad on the top floor of one of our high-rises. It’s been mine for years, but I’ve rarely used it until now. I’m not proud of retreating like that. But if I avoided my parents, they couldn’t issue that command I’ve been dreading.
And now, they’ve summoned me to a meeting at their house. A meeting with just me, not my brothers.
Crossing south into O’Sullivan territory feels like driving through a force field. An invisible wall that allows friends through and keeps enemies out. I imagine it resealing behind my taillights.
The neighborhood’s brick houses look asleep, tucked in for the night, their yards beneath blankets of fallen leaves. The fact that Mam called me so late isn’t unusual. Given the nature of our true business, she and Da keep weird hours. As I turn onto their street, my chest lightens at the sight of the house next door, the way it always does.
My car dings with a text from Finn, but it’s a picture. I don’t look at it until I pull up in front of Mam and Da’s.
When I see it, I seethe.
I punch the Nav into gear and peel off the curb. Mam definitely saw me, but I don’t care. All I can think about is that photo: a group selfie at the pub taken by Finn. Everyone in it is obviously hammered—Finn, Brady, Cora, Erin, and Brioni.
In the picture, Brioni’s so drunk she’s bleary-eyed, and leaning heavily on Finn. She clearly needs help. She can’t go home in that state. No doubt Finn sent me that photo to wind me up. To taunt me about how protective I can get about our lifelong neighbor.
It’s working.
I pull up to the pub’s front entrance. The door’s locked, so I bang on it. At the far end of the bar, everyone looks over and waves like the drunken fools they are. It’s Erin who comes to let me in. At least as the bartender, she can hold her booze. She’s barely wobbling, but she greets me with a drunk-strength bear hug.
“The prodigal son returns!” she bellows.
“The prodigal son abandoned his family.” I stalk past her. “That’s not me.”