Page 81
Responsibilities suck, but I bear this particular burden gladly. I didn’t loop in Brady, or Finn, or James on this one. Because I like handling this on my own.
I’m ready to take over the family. I can keep Brioni safe by myself, I can handle all of the boss’s responsibilities by myself. I was born to be a leader of men. An executor of cruelty. I feel high as I take my third swing at Connor.
Around us, the students have started recording. I don’t give a fuck. We have the media and cops to make this all go away. Even all the way up here, past Seven’s territory. We have the power.
I’m Liam O’Sullivan, and I am untouchable.
I throw Connor back down on the sidewalk, spit to the side, then dust off my hands. The majority of my rampage has settled. For now.
I climb back into the Nav and peel out. My heart thrums, contented, as I get stuck in traffic again. I tune to a metal station and drum on the steering wheel.
Yes, I’m very ready to lead.
The other night, Mam sat me down to have another long talk about it, something about inheriting the sins of my father.
I’m already plenty good at making sins of my own.
Chapter 41
Brioni
Liam can’t stop grinning as he drives us to our double date, and my fiancé’s smile makes me smile. At every stoplight, he keeps glancing over at me. I’ve never seen him happier, and he’s so handsome when he’s happy.
Cora once told me she thought Liam looked like a black-and-white movie star, a young Bela Lugosi or a clean-shaven Vincent Price. I see it in his classic good looks, but Liam’s emerald eyes are what make him who he is.
They’re exquisite tonight, enhanced by the green turtleneck he’s wearing beneath his black coat. I knitted it for him years ago. At the time, I told myself it was an accident that I’d made it just a little too tight. Now, I can admit the truth. I love the way it stretches perfectly over the muscles of his shoulders, his pecs, even the tops of his abs.
As excited as I am for our evening with Brady and Cora, I’m most excited for Liam to take off his coat. He told me we’re going to a taproom, implying that I should dress casually, but if he’s in that sweater, then I’m glad I chose a dress. It’s one of my favorites—a flowy long-sleeved one that hits just below the knee, in a fawn-colored velvet, perfect for winter.
It hasn’t snowed properly yet, only an inch here and there, and tonight the light flurries are magical. The drifting snow is mild enough that I can get away with my high-heeled ankle boots, which Liam compliments as he helps me out of his SUV. Well, he compliments my legs, which look good because of these boots.
The taproom that he and Brady have chosen isn’t in O’Sullivan territory. Apparently, we’re in a neutral zone, which they’ve deemed safe enough that we don’t need guards. I understood what Liam meant when he told me that.
He wants to guard me himself. He’d do anything to keep me safe, and he’s perfectly capable of doing so on his own.
I sigh in pure bliss, leaning my head against his shoulder as we stroll down the sidewalk. We’re getting married on Saturday. I’ll be pledging my life to my best friend in a matter of days. We still haven’t talked about whether we’ll legitimize our marriage, but my stomach flutters every time I think about it. Liam and I aren’t acting anymore.
He was such a good sport about going registry shopping with me. The most powerful mafia boss-to-be with a scanner gun in his hand, shooting barcodes instead of bad guys. The best part was how accurately he predicted my selections. As well as my taste in engagement rings and dining room tables, my fiancé knows my preferences in linens and flatware.
Because he knows me.
When he holds the taproom door open, Liam takes a deep inhale of my hair as I pass. It’s just shampoo, but sometimes he acts like any scent of mine is a drug to him. I used to feel embarrassed by it, but now it’s empowering, and I enter the taproom with my shoulders back, extra tall in my heels.
When I take my own deep breath in, I’m hit with the smell of hoppy beer and copper. The place reminds me of a less homey version of the O’Sullivans’ pub, with more focus on its industrial chic appeal than being a place of heartwarming gatherings. But it’s pleasant enough, with the thrum of conversation rippling through the space, bustling but not overcrowded.
We spot Brady and Cora in the far corner by the pool tables, each with a cue in hand and speaking intently. Cora’s gesturing wildly with her free hand, as if trying to make a point Brady isn’t getting. Her back is to us, but she’s easily recognizable in that bright red dress I shortened for her. Which—wow. It hugs her curves in all the right places, and she’s paired it with sky-high heels.
My jaw falls open at how stunning she looks, and at the fact that Brady did indeed let her out of the house like that. Maybe that’s what they’re arguing about. Because as Liam and I draw closer, it’s obvious the newlyweds are arguing about something.
I try to slow down, to give them space. They’re the only ones in the billiards area, and it’s clear the other customers want to keep it that way. But Liam grabs my elbow and steers me toward them.
When Brady glances up at his brother’s approach, Cora whirls around.
“You!” She stalks toward Liam, fury on her face and pool cue in hand. When she brandishes it at him, he disarms her easily, tossing her cue back for Brady to catch.
“Me,” Liam says calmly.
“What the absolute fuck?” Cora shouts loudly enough to draw curious looks, but when Brady shoots them all his death glare, the other customers quickly return to their drinks.
