Corrupted Union

4

Why didn’t he insist on her using a private driver? They had the means. I had so many damn questions and knew that if I waited until she left her parents’ three-story mansion on the Upper East Side, I could learn a wealth of information by following her home. The compulsion to do it was almost insatiable. Almost.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that the female contingency of the Byrne family had scheduled a dinner at Paddy and Nana’s house that evening, I wouldn’t have fought the urge to follow Rowan. Instead, I tethered together my tattered self-control and drove to my grandparents’ house. If I had skipped the dinner, I’d have never heard the end of it. We only had these dinners once a month. As the eldest son of the eldest son, the family expected me to set an example. Nana waved an arm toward the kitchen. “I think the girls have it about ready. You can sit next to me tonight and tell me what ye’ve been up to.” Nana and Paddy had come over from Dublin when they were teens and still carried remnants of their native accent. They probably could have worked to drop the accent had they wanted to, but my proud Irish grandparents would never have considered such blasphemy. I’m glad they didn’t. Hearing the lyrical quality of her words brought back fond memories of time spent at their home. She led us to the dining room, and I followed for fear of further reprimand. Paddy had been the leader of our business for decades, but it was Nana who ran the family. No one crossed Nana Byrne. If it wasn’t for her, my dislike of social gatherings would have likely kept me from attending these dinners, but with her around, that wasn’t an option. Fortunately, I’d trained the people around me not to expect much in the way of conversation from me. The Byrne clan had grown to nearly three dozen, and that was just those branching from Paddy and Nana Byrne. Paddy had four brothers and three sisters. All five brothers had gone into business with him back in the day, but two had been killed, one followed his wife back to Ireland, and the other had been sent to prison. Our family was the only remaining pillar of the Byrne legacy, and one of a select few Irish families to have survived the organized crime shakedown in the seventies and eighties. Paddy was shrewd. He’d adapted and kept the family afloat. Now, we were on the brink of a new era of prosperity. Wealth had come in spades, but we were still considered one of the weaker underworld groups. That was changing. My cousin Conner had come to dinner with his new Italian bride, Noemi. Their marriage solidified an unprecedented alliance between the Irish and Italians. And a year earlier, Oran, the eldest of the Byrne grandchildren, had married a Donovan girl to unite what was left of their dying clan with ours. The next key maneuver was to give us a better grip on law enforcement, thus my visit to Evan Alexander. With a little more finesse, all the stars would be fully aligned, and we’d be untouchable. I couldn’t think of anything more important than providing a good life for the people surrounding me—my siblings and cousins, their children, and the generations to come. Family was everything to me, even if I preferred not to talk to them. For Nana’s sake, however, I forced myself to converse over the chaos of dinner. My grandparents’ house no longer fit the family, but Paddy and Nana had refused to move, so we made do. The kids clustered in circles to eat picnic style on the floor while the adults used every chair available. It was loud, packed, and made my skin crawl. I ate fast, then excused myself to the back garden for air. It wasn’t long before my father joined me. “How did your visit with Alexander go?” he asked, his breath a white cloud in the crisp evening air. “He held firm.” His lips thinned. “That’s what I suspected.” Jimmy Byrne was getting older at sixty-two but had been the de facto leader of the family business for decades. He’d done well over the years, and I respected his insight, though we didn’t always see eye to eye. “I still say we’ll have to go at this from a different direction. He isn’t the sort to respond to being threatened, and while we could try to lean on the mayor, we’d end up stirring up trouble with the Greeks. They’ve owned him for years.” Pop frowned as if considering, his arms crossed thoughtfully over his chest. “Sometimes it’s better to creep in the back rather than bust down the front door.” His eyes cut to me. “He has a daughter, you know.” “Alexander? Yeah, I’m familiar,” I said warily. I couldn’t see any way in which my father’s mention of her was a good thing. He shrugged. “We need someone on the inside. A seat at the table. What better way to do that than actually sit at the governor’s family table?” s**t. I wasn’t sure what I would have disliked more—him suggesting I pursue Rowan Alexander or that we threaten her. It had been a toss-up which way he’d lean. A kidnapping would be more direct and a hell of a lot easier. Considering she was his only kid, all I’d have to do was lean into the threat I’d already presented. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d give eventually. But a marriage? I hadn’t signed up for that. Rowan was more intriguing than I’d expected, but that didn’t mean I wanted to marry the woman. Jesus. “We’re in a good spot, Pop. Don’t think this is necessary.” “You seen her?” he continued pushing. “I have, and she’s hardly more than a kid,” I said more forcefully than I should have. Pop eyed me, then shrugged, though I didn’t buy it. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it would be better if Tor got to know her. They’re closer in age.” I knew I wasn’t going to like what he said. The youngest son of my uncle Tully was a professional fighter. He was ambitious but surly on the best of days. The thought of him pursuing Rowan made me irrationally angry. “I’ll work on convincing Alexander,” I said through clenched teeth. “Leave Tor out of it.” My father’s keen eyes studied me. “I trust your judgment, son.” He patted my shoulder and nodded. “It’s gettin’ fuckin’ cold out here. I’m going back in.” “I’ll be there in a second.” “Take your time.” He knocked his knuckles against the vinyl siding and let the storm door slam shut behind him. I blew out a long, steamy breath, but it didn’t ease the tension coiled in my neck and shoulders. I needed a drink. A tall one. Instead, the back door opened again, signaling I had company. I looked back to see my cousin Oran’s wife. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize anyone was out here.” “You’re welcome to stay,” I said, halting her retreat. “There’s room for both of us.” Caitlin was a lovely young woman—quiet but perceptive with an easygoing demeanor and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Back when marriage between our families had first been brought up, Oran and I as the two eldest grandsons had been offered as options.