CHAPTER 14: DECLAN'S TABLE
873 Words
Valentina
Mrs. Brennan put a dark green dress on my bed and informed me I was having dinner with Declan.
I informed her I was not.
We stared at each other.
She won.
"He dislikes empty chairs," she said.
"I dislike being kidnapped. We all have burdens."
"Wear the dress."
"I have clothes."
She looked at my scrub trousers. The knee had torn during the escape and somebody had cleaned garbage juice out of them without managing to restore dignity.
"You have those," she said.
"They are trousers."
"Technically."
Luna sat on the green dress and began licking her stomach.
"See? She agrees with me."
"Your cat ate part of a camera wire this morning."
"She has excellent instincts."
Mrs. Brennan moved Luna onto the pillow. Luna allowed it because she respected age or planned revenge. Hard to tell.
"Dinner in twenty minutes," Mrs. Brennan said. "Please do not make me come back with guards."
"Would you?"
She paused at the door.
"I would come back with soup and wait until you got hungry. It is usually more effective."
Then she left.
I wore the dress.
Not because Declan wanted me decorated for his table. Not because Cillian had already watched me in too many clothes I had never chosen for him.
I wore it because it fit and I was tired of feeling like someone had dragged me out of a dumpster.
That was all.
Probably.
The green made my skin look warmer than it felt. I left my hair loose because putting it up hurt my scalp and because, for one stupid second, I wanted to recognize myself in the mirror.
Luna stared from the bed.
"Don't say anything."
She yawned.
Mrs. Brennan waited outside. Her eyes moved over me once.
"Better."
"That sounded almost kind."
"Do not become dependent on it."
The dining room looked like rich people had hired a church to design a threat.
Dark wood. Too many candles. Dead O'Malleys on the walls, all of them painted with the same expression Cillian wore when someone suggested rest.
Declan sat at the head.
Cillian was on his right, dressed in black, one leg stretched out beneath the table. He looked better after the blood. Not well. Better.
His eyes found me.
Then the dress.
They stayed there.
My skin heated under fabric that covered everything important.
Annoying.
I knew what that look meant now. I had felt it in the garage when he pressed against me, hard and deliberate. I had heard it when he told me he would take my cunt. The green dress was doing exactly what he had done with the black one in my apartment: making me visible as something he planned to use.
Ronan stood and pulled out the chair across from Cillian.
"Miss Romano."
"You carried my cat through an alley. You can call me Valentina."
He looked at the scratches on his hand. "I thought that might have reduced my status."
"It did. But I feel guilty."
He pulled the chair out farther.
The other men watched me sit.
Finn I knew from the contract meeting. Narrow face. Restless hands. The sort of man who smiled before saying something he had already decided was cruel.
Seamus Doyle was older, grey-haired, scar under one eye. Patrick Keane looked younger than the others and kept turning his wedding ring around his finger.
Nobody introduced themselves properly.
Apparently crime families skipped that part.
Soup arrived.
I had taken two mouthfuls when Declan said, "Dr. Kavanaugh tells me you interfered with treatment."
I put the spoon down.
"I delayed one injection."
"You arrived yesterday."
"The blood results arrived today."
Finn leaned back. "The purchased help works quickly."
The words hit the table and stayed there.
I looked at him.
For once, the clever reply did not come.
Maybe because Mateo's name was still written in a contract upstairs. Maybe because the men at this table had all known my father and some of them had helped put him in the river.
"My name is Valentina," I said.
Finn smiled. "I know."
Cillian's wineglass stopped halfway to the table.
Declan ignored it. "Eamon has treated my son for years."
"Then he should have years of records."
"He does."
"He did not want me to see them."
"Perhaps he does not enjoy being challenged by someone with less training."
My stomach tightened.
I forced myself to pick up the spoon again. My hand shook once against the china. I set it down before anyone could hear.
"Then he can explain the numbers," I said. "That should be easy."
"You are confident."
"Not especially."
That surprised him.
Good.
"I am tired," I continued. "I have not slept properly. My ankle hurts. I would like my brother safe and my job back. None of that changes his blood counts."
Cillian watched me.
Not approving. Not amused.
Just listening.
His eyes moved over my mouth when I spoke, then lower, lingering on the way the green dress sat against my breasts. I felt the look like a hand. My n*****s tightened under the fabric and I hated that he could probably see it.
Declan cut into his meat. "Your father was also certain numbers could protect him."
The room narrowed.
- Writer
