I straightened my spine and rolled my shoulders back. Perfect posture was a habit my mother had drilled into me before she died. "A lady never slouches, Grace. Especially not an O'Sullivan."
My mother had a lot of rules about what an O'Sullivan should and shouldn't do. None of which included "become a criminal empire that controls half of our city’s underworld," but I guess we all have our blind spots.
My phone buzzed again. Connor.
Seriously, Grace. Pick up.
I sighed and gathered my books. So much for constitutional law. Whatever crisis was brewing in the O'Sullivan household apparently couldn't wait for judicial review.
Outside, the October air bit at my cheeks as I walked across campus. Harvard Law looked exactly like it did in the brochures—all red brick, autumn leaves, and the weight of three hundred years of tradition pressing down on your shoulders until you either stood taller or broke completely.
I chose to stand taller.
I found a bench away from the main paths and pulled out my phone, my finger hovering over Connor's name. My youngest brother was the only one I still spoke to regularly. The only one who seemed to understand why I needed distance.
"This better be important," I said when he answered.
"Nice to hear your voice too, sis." His tone was light, but I could hear the tension underneath.
"I have a midterm in three days, Connor. I don't have time for?—"
"Dad's setting up a meeting with the Giordanos."
My stomach dropped. The Giordanos controlled the docks in South Boston. Old money, old blood, old grudges.
"And?" I kept my voice neutral, as if we were discussing the weather instead of potential gang alliances.
"And he's planning to bring you to the dinner next week."
The bench suddenly felt very cold beneath me. "I have class."
"Yeah, well, Dad doesn't care about your Constitutional Law midterm. He cares about showing Anthony Giordano that the O'Sullivans are still a united front."
I closed my eyes, feeling a headache forming behind my temples. "I'm not part of the business."
"Tell that to Dad."
"I have. Repeatedly."
Connor sighed, the sound crackling through the phone. "Look, I'm just giving you a heads-up. He's going to call you tonight."
"I won't answer."
"Then he'll send someone to get you."
I knew he was right. My father didn't take no for an answer. Not from his children, not from his enemies, not from anyone.
"Fine. I'll deal with it." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "How are you doing? Are you still?—"
"I'm fine," he cut me off. "Just keeping my head down. Doing what I'm told."
The unspoken words hung between us. Unlike me, Connor didn't have the luxury of distance. At twenty-two, he was already deep in the family business, his Harvard acceptance letter gathering dust in a drawer somewhere.
"Be careful," I said softly.
"Always am." He paused. "Love you, Grace."
"Love you too."
