Lachlan enters. His almost-black hair is slicked back and his green eyes are cutting. He’s still half in business mode. He’s taller than us all, and it’s always felt like an immense gap. He always feels like he’s towering over you.
Lachlan barely has to glance at Connor and Finn to recognize there’s a situation.
“What’s going on?”
Connor breaks the news, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet as he speaks.
“We have shit on Antonio Donovan.”
He’s grinning. I’m not.
What I do feel is pure, unbridled rage. The name tends to do that to me. There’s really no other way to react to the man responsible for killing my father.
The same rage and satisfaction I feel is reflected in Connor’s and Finn’s faces as well. Lachlan is more of a closed book, but it’s the little things that give him away, like the way he leans back against the wall and nods his head once. He wants this as badly as we do.
It’s been a long time coming. Two years, actually. It’s been two years since Antonio Donovan killed my father, Callum, and got away with it.
Revenge was always on our minds. We didn’t tiptoe around it. We knew we wanted Antonio to pay, and we were going to be the ones to make him suffer.
The Assembly didn’t agree.
Six families, and all the power split between us. Yet when our family suffered, the vote was that there wasn’t enough evidence. If we tried to attack or kill Antonio, our lives would be forfeit.
As much as we wanted Antonio dead, our father taught us well. We were smarter than to throw ourselves into danger.
So we waited.
After all that waiting, our patience is finally paying off. I smile, an eerie sort of peace searing my veins, stronger than the whiskey.
“It’s what we’ve been waiting for,” Connor says. There’s a feverish glow to his eyes.
He might be adopted, but there’s no doubting he’s our brother. He’s always been our brother. Connor has just as much reason to kill Antonio as the rest of us.
“So?” Lachlan prompts. He’s not keen on dancing around the issue. “What do you have?”
“He’s always wanted power,” Finn replies. He crosses his arms over his chest and starts to pace. Sobriety is getting to him, I think. “He’s made a move.”
“Where and how? Do you have proof?”
Connor cuts in, impatient, practically glowing. There’s a giddy grin on his face. “He’s cutting in on the Ravens.”
Lachlan’s brows shoot up, and I almost drop my whiskey.
“He can’t be,” my older brother growls. “That’s idiotic.”
“He’s an idiot,” Finn replies smoothly. “He’s undercutting the Raven Syndicate. Buyers, stealing business—you name it.”
“Secretly,” Connor adds, mocking.
Lachlan leans over the table I’m sitting at. He pours himself a glass, turning the whiskey bottle with a practiced wrist. No drops hit the table.
“If the Ravens find out, it’ll be a bloodbath,” he says. He sounds like he’s musing about the weather.
Connor is practically jumping up and down. I know how he feels, but I wish he’d sit down. He’s making me want to get up and punch something.
Or maybe that’s just the whiskey talking. The whiskey and the knowledge that we have Antonio.
He’s going to fucking pay.
