No skin.
And no children.
Ever.
It’s one of the reasons I sought out and sat down with the Brotherhood a couple of years ago. They’re an Irish family that operates similarly to ours—but their limits align with mine—and not the rest of my family’s.
Which is why having their support is pivotal in my plans for the future. They have interests in a lot of different areas of the city, but they’re based out of Boston. Mainstream movies and TV gave the general population a skewed version of how connected families run. Sure, some shit is eerily on point, but other stuff couldn’t be further from the truth.
We usually keep to our own families, but that doesn’t mean we’re warring with everyone. We’re mostly cordial with each other. Until we’re not. And then it’s every man for himself—five families or not.
But for now, we’re on good terms with the Brotherhood. Affiliated with the IRA—Irish Republican Army—the Brotherhood controls the ports along the coast. My father and uncles have taken issue with their ban on skin through their ports, and they’ve had more than one run-in.
But I’ve never had issues with them—and I’ve never participated in any of my father’s hair-brained schemes to double-cross the fragile alliance we have with them.
The Brotherhood isn’t larger than us, but they have a different kind of weight around here. One that I’m hoping to harness when my full plan is executed.
“Matteo?”
“What?” I snap. I’m a little surprised that I was off daydreaming about shit while I was still on the phone. Fuck, I need some sleep. I run my hand down my face and sigh. “Sorry, man. What is it?”
“It’s fine. But that masquerade ball? Madison’s going. I just got word an hour ago from my source and I confirmed it myself before I called.”
I clench my fists without conscious thought. “A date?”
“Nah. No cousin or sister either.”
My mind spins as I try to see all the different angles and possible outcomes. If she’s without a date, then she’s alone, which could go either way.
“Think about this, man,” Dante murmurs.
“That’s all I fucking do is think about this—about her!” I flatten my palms to my desk and lean over it, my head hanging low.
Dante’s quiet on the line, letting me work through my shit like he knows I need to do. After a moment, he says, “You know I’ll back you, but you also know I caution you because I care. I just want you to be sure about this. Once you go public, and when someone spots you together—which they will because there are about a million people attending tonight—there’s no way to undo that. It doesn’t matter how you spin it.”
“Yeah, I know.” I blow out a breath and then my mind snags on something. I lift my head and look at my phone. “Wait. How many people are confirmed yeses?”
I hear papers rustle for a moment. “St. Rita’s and their alumni, their sister and brother schools and affiliations, politicians currently campaigning, some minor royalty, and various socialites. And our boy finally snagged an invitation this year.”
“Fuck.”
“That was my thought at first, too. But maybe we can use this to our advantage? There will be close to five hundred people there tonight, and mandatory masquerade masks, so the chances of you two being in the same vicinity are slim. This might be your chance to see how he’s really doing, too. This is the longest he’s gone without a proper check-in.”
Guilt churns my gut, sour and acidic, and I exhale through my nose. “Last we spoke, he said he had more secrets than we could ever need, but he was close to uncovering something big. Something that could ease our transition period when it arrives. I don’t want to fuck that up by showing up tonight.”
“And Madison?”
I walk three steps to my left before spinning on my heel and walking three steps to my right. I repeat this pattern a few times as my fingers tangle in my dark brown hair. I’m sure it looks like a mess right now, but I can’t seem to stop tugging on my hair when I’m thinking like this.
After a minute, I stop in my tracks. “Fuck it. I’m going. Get me a new suit and a mask. And don’t forget to get one for yourself. If I have to suffer through one of these bullshit events, so do you.”
I don’t trust anyone on a good day, but stick a bunch of dirty politicians and entitled rich assholes together, and I’m two seconds away from pulling my favorite gun.
“I saw her the other day, you know. Ran into her at one of her favorite coffee shops. She.” He trails off, and my patience wears thin.
“She, what?”
He huffs. “I don’t know, seemed sad or some shit.”