Page 15 of Brutal Power

“Nah, I’m good, but I’m sure you’ll hear from the others eventually.” He grins at me. “You wanna place a bet? I’ll give you good odds.”

“Fuck off, Declan.”

He laughs and leaves me in peace. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. Even though it’s been two weeks since I last saw my wife-to-be, every spare second I manage to find each day somehow finds her slipping into my head. I hear her laugh and feel her hip under my fingers and see the way her head tilted to the side as her mouth parted in that hallway at the country club, and I wonder for the thousandth time if she would’ve kissed me back.

But then there’s a knock at the door and it’s back to work.

I handle another dozen petitions before Mom finally shuts the front door and hangs a wreath on it, the universal symbol forfuck off, we’re closed. After that, I get a little calm, or what masquerades as calm in my family.

Molly and Caitlin are arguing about some stupid shit, while Seamus keeps saying Declan was cheating, and Nolan’s bugging me to give him more important jobs at the law firm, and foods get passed around, a drink is spilled, and nobody’s paying much attention to anything but themselves.

Except for me. I keep seeing Mom. Poor Orla Quinn, widow much too young. Her wrinkles look deeper and her hair seems grayer since Dad passed, and she barely eats anything, barely even lifts her head up to smile at a joke Seamus makes. Molly’s chatting at her too, and she makes little noises like she understands, but there’s been a distance in Mom.

She’s deep in grief. I think we all are. Dad was a hard man, but he was the center of our family, the star around which we orbited, and things are strange without him. I’ve contorted myself into his position, but I haven’t managed to fill the hole he left and I doubt I ever will.

But I love these people. Even if they drive me fucking crazy, I love them, and I’d take the boss role a thousand times over if it means they get to live relatively normal lives.

I don’t care how much pressure’s grinding down on my shoulders. I’m too damn stubborn to let it stop me.

But this is why I need to marry Elena. The Bianco family is powerful, and if I can make this alliance happen for real and finally get the Waterfront project moving, the project my father cared the most about but could never complete himself, I’ll be able to prove to everyone that I belong where I am.

I just have to use my sway with the CPD to help their war.

Which isn’t an easy ask. Sure, there are a ton of Irish cops, and most of them are more than happy to take my envelopes oncea month, except there’s only so much they can do. My influence runs high and it runs deep, but I’m not my father. There’s more skepticism aimed my way.

After the meal, most of my siblings retreat into the living room to drink and argue some more. I help Mom clear the table and get things cleaned up, and I listen to her humming Dad’s old favorite songs, those ancient Rat Pack tunes they used to dance to in the living room while his beat-up turntable spun around and skipped half the time.

“How are you holding up?” I ask her, trying to make it sound casual.

Mom only shrugs. She doesn’t look up from where she’s wrapping the leftovers. “House gets too quiet when all of you aren’t around.”

I smile to myself. “I don’t know how you miss it. Remember when it was like when we were growing up? Six kids in a four-bedroom house.”

“All that noise was love,” she says, staring at the counter and not moving. “You know, at the time, I would’ve given anything for a little peace and quiet. Then you all got older, and started moving into your own places, but it was okay. I had your father, and he got visitors all the time. But now that stopped.”

I study my mother, how small and slow she seems. I remember her as this enormous force, this vitality, this warmth. “Maybe we can do this more often. Sundays and Thursdays.”

She shrugs. “It’s hard enough doing it once. Don’t worry about me, sweetie. You’ve got enough to deal with.”

“Mom—”

But she’s already opening the refrigerator and waving me off.

It kills me, the depths of her pain. Losing Dad was like losing a piece of herself, and I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t think I can, and that drives me crazy. I’m the head of this family—I’m the one who solves the problems. Except I can’t solve hers.

Once the kitchen’s done, I head back toward the living room, already mentally making a dinner schedule for all the siblings. If we take a night each, then all come Sundays, Mom never has to eat alone. All I have to do is juggle a bunch of egos and make sure they all commit.

My phone rings before I get a chance to start barking orders. I take it in the office and shut the door.

“Brody Quinn, this is Omar Ali.”

I sit in stunned silence for a beat. “Councilman Ali, how are you?”

“Just call me Omar.” He doesn’t sound happy to be talking to me, but he’s not cursing me out, which is an improvement. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you, Quinn. My wife’s been on my ass about having you and Elena over for dinner, which means I have to smile and be fucking nice.”

I choke back a laugh. “The things we do for the ones we love.”

“Yeah, fuck you. You’re in for this, right? We’ll eat, make small talk, make the girls happy. But I still don’t like you. Just make sure your fiancée shows up.”

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