Page 52 of Claiming Genevieve

“I know.” My jaw tightens. “I handled some of your business in Ireland. I’m not completely unaware of?—”

He scoffs. “Ireland. A bunch of falling-down old estates and a few low-level businesses to deal with. It’s nothing compared to what I’ve built here. What I built here foryou.”

“I wouldn’t call arms dealing with motorcycle clubs low-level,” I mutter. “There were some close calls over the years.”

My father snorts, shaking his head. “Maybe I was wrong to believe you could handle it. Yashkov and Gallo certainly think so.”

“I’m sure they do.” I can feel my teeth grinding together from how hard they’re clenched.I could walk away,I think, looking out of the window at the scenery passing by.Just leave it all behind and fuck off completely. What if I did that? What if I just gave it all up?

It’s not just the feeling that I’m not built to be poor that’s keeping me tied to this any longer, though. If I walk away, I walk away from Genevieve, too. She’s not going to follow me into poverty and probable crime. She’s not going to follow me at all. We had an agreement, and all I’m ever going to get with her is what is allowed within the bounds of that contract.

If I could just shake my obsession with her, maybe I could walk away. But I already know how that line of thinking ends.

It always ends with me back at her door, wanting her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

The meeting is being held at Antony Gallo’s mansion. A security guard opens the door of the SUV as it parks in front of the massive white-stone mansion, and I step out first, pausing to see if my father needs help getting out. He’d likely slap me for trying, but I can’t exactly let him fall on the gravel. Our strained past aside, he’s still my father.

He makes it out of the SUV without issue, walking haltingly toward the front door. I keep pace with him, just in time to see a black-uniformed man open the door and gesture us in. Shortly after, we’re being escorted to a large room located in the east wing of the mansion that’s set up much like a conference room. At the head of the table is Antony Gallo, looking portly and aged far more than I remember him, and to his left is Dimitri Yashkov. Neither of them looks to be in particularly good moods.

“Padraigh. Rowan.” Antony greets us, gesturing to the seats to his right. “Come. Sit.”

“Good to see you, Paidraigh,” Dimitri says. “I’m sorry about your health.”

“Not as sorry as I am, I imagine,” my father says with a wet, coughing laugh. “But there’s no need to talk about what can’t be undone. What we need to discuss is what comes next.”

“Yes.” Antony looks in my direction. “Your son’s inheritance.”

“Indeed.” My father looks at me, then back at the other two men. “I know there have been concerns?—”

Dimitri drums his fingers against the table. “Concerns. Yes. You’ve built an empire, Padraigh. The alliance among the three of us has served us well—financially and in terms of our strength. There are no other fledgling families warring for territory with us, no other gangs or businesses encroaching. With the Crows gone, there are no challenges to our control over the city’s underbelly. The police leave us alone. The motorcycle clubs and other gangs run our product for us. We have a hand in nearly every club in the city. But it’s a delicate balance.”

Antony nods, his gaze resting on me. “It is. The wrong business partnership, a word spoken in offense, a deal that goes against one of our interests…this triad that we’ve established is one that could be weakened. If challenges do arise—to our business, to our territory, to our families—Yashkov and I need to feel that the leader of the Irish will respond with strength and wisdom. What guarantee do we have that you can do that?”

He’s looking at me as he speaks; there’s no question that it’s to me that the challenge is issued. I hesitate a moment too long, because I’m not sure I have an answer. Not one that will satisfy. I can rattle off the details of our businesses and the importance of the major deals that we have, and which of our products are channeled through which avenues, because my father has drilled it into me relentlessly for weeks now. But this—a question aboutwhyI’m fit to lead… I’m not sure what to say.

I’m not sure that I am.

“For instance,” Antony continues, “there’s the matter of your marriage. My daughter, Estella, is still not engaged to anyone. A match could have been made between the two of you, perhaps. But instead, you married… a ballerina? One who can’t even dance any longer? What benefit does she bring to the family?—”

My composure snaps the instant he begins talking about Genevieve. My jaw clenches, and I straighten in my seat, glaring directly at him. “I don’t recall hearing that you had anything similar to say about Dimitri’s marriage,” I bite out. “If my facts are correct, he married a boutique owner. A similar marriage to someone outside the families. Someone who came with no connections and problems of her own?—”

“Don’t bring Evelyn into this,” Dimitri breaks in icily. I swivel my glare to pin him with it.

“Antony brought my wife into it first.”

“I approved of the marriage,” my father interrupts. “If there is fault, it’s mine. It was clear that my son was smitten with the girl, and with the newness of his responsibilities and the pressure there, I saw no reason to buck against his choice of bride.”

“So the poor judgment was yours.” Antony looks at my father. “Marriages matter when it comes to our children?—”

“That’s an old way of thinking,” Dimitri interrupts, clearly perturbed as well by the turn that the conversation has taken. “But I have questions about your marriage, too, Rowan.”

My jaw tightens. “Like what?”

Dimitri pins me with a cool look. “I’ve known Genevieve for some time. She’s a close friend of my wife. And she’s never struck me as the romantic type. Yet we’re meant to believe that the two of you had a whirlwind romance that resulted in a quick marriage, right after a devastating blow to her career?” His eyes narrow. “I feel that there’s something we’re all not aware of here.”

I pause, thinking carefully about what I’m going to say. “The fall was devastating,” I say finally. “We were caught up in a whirlwind romance, yes. And the marriage seemed like a good way to make the best of a bad situation.”

From the way Dimitri is looking at me, I can tell he isn’t buying it. “She was in a relationship just before—possibly even during this ‘romance’. What about that?”

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