Page 53 of Claiming Genevieve

I press my lips together. “I know you aren’t asking for intimate details of my relationship with my wife, or for me to share things that are better kept between us. Her former relationship is her business. She’sminenow.” The word comes out with more venom than I mean for it to, and I see Dimitri’s eyes narrow further.

“Genevieve and I are married, in the eyes of the law and God.” I look from one face to the other, between the other three men at the table. “There’s nothing that can alter that. And soon, if we’re fortunate, we’ll have a child—myheir.”

Dimitri and Antony exchange a look. “You have no experience leading a mafia,” Antony says finally, his voice harsh. “Padraigh has shared with us your responsibilities while you were in Ireland. They were… minimal.”

There’s nothing I can say to that, because he’s right. I lived my life the way I wanted to—recklessly, and without much care as to the consequences. I did the minimum needed to keep my father mollified, and threw caution to the wind the rest of the time. Now, it seems, my face is going to be rubbed in it every bloody second of the day.

“My father is giving me excellent instruction in the areas where I lack,” I reply coolly.

“This city is at peace.” Antony’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “I have no intention of letting you fuck that up, pup.”

My eyes narrow. “And I have no intention of fucking it up.”

Antony looks toward my father. “I’m working on a marriage for my daughter—the brother of the Las Vegas don, Emilio Gatti. You understand that this is a tenuous time, yes? Bringing in new blood has the potential to expose weak spots. We must all be careful during times of transition, or all that we’ve worked for can come down in an instant.”

“I understand, Gallo.” My father looks at him levelly. “My son will not fail the families.”

He says it with a certainty that I’m not sure I feel. But what can I say to that? What choice do I have but to try to live up to a standard that I’m not sure I ever wanted to meet?

The conversation shifts to other, smaller matters—talks of needing to reevaluate the contributions made to the local police and the mention of a shipment that one of the motorcycle clubs will be picking up. As the meeting winds down, my father looks at Antony.

“I wish you luck in your daughter’s marriage proceedings. New blood is a good thing. It can revitalize us.”

Antony raises one eyebrow. “Maybe new blood would have been best for your family, too.”

It’s an insult, but I can see that it’s one that my father is prepared to let slide. It’s no secret that out of the three families, the Italians are the strongest, and the Irish the weakest. That’s not to say that we don’t have a great deal of strength and wealth—compared to other, smaller families, to other gangs and clubs, we’re a force to be reckoned with. But compared to Antony…

It’s wise for my father to keep the peace. It will be wise for me to do so, too, and I have every intention of it.

So long as Antony and Dimitri keep Genevieve’s name out of their mouths.

I follow my father out of the conference room, shaking hands with the others and murmuring farewells before heading out to the waiting SUV. Once we’re inside and the car is pulling away, my father fixes me with a cold look.

“I hope you appreciate how I stood up for your marriage.” His voice is terse. “I have my own doubts about it.”

“Are you doubting my ability to make a woman fall in love with me?” The question is flippant, but what’s underneath it is not. “I assure you, Pops, we’re head over heels for each other.”

My father’s gaze narrows. “Your smart mouth will be the death of you one day, Rowan,” he bites out. “And whatever arrangement you have going on with that woman, it’s not love.”

My jaw works as I try to manage a response that won’t earn me a right hook to the jaw. “And you’d know what love looks like?” I say finally, meeting his gaze. “Because I think Ma would have something to say about that.”

“Careful, son,” my father warns, but I don’t break eye contact.

“Careful how you speak about my wife.”

Silence hangs heavy between us. A beat passes, and then another, and my father turns, looking out of the window on his side of the car. He says nothing else, and neither do I.

When we arrive back at the estate, I’ve already texted Rory to bring the car. He’s pulling in by the time I step out of the SUV, and I stride toward it without so much as a farewell to my father. I need space. I need time to breathe, to think, before I make a rash decision.

I’ve always been good at rash decisions. Now I need to be measured. Careful. All things that don’t come naturally to me.

I don’t sleep well that night. I lie awake next to Genevieve, listening to her rhythmic breathing, looking up at the ceiling of my—our—bedroom, and I imagine that space beside me empty once again. My chest tightens, and I look over at her.

I’m having a hard time remembering what it was like when she wasn’t next to me. I wanted to tell her about the meeting today, over dinner, but I didn’t, and I don’t have to think too hard to know why.

She might agree with Antony and Dimitri and even my father—that I’m not cut out for this. And while I can stomach their judgment, their disappointment, and even my own…

I’m not sure I could bear hers.

---