Page 78 of Stolen Mafia Vows
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he growls when I’m close enough to hear him.
“I’m coming with you to New York. Emily is my wife, and I’m going to help you find her.”
His gaze sweeps the empty boarding area, like I might be a figment of his imagination and vanish before he looks back. I can see the disappointment in his eyes when I’m still there.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn around and walk away. Now.”
I smile. “I do know what’s good for me, and that’s precisely the reason why I’m staying.”
He inhales deeply, his mouth working around all the things he wants to say to me without getting himself hauled into the back of a Garda van. For a large man, he moves nimbly. His gun is pressed against the back of my skull; my right arm twisted behind my back before I can blink.
“Look the other way,” he calls out to the flight attendant waiting to board us as he shoves me onto my knees.
I don’t hear her response, but I guess she’s willing to follow instructions if it means going home tonight without a bullet in her chest. I don’t fight back. He was never going to welcome his new son-in-law with open arms and a bottle of brandy to share during the flight.
“Now do you understand?” Terry leans over me and uses his gun to apply pressure to my windpipe as he yanks my head backwards. “You’re going to stand up nice and slowly, and then you’re going to make your way back through the airport, avoiding eye contact and conversation with anyone who approaches you. Got it?”
I look him straight in the eye as he looms over me. “I understand.” My voice squeaks with the weight of the gun restricting my throat. “But I’m still coming with you.”
He raises the gun to bring it down hard on my temple, and I grab his wrist before it connects. He must not expect me to retaliate. I force him to drop the weapon with minimal effort, drag him over my head and shoulders, and drop him onto the floor on his back with a dull whump.
I’m on my feet before he can haul himself upright. Turning his gun around so that the barrel is facing me, I offerit to him.
His gaze hops back and forth between me and the gun. “Look,” he eventually says, taking the weapon and sliding it back into his holster. “You’ve either got balls or you’re a moron with a death wish. But either way, you’re not coming with me.”
I extend my arms with my wrists together. “I’ll come as your prisoner. But the sooner you accept the fact that you’re not getting rid of me, the sooner we can find Emily.”
“Jesus fucking wept.” His lips barely move, but the sentiment is obvious. I’m getting to him. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Kyle told me that you tracked Emily back to the States.”
“Kyle, huh?” He has shrewd eyes that miss nothing, and I can almost see the thought process chugging around behind them. “That kid always was a sucker for a happy ending. But don’t think that this changes anything.”
“I don’t.”
“If you’d done what you promised to do when you married my daughter, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
“And if anything happens to my girl, you’ll be the first to pay for it.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“So, stop with the bullshit and board the fucking plane before I change my mind.”
“My brother wasn’t a bad person.”
Terry Keegan might never view me as an ally, and he certainly won’t consider me worthy of his daughter until I slay the fire-breathing dragon and rescue her from the top of the tallest tower. But he has clearly made his peace with tolerating me while we share a common goal. He has already knocked back two shots of brandy, neat, and we’ve barely reached cruising altitude. I’m taking it slowly with the alcohol, and although Terry has noticed, he doesn’t comment.
“Says every mafia son who ever lived.” His eyes never stray far from me; I’ve a long way to go before I earn his trust, but I can be patient.
“He was ambitious. He saw an alliance between the Murrays and the Byrnes as progress.”
For a while, Terry’s expression remains neutral while he ponders this statement. Then, “Why didn’t he confirm a meeting with the boys, while he was in New York? They might not have agreed to his proposal, but they’d have heard him out. At the end of the day, we all?—”
“He tried.” I interrupt Terry because I can’t sit here and listen to him lying about my brother. If he’s trying to goad me into a reaction, he’s heading the right way. “When Caleb refused to arrange a meeting, he went straight to Moira, and she mediated. Ruairi was scheduled to meet Caleb Murray, alone, the night he was murdered.”
“I’m stopping you right fucking there.” Terry slams his glass down onto the table between us, sloshing brandy over his fingers and the surface, creating tiny, amber-colored puddles. “No one gets to Moira unless they go through me, and I’d make damned fucking sure that never happens. So, either your brother fabricated the whole goddamned story, or you’re trying to cause a bloody mess on my jet with your brains.”
