Page 47 of Stolen Rival
When I stay silent, afraid to betray anything about my father’s work—even though he’s gone, and there isn’t a lot I could share anyway—Dylan continues.
“It won’t be much different with Patrick. He’s never been one to need or want an equal partner, so in that regard, I imagine things will be the same for you. He’ll keep you out of the nitty-gritty of the business.” He pats my hand again. “You’ll do grand though, Sorcha love. Whatever you do, just keep your wits about you, and everything will work out.”
His words are weighted with subtext, and when I stare into his alert blue eyes, it’s as though he’s talking to me about Cathal. Does he know Patrick’s holding him over me as collateral?
Wouldn’t be surprised.
He doesn’t let me linger on it, though. My salad is replaced by an enormous bowl of Irish stew that smells so good my mouth waters. When I’m done with my main course, I excuse myself to use the bathroom, trying to remember where the hell the toilet is. I’m verging on crossing my legs and jigglingup and down when the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin meets my ears. I freeze, a bolt of fear shooting down my spine and settling into my bones.
There’s a room to my left; the door is ajar, and inside, a woman is clutching her cheek with both hands and a brute of a man towering over her. “Stupid bitch. I told you, didn’t I? Wait till we get home. I can’t believe you’re making me do this here, at my place of work.”
I don’t recall seeing him earlier tonight, but the next voice I hear from the left of the room isdefinitelyfamiliar.
“You tell her,” Andrew, Dylan’s underboss, says. “These fucking women need putting in their place.”
Horror leaches through my chest. I slowly back away before either of them see me and escape into the bathroom, quietly closing the door and sliding the lock into place. I cram my fist into my mouth and silently shed some tears for what I just witnessed. An old memory resurfacing at the sound of the woman’s muffled shriek. A couple of years ago, Tiernan and I got into it. My older brother did to me what I just witnessed that man doing in the other room.
A shudder makes my entire body shake. Da watched the whole thing and didn’t step in, didn’t admonish him, didn’t comfort me, or even check to see if I was okay. It told me exactly where I stood in the hierarchy: nowhere.
Do I tell Patrick about what I saw? What can I say? A man hit his wife while Andrew stood off to the side egging him on. And what would Patrick do, even if he knew? Maybe he’d agree with the man’s harsh treatment. Oh, God. Is this what my future holds? A backhand between courses at work dinners?
I shake my head. No. Patrick’s job might make him a monster, but I’ve never seen him hit a woman or speak to a woman like that. Realization strikes me that while I hate himfor what he took from me, things could be so much worse. I could have been forced to marry that wife-beating piece of shit.
Patrick isn’t a good man, but from what I’ve witnessed, he’s different. And let’s face it, the way I’ve pushed him since he kidnapped me, if he was of a mind to belt me, I’ve given him ample reasons. Yet he hasn’t. Not even close.
On trembling legs, I leave the bathroom. As I pass the ajar door once more, there’s another crack, undoubtedly his hand connecting with her face again, and while I send up a quick prayer for God to take care of the woman, I thank him for not landing me somewhere like that on top of everything else.
Back at the table, Dylan keeps me engaged in conversation through dessert, which helps take my mind off what I saw. It’s as though it was a dinner for two and none of the rest of the group were even in the room. He seems truly interested in getting to know me as a person.
But there’s still a lingering question burning in my mind. Did I do enough to convince Dylan to hand his kingdom over to my new husband?
Chapter 24
PATRICK
My wife’sbehavior is exemplary. I keep watching and waiting for her to say or do something that will give Dylan cause to question my authority, but she’s the epitome of a mafia wife. Attentive, respectful, engaging. It would be so easy for her to wreck my plans or at the very least put a significant dent in them, but I cannot find a single fault to hold over her head like a guillotine.
Either she’s coming around to her new reality, or she’s so terrified of the bodyguards watching over her brother and waiting for a signal from me to act, that she’s playing along. For now. Which one of those people she’s decided to be is a mystery, but as long as she carries on charming my cousin, that works for me.
“She’s a fine woman,” Andrew says from his position on my right-hand side as he tucks into his dessert. I’m taking heart from the fact Dylan seated me to his right and Sorcha to his left. A bitter expression crossed Andrew’s face when he saw the seating plan. It only lasted a second before he reformed hisfeatures into something far more befitting of the man who will soon be his boss, but I caught it all the same.
I was right about Andrew. He will need to be dealt with. Harshly.
And given how Dylan appears to be standing on the threshold of death’s door, I’ll need to put the man in his place sooner rather than later. Just as well I married Sorcha when I did. In other circumstances, I’d have spent a few more weeks testing her, but so far, it hasn’t bitten me in the arse.
I don’t trust her, though. Not for a single second.
“Indeed.” I dip my spoon into my dessert, my eyes locked on her as she charms the fucking socks off Dylan.
“Especially for a stand-in.”
It’s unsurprising Dylan told Andrew about Niamh’s death and the subsequent bloodbath between us and the McCarthys. Besides, he would have found out anyway. Our world is a small one and news gets around.
Regardless of that, though, his comment is meant as a put-down, and I won’t fucking tolerate that from my closest allies, let alone a man who Dylan might rate, but I never have. He’s provided me with an opportunity to set the boundary and show him exactly where he stands in the hierarchy once I’m in charge. A little earlier than I would have ordinarily, but I’ve never had many fucks to give, and if I did, I wouldn’t waste it on a man who is jockeying for my rightful inheritance.
“Your ambition is loud, Andrew.” I dab my mouth with a crisp white napkin. “The kind of loud that ends up face down in a ditch with my name carved into your chest.”
His mouth flaps open and shut, his eyes flared wide. “I’m certain I didn’t mean?—”
