Page 11 of Of Grief And Gratitude

It was unkind, and I wasn’t sure she’d earned a taste of my disdain, but the words popped out before I could stop them. “Well, if you want to act like my nonna, I’ll treat you that way.”

“I’m only twenty-seven,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Color bloomed across her skin, making me wonder just how far the flush stretched below her neckline.

I leaned back in my chair and lifted a shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You’re easily the worst client I’ve ever worked with.”

I made a clicking sound with my tongue. “Now, now. We’ve already established that I’m not your client. The O’Connors are. I suppose that also means I don’t have to sit here and try to get through lunch with you.”

“But—”

I cut her objection off. “No offense, Riona, but I’m a grown man. I don’t need a babysitter with a stick up her ass.”

I stood and spun, not sparing a glance at her as I strolled casually out of the room, tipping my invisible hat at the O’Connor chauffeur. It had been almost too easy to get rid of the PR consultant, but I gave myself a mental pat on the back for getting out of that trap.

Chapter Four

I stared up at the brick mansion in front of me, the red façade a stark contrast to the O’Connor abode. It was perfect but lacked the warmth of the similar home I’d frequented growing up. “Are you sure we have to go in there?”

Shane patted me on the shoulder and offered me a half-smile that was probably supposed to look reassuring. It needed some work. “Come on, it won’t take long. We’ll make sure everything works out this time.”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t meet at the restaurant again,” I muttered, tugging on the hem of my fitted blazer. After the first failed meeting, I opted for something I wore when dealing with clients who saw me as sweetheart—a tailored forest green velvet pants suit with a white silk top and matching velvet stilettos that made me feel powerful. My hair was styled in soft waves that ensured the look was feminine, yet no-nonsense, and I stuck with my neutral makeup.

“I believe the intent is to ensure certain parties can’t make another hasty exit,” Shane said with disdain. “Wasn’t very professional.”

I snickered and his eyes snapped to mine, holding my gaze for a second too long. He looked at my lips before turning his head away, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “It was more like a petulant child throwing a fit when you tell them they have to finish their chores before going out to play.”

“I’m not surprised. He doesn’t have the best reputation.” As if that wasn’t the entire reason I found myself in my current position. Shane placed a hand lightly on my lower back and urged me forward. “Come on, they’ll be waiting for us.”

The Neretti men anticipated our arrival, opening the front door as we approached and directing us down the hallway, where more guards in black suits stood outside what had to be Ettore’s office. The house interior looked professionally decorated, with spring tones and fresh flowers in vases on the various tables. Even the art fit the airy aesthetic. It was hard to believe Romeo didn’t understand the importance of image when he’d grown up with such an example.

Ettore called out for us to enter when his man tapped on the door, and Shane stepped to the side to allow me to enter before him. Inside, Seamus and his men already stood across from the Neretti men; fewer than came to the restaurant. Ettore and his oldest son, Dante, stood similarly, with their feet planted shoulder-width apart and hands clasped in front of them. They created an imposing image, father and son of Chicago's most ruthless crime family.

Romeo’s broad shoulders were slouched, making the slight height difference between him and his older brother more prominent. He nearly sneered when he looked me up and down, then shook his head as if he’d found me wanting. He’d soon find out I didn’t give a fuck about what he thought about me. All I cared about was finding the currency to gain his cooperation in helping repair his reputation.

Seamus and Shane dressed more formally today, both in dark grey suits and ties, their shiny black dress shoes catching the light from the windows behind the large wooden desk on one side of the room. I was the only spot of color in a sea of shades of grey and black.

“Please, sit.” Ettore held a hand toward the chairs as he walked around his desk to take his seat. I didn’t hesitate to claim the chair in the center as the rest of the men sat around me, Romeo taking the furthest seat away and crossing his ankle over the opposite knee. It was a clear sign of casual disrespect, and the twitch of Ettore’s lips told me he hadn’t missed it.

Interesting. While dark and brooding might be attractive in an emo sort of way when you’re a teenager, it was a bad look on a fully grown man who ran his own business and represented such a prominent family in the community. The carefully cultivated family image that Ettore maintained wouldn’t withstand many more of the black sheep’s antics.

Ettore cleared his throat, drawing my attention from Romeo back to him. “Thank you for coming today. I assure you, this will not take long.”

“Let’s hope not,” Seamus said, his biting tone dissonant with his congenial smile. He sat in a way that exuded just as much power as the mafia king across the desk, and I felt pride in my connection to the O’Connor family. “Let’s start with terms. I’ll not have Riona disrespected while workin’ with yer family.”

“Of course not.” Ettore folded his hands on the desk and looked at me with cold, empty eyes. I held back a tremor by sheer will. “None of my men or my sons will treat you poorly. You have my word.”

Forgive me if I don’t believe you, but you can’t even control your own son's actions, let alone guarantee he’ll toe the line when it comes to me. I couldn’t say that, though. I smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Neretti. I appreciate it.”

That seemed to please him. He addressed Seamus again, “Why don’t we discuss the terms of this agreement?”

“Ye’ll have to speak with the lass,” Seamus directed. His warm smile gave me confidence. “She’s the expert in all of this. I don’t care how she does it, as long as yer boy doesn’t ruin what we’ve got goin’ on.”

Ettore worked his jaw like he’d tasted something bitter. “Ms. O’Neill. Please walk us through your ideas for my son.”

I sat straighter in my seat, crossing my ankles and placing my forearms on the armrests of the chair, balancing femininity and power. The last thing I needed was to look closed off and small by folding my hands in my lap. Ettore Neretti didn’t respect women, but he and I both knew he needed me.

Subbing the smirk tugging at my lips for a professional smile, I launched into my spiel. “Typically, I sit down with a client and get a general idea of what challenges they might be facing regarding their public image. That gives me a starting point. Then, over a series of meetings, I’ll do a deep dive into the client's activities—both public and private. Often I discover habits they don’t even realize are detrimental.”

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