Page 143 of Sinful Honor

“It’s complicated.”

He chuckled. “It always is. So? Where are we headed, and what do we need? Do I need to call in the cavalry?”

“Boston.”

“What’s in Boston?”

“Craig Donnelly.”

He stared at me, his brows arched. “And why would we want to meet with the head of the Irish Mafia?”

“Because his oldest daughter is pregnant.”

He slowly whistled through his teeth. “Sophie Donnelly is pregnant? Isn’t she…a teenager.”

I sighed. “She’s twenty.”

“So, you know her intimately, then?”

I could hear the hint of barely concealed laughter in his voice. Always great to have your friends make fun of your immediate death. “She and her sisters were kidnapped and held hostage on a trip to Italy a couple of weeks ago.”

“By you?”

I leaned my head against the headrest, exhaustion, and exasperation mingled with the urgency inside of me. “Not at first.”

Vince chuckled, a testament to our world where morality and honor weren’t mutually exclusive to kidnapping and hostage-taking. “But you’re not denying it.”

“She’s pregnant.”

The weight of those words, laden with consequences, hung in the air like a hand grenade a split second before the bang.

And it shut him up good.

“You’re dead.”

“I know.”

“But if you die, I can’t keep my promise to Alessandro,” he said and put the SUV into gear.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Should I write Alessio a letter and explain your predicament?”

“Fuck, Gabe. You’ve barely been back; when did you have time to impregnate the girl.”

“Vince,” I growled, “let me make one thing perfectly clear. Sophie’s not a girl; she’s a woman. My woman.”

Vincenzo sighed, changed lanes, and as we sped along, the blurred lights of New York passed by. “Sorry, man. It’s just…I never pegged you as the impulsive and stupid type.”

That almost made me chuckle. As a sniper, I was the opposite of impulsive—calculated, patient, detached—those had been the qualities that made me the best of the best—and a mere couple of weeks back in the family business, and I was reckless, impulsive, ruthless, and stupid.

Maybe I did deserve to die.

“Okay, let’s call him, request a meeting,” Vince said, a pragmatic approach to a complex situation.

But not this situation.

“Negative.”

I could feel Vincenzo’s eyes on me but never wavered. This was a private matter between Sophie and myself, and I would handle it just like that.

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