Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,5
Liam that my position as King was temporary.” I can’t keep in the anger any longer.
My da sips slowly. The white shirt is tight along his arms. He might not fight anymore, but he’s still in prime shape.
“Why?” I ask when he doesn’t answer. “Thanks, Ma.” A slice of apple tart and a cup of tea appear in front of me.
My ma stays at my shoulder, and I pick up the fork and take a bite of the apple tart without looking away from my da. “It’s perfect, Ma.”
Her small hand squeezes my shoulder, and I hold in the hiss.
“Where were you?” Da asks, and my ma releases me with a heavy sigh.
“In County Meath,” I answer and take a large bite of the apple tart. It has my ma’s signature taste, but my da’s face is turning my fucking cream sour.
“Just now.” The smugness on his face tells me he knows; Amanda, the mouthpiece, must have rung him.
“At the fight club,” I answer.
“Where Frankie died?”
Plates crash in the sink. Ma’s head is bent as she stares into the sink. “Please, Connor, don’t start.”
I turn back to my da, his jaw clenched, and the sorrow is there like a tangible thing in the room, one that I don’t want to touch me. I blame my da. He pushed Frankie into fighting, and he wasn’t a fighter. No one could bear his soft demeanor, especially my da, who felt men should be men.
But Frankie was different.
“You have them all laughing at me,” I tell him as I chew on ma’s tart like it’s leather in my mouth. My da’s fucking spoilt it. I wash it down with tea.
“Laughing at you? You really care what Liam O’Reagan thinks of you?” My da rises, holding the empty mug. Ma doesn’t let him get much further as she takes it from his hand. He sits back down after a pleading look from her and with a reluctance in his step.
“I’m King, I deserve respect, and you undermined that.”
“I told him it was temporary because you can’t kill a temporary King. But you can kill a King, Shay. You have no idea what you’re up against with Liam.”
“Tell me. I’m not a boy anymore. Tell me why I should fear him.”
My da looks away, and frown lines appear on his forehead.
“I’m getting married,” I say and clean the plate in front of me. I wouldn’t let ma think her apple tart was anything other than perfection.
My da says nothing, and my ma’s steps are weary as she walks to the kitchen table. She’s clutching the dishcloth as she pulls out a chair and sits down.
“Who is she?” My ma’s voice wobbles, and I hate this part. She’s always wanted me to settle down, maybe give her grandkids.
“Emma,” I say her name and glance at my da, who’s watching me.
“That’s all you’re going to give me is a first name?” My ma lets out a watery smile like she’s not sure what’s happening.
“It’s an arranged marriage, so that’s all I know.” I can’t look at my mother as I break her heart. “It’s giving me a place as a King in the East.”
“A King in the East,” My da repeats.
“Arranged?” My ma’s words ring loud beside me.
“Yeah, Ma. But I’m sure she’s lovely.” I try to take my ma’s hand, but she stands still clutching the cloth and leaves the room.
“You just broke your ma’s heart again.”
The chair hits the kitchen floor as I stand. “Don’t fucking say it.”
My da rises calmly. But I see the temper flex along the vein in his neck. “Frankie wasn’t my fault,” he says the words, and I take a step away from the table.
I’m aware of the shadow along the door line. My ma hasn’t left. I’m sure she’s afraid that we will kill each other. It’s come close to happening too many times.
“The wedding is in four weeks.” That’s the only invitation he’s fucking getting.
“What’s the girl’s full name?”
“Emma Murphy,” I say.
My da nods like that makes complete sense. “He’s setting you up.”
I don’t want to hear his conspiracy theories about Liam. He’s rambled about them since we were kids, yet he never gave a clear picture of what the fuck he was painting.
“If I marry her, I have a seat on the board in the East.”
“What happens to the North?” My da asks, and we are both still standing, both still rigid.
My da tenses, and he tilts his head to the side like he just had a