“How is your brother?” She asked me gently…like a mother would.
“My apologies, who are you?” I asked her.
“Oh right, you’re the son who left. I’m Maeve Granuaile Gore-Booth,” she replied with a smile. “You can call me Ms. Granuaile or Ms. Gore-Booth.”
“I just want to make sure I heard you correctly,” I said, placing the cards down on the table. “You want me to call you either Ms. Granuaile, who was historically the Pirate Queen of Connacht and head of the O’Malley Clan, or Ms. Gore-Booth, who was revolutionary nationalist Constance Georgine Gore-Booth? You want me to choose between two former female heroines of Ireland to address you?”
With a smile that never left her face, she shrugged. “We cannot help who we are named after. That is my name. What can I say? My parents had high hopes for me. I’m glad to know your mother taught you so much about Irish history.”
“Yes, Ms. Bridget, my mother believed her children should have a well-rounded education, and as for my brother, he’s had better weeks.”
The smile on her face dropped. But she didn’t lose her composure, nor did I. “Well, Wyatt, we got a message from your brother saying he wished to speak with us.”
It was funny…no. Not funny, pathetic really, how she tried to deflect to the Irish men who now stood behind her. There was more than two dozen, a few more coming. They all stood back, emotionless but tense. Their eyes wandered around the auditorium. All of them waiting for Ethan.
“Do you know when he will arrive, or is he already here?” Her eyes darted around quickly.
I shrugged. “I, like you, work for my brother. He asked me to be here. I’m here.”
Her blue eyes narrowed at me. “Is that what you’ve been doing in Boston? Working? And here we all thought you were enjoying the spoils of all that fancy education. The glory of being a doctor by day, jet-setter by night. I hear your sister is going to be a real-life princess now? My god, how fortunate you Callahans are!”
I nodded. “Yes, well, there are ups and downs. My sister-in-law was just murdered yesterday.”
“Yes, how sad, if we had gotten a funeral announcement, maybe we would have sent flowers. Then again, she was part of your family, so briefly that many of us didn’t get to know her… What bad luck she had. It was almost like she used to torture our people in Boston, and then was thrown to the side when she was no longer needed by your family.”
By her tone and the very words that left her mouth, I knew then that the lie I’d shared with Greyson this morning had reached her. Which made me wonder, what else leaked out from our house to her ears? How much did they know about our home?
“Everybody is needed. Ivy was especially. Ethan is heartbroken.” It was the truth. But more than a few of them scuffed, rolled their eyes, or simply shook their heads. Bravo, Ethan, they truly think you are a heartless bastard.
“Then we should hold off on this meeting…my daughter has school in the morning—”
“Maeve, what is the rush? School is still going to be there.” In walked a man I did know yet. He was the younger brother to Savino Moretti, the man Dona killed, uncle and godfather to Klarissa Moretti, the woman Ethan had Ivy kill.
“Emilio, I wasn’t aware you’d be here,” Maeve, who at this point I’d only called Bridget, said to him as he pulled out a chair at my table and sat down. His hairy hand reached into a wrinkled shirt and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“Why wouldn’t I be here, Maeve? The boss asked me to be. Or does he have to meet with us Italians now separately?” he questioned, smacking the pack of cigarettes on the table before pulling one out and lifting it to his lips. He turned his head to the side, and one of the men who came with him lit it.
There were Irish here…but there were still enough Italians that you could feel the tension between both groups about to erupt. They were spilt. Irish to my left. Italians to my right. Even the kids who were behind me were spilt. A few of them were saying hi to the kids who had come with their parents to this meeting…but no more than that.
“I was merely making small talk, Emilio,” Ms. Bridget said with a fake smile and nodded to him.
Emilio grunted a reply with the cigarette in his mouth before looking over to me. “You’re taller than I remember.”
“It has been four years,” I replied. “Though it should have only been two weeks. Neither of you were at my welcome home party…should I take that personally?”
“Let me think,” he replied, taking a long drag of his smoke. “Should I take your sister and brother’s actions against my family personally?”
I shrugged, leaning back in my seat. “That depends…do you really want to accept traitors as family? I hope not. That would make you a traitor, too, Emilio.”
He turned to glare at me, his teeth snarling. “Savino, I could understand but Klarissa…she was no FUCKING traitor!”
“Language!” I shook my finger at him and then nodded to the back of me. “Children are here. I was hoping to have a diplomatic conversation with all of you here.”
“You?” Ms. Bridget questioned and pushed further. “You
