Page 12 of Broken Mercy
He doesn’t seem bothered. Not much ruffles him. “Coffee, sweet elixir of life and health.” He fills a big mug and blows on it. “What’s with you?” he asks, jutting his chin out at me.
“I’m fine.” I wipe my eyes and elbow him back.
“Were you crying? Oh god, are you upset about the whole marriage thing?”
“Stop it, Sam,” Annie says in a warning tone.
“I’m so jealous, honestly. You know Brenden McGrath’s supposed to be the best thief in the city? I’d literally murder both of you for a chance at marrying him. Can you imagine how much he could teach me?”
“You are mentally broken,” Annie snaps sharply. “Seriously twisted in the brain.”
“Tallie, please, when you’re his wife, will you talk to him for me? Ask him to teach me the trade? I’ll do anything for you. I’ll strangle Annie with her favorite high end bag! You’d love that, right?”
“I’m with Annie on this one. You’re insane.” I find the English muffins in a drawer and eat one without bothering to toast it.
“Just consider it, okay? I’m over heregrinding my teeththinking about how fun it would be to pick his brain!”
Annie tells him to quit being such an asshole and I leave them to bicker in my wake. It’s like nothing’s changed in our house—Annie and Sam are always going at each other while Davit plays peacemaker and I try my best to stay out of it—but my entire world’s different. I retreat back to my room and find it mercifully empty of my siblings.
I sit on my bed and pick up the lighters again.
“Where did you come from?” I say softly to the new one, gripping it tight in my hand, aware that no matter how hard I squeeze it won’t crush and it won’t break, not for me anyway.
CHAPTER 5
TALIN
When I was a little girl, I was terrified of the Sarkissian mansion.
It’s a huge structure in Roland Park, this obscenely wealthy suburban edge of the city where all the rich people live. The house is around sixty rooms, or that’s what Sam always says, and he’s usually right about stuff like that. Multiple wings, furniture and paintings expensive enough to pay for a private army, and several acres of meticulously maintained land. Years ago the place was half crumbling, parts of the buildings closed off with iron bars, random locked doors, whispered warnings not to stray too far in case I get lost or seriously injured in some accident. It’s a paradise and it’s terrifying as hell, or at least it was back in the day.
These days, the mansion’s different. Light streams from the windows. Most doors are open. The rooms are clean and dusted. The old, condemned wings have been fully renovated and turned over to family suites. The gloom’s been banished, though Sam still swears there are crawl spaces and hidden passageways.
Today, I don’t care about any of that.
All I can think about is the man leaning against an outdoor bar, swirling a glass of bourbon in his hand, ignoring the crowd around him.
There are a few dozen people milling around the mansion’s beautiful back garden. The pool’s open, but nobody’s going to go swimming. Instead, staff in black pass hors d’oeuvres and glasses of champagne while a string quartet plays quiet, calming music. In theory, this is a party to celebrate the tightening alliance between the McGraths and the Sarkissians, but in practice it’s Papa and Arsen’s way of giving me another chance to speak with my future husband.
But nothing is ever simple in my family.
They could’ve sat us down at a dinner table.
Instead, they turned it into a political event.
A state senator walks past talking quietly to a man I think is the chief of police. Funny that the most powerful cop in the city is at a criminal’s garden gathering. Lena Sarkissian, Arsen’s beautiful Russian wife, plays the immaculate hostess while also keeping an eye on a rambunctious little boy named Roman. I don’t know how she manages to juggle it all.
“You look like you’re having a fantastic time.” Riley sidles up to my elbow, maneuvering me away from a very nice hedge that was acting as my buffer against the crowd.
“There’s a lot of people, that’s all.”
“Tell me about it. That’s why Alexan’s not here.”
“Your husband doesn’t get out much, does he?”
She laughs like I have no idea. “You learn to love them for who they are, even if they’re flawed.” She glances toward her brother and tightens her grip on my arm. “He’s a decent person, you know.”
“I’m sure he is.”
