Page 11 of Dark Alliance
His doctors—the best in the world—say there’s nothing you can do if the meds don’t work.
I don’t believe that’s true.
Eduardo Ricci—crime boss, single father, my entire world—is a force. An anchor in the storm.
He’s the one who taught me how to swim. Encouraged my dreams. Told me to hold fast to one thing I love that’s not about duty or money or power. I’ve heeded that advice my whole life, seeking the balance between family and self that he insisted was so important.
“Find something that’s solely yours, Caterina. That is what will keep you sane.”
Ever since my mother’s death, my father assumed her role as well as his own. He raised my brother and me, gave us love and care and protection.
While it’s natural for a parent to die before their child…he’s only sixty. Still far too young.
Watching him fade, day after day, night after night, drives me mad. I refuse to believe we can’t stop this. That nothing we do will prevent his death.
My father’s everything to me. I cannot—will not—lose him like this.
Even as he slips closer to his grave, he tries to project the strength I grew up with.
His dark hair is still mostly gray-free, a blessing of good genes. He always styles with pomade and pulls it back off his face, even when he lies in bed all day. His honey brown eyes observe everything. To me, they’re kind, but to an enforcer or enemy, they’re firm and unyielding.
My father has always led our family with calm, quiet dignity. He may not treat me like one of the men, but he valued my opinion. He’s more forward thinking than any mafia boss I’ve ever met.
Nino struggles with that. He doesn’t appreciate my input or want anyone to realize my words carry just as much importance with our father as his. The pressure of family expectations weighs on him more than me, and he craves respect he has yet to earn.
Since we were kids, I’ve told Nino that I’m on his side. I’ve stood back and let him take the lead—and the credit—whenever it counted. Even so, he’s given me false information about meetings and dealings one too many times for those slips to be unintentional.
Every year, more suspicion blooms in his eyes.
His mistrust hurts. I’ve never done anything I know of to merit it, and we were close as children. The distance between us hooks my chest like a fish on a line, tugging at my soul every time Nino turns away.
I love him. I know he loves me. I just wish he would trust me again.
As long as I’m holding my father’s warm hand in mine, though, I can handle Nino’s rejection.
Family matters more than anything.
Those words repeat in my head as I hover at my dad’s side, waiting for this meeting with an Irish King.
Father sits in his favorite leather recliner, his suit pressed and his tie perfectly straight at his neck.
I brush a loose strand of hair off his forehead, tucking it in with the rest. “Can I make you some tea, Father?”
“That’d be lovely, sweetheart.” I’m glad his voice, despite a bit of breathiness, carries more strength than yesterday.
I head to the coffee bar beside the bay windows, where I fill his green mug with boiling water and plunk in a bag of his favorite herbal tea. While it steeps, I pour myself some coffee with cream and tear apart a blueberry muffin.
Thanks to Dane Ryder, the man who zoomed in and out of my life like a twenty-four-hour bug, I’m starving. I’d have viewed our time together as a crazy erotic dream—too many trashy romance novels before bed will do that to you—if not for the note he left on the pillow and the delicious ache between my legs. The fun last night exhausted me so much that I slept late, which I never do. So I didn’t have time to stop for food before rushing home.
My insides buzz, inducing a calming, floaty sensation. My mind keeps circling back to his lips on my mouth, my neck, my nipples. The sex is on instant replay no matter how often I tell myself to focus.
Considering the Irish Kings will be here any minute, I need to get my brain under control. They’re proposing an alliance that Nino’s already called ludicrous, but my father wants to hear them out, and I do too.
They both know how I feel about working with the Russians. The Kings might not be much better, but at least the Gallaghers are locals. The Roguilin faction has only been in the city for a generation, if that.
Nino’s already gifted them too much. That contract I signed for him yesterday grants the Russians carte blanche access to Blue Hook Port as their entry point into the US.
Ourport. One utilized by many families, not just us or the Russians. But they want exclusive access.
