Page 13 of Ruthless Dream

I’m lucky Uncle Cormac, from my mother’s side, was always there to help me in that regard.

It’s why I feel his sharp, watchful eyes on the back of my neck as I nod in greeting.

“Hi.”

“You look good.” Da places his hands on my shoulders. He hasn’t been in Dublin in ten years, and yet, somehow his accent is thicker than mine. He squeezes tight, running an eye over me, taking in my frame. He’s a few inches shorter than I am. “You look good, my son. Good!”

He pulls me into a hug, slapping my back.

“Thanks. You all right?”

“Never better now that you’re here.”

He’s so fucking sincere, my teeth are set on edge.

I’ll never admit it to Uncle Cormac, but there was a part of me that wanted to come on this trip to see my father. To remind him that he does, in fact, have not just one, but two sons.

“How’s your brother?” he asks.

“Good.” I’m already dreading how much shit he’ll get into while I’m away.

“And your mother?”

“Still hates you.”

Da laughs, but it’s not a joke. For as long as I can remember, Mam’s referred to Cain Murray as ‘that son of a bitch.’

“And Nora?”

Da cocks his head to the side. There’s no fake smile or laughter. Just a plain and simple question. He waits patiently for the answer.

“Yeah, she’s good.” Ian’s mam deserves a fucking gold star for the shit she’s had to deal with since Cain came into her life. One day I’m going to make sure she’s taken care of.

“Good.” Da opens the door to an SUV. “Come on.”

“This was good of you, Cain,” Cormac tells him, following me into the car. “Picking us up.”

“You can thank Walsh for that,” he replies, referring to the head of the Irish Mafia.

We’ve been trying to get a meeting with him for months now. To form a better alliance. My da has worked for Walsh directly for almost two decades now. I could have called him up and asked for an invitation, but that’s not how O'Connells do things. We proved our mettle, working deals in Dublin, gaining ground with various shipments. So when Walsh called us, we knew the work hadn’t been for nothing.

“He apologizes for not being able to come,” Da says from the front seat, motioning for the driver to go. “But you’ll see him tonight.”

“Tonight?” Cormac asks.

Da smiles, and for a second it’s not him I see, but my older brother Ian. It’s always been said that I take after Dad physically thanks to the brown hair and pale skin. Ian’s features are delicate, a lazy confidence often tugging at his lips. But for the first time in my life, I realize he got that smile from our father.

“You O'Connells and your impeccable timing.” Da laughs.

I’m wondering just how long it will take before he starts to grate on my uncle.

They’re complete opposites. Da likes jokes and pints and anything he can stick his cock into. Cormac is measured and disciplined. He cares about things, unlike my father, whose talent relies on rubbing elbows with the right type of people.

“There’s a party,” Da explains. I’m glancing out the window, taking in every single thing. The other cars, the weeds on the side of the road, the Americanness of it all. “The Bratva are rolling out the red carpet.”

Uncle Cormac lifts a brow. There’s not a stitch out of place. His suit immaculate even after an international flight. “Lev Zimin rolling out the red carpet?”

Da snorts. “Boris Akatov. But we’re better off for it. Gia knows how to put together a party. Much more inviting than if Lev’s wife had called in her normal caterers.”