Page 55 of Chains of Recompense
I touch my cheek gingerly. Yeah. It’s big, dark, swollen, but I’ve looked worse.
The thing about the Murrays—they’re dangerous, but they’re funny about it.
They might be easy to anger, but they’re far easier to earn forgiveness from than the other branches of the Mafia, so long as you can handle their form of punishment.
It’s a different flavor of violence from ours.
They’re Irish scrappers, born swinging.
And when the final bell rings, that’s the end of their rage.
I don’t doubt that if Tatsuo Tanaka were smart enough to have relinquished the territory he promised the Murrays, they would easily back down.
I guess it’s our good fortune that the Yakuza are greedy bastards.
Or perhaps Tatsuo is too old and ravaged with grief over the loss of his heir to recognize the precariousness of his position.
Whatever the case, I intend to take full advantage of it, and that means building trust and loyalty with the Murrays in any way I can.
It takes no time at all for Sandro to fit right into my plan.
He’s always liked the Irish.
He tells stories about his experiences in the fighting pits that the brothers might not know, and the Murrays howl, slapping their knees, promising to visit the next time there’s a match.
It’s weird, nice, even, to find camaraderie with the Murray brothers once again.
Because, while our fathers never saw eye to eye, Sandro and I could never quite see them as enemies.
And it’s starting to feel like Ryan, Patrick, and Cillian might feel the same—that is until Aisling enters the room.
A soft smile graces her lips as she listens to whatever Evi is in the middle of telling her.
The girls seem to have struck up something of a friendship and are oblivious to our presence at first.
But when my fake wife’s eyes land on me, she stops dead in the doorway, her smile falling as her gaze goes straight to my broken cheek. “What the hell happened to you?”
Cillian answers proudly, “We happened.”
Patrick raises his glass. “And he lived!”
Aisling glares at me, then them. “You hit him?” she demands, her tone venomous as she releases Evi’s elbow to step forward, fists clenched. “I go to the painstaking efforts of forging this alliance, convincing Father to agree to it, give myself to the Italians so we can get our vengeance, and you have the nerve to jeopardize all of that bypunchingmy new husband?”
I shrug. “It seemed easier than talking.”
Evi steps closer to Sandro, and he wraps an arm protectively around her waist, reassuring and soft.
“We weren’t jeopardizing anything, Sister. He offered us each a free punch. How could we say no to that?” Ryan asks, his eyes dancing. “That knot on his face is just proof of how much we love ya.”
Aisling rolls her eyes, crossing her arms as she tosses me a scathing glance. “Boys and their stupid bonding rituals…” she mutters.
Ryan tips the bottle toward his sister. “You want in on this stupidity?”
Aisling doesn’t hesitate. Snatching the bottle, she wipes the neck with her hand like she’s done it a thousand times and takes a generous pull straight from it.
Her brothers cheer.
“Atta girl!”
