Corrupted Union(4)
Author: Jill Ramsower
“No buses, Nana. Just running a bit behind.” I kissed her cheek, earning myself a reluctant smile. If only she knew how much worse it was. I hadn’t forgotten or even accidentally run late. I’d sat outside the governor’s place in my car and debated intentionally skipping dinner to stalk Rowan Alexander.
I’d known the governor had a daughter, though I hadn’t anticipated running into her. I’d read about her as part of my research on her father. Twenty-two. Rich. Flawless face full of makeup in every single picture of her. I wondered if she slept in the damn stuff. Probably in a sorority and never been told no in her life. Finishing her final year at NYU with a political science degree with pretty dreams of following in her father’s footsteps, no doubt.
Or at least, that was what I’d envisioned.
I’d been wrong.
She wasn’t anything like I’d expected, and the disparity gnawed at me. Who was this girl, and why was she so damn … controlled? Her reaction resonated with me in a way I couldn’t ignore. It was a forced calm I knew all too well. Through the years, I’d been told by more than one person that I was dead inside. Too detached. Too unfeeling. I knew that wasn’t the case. I had my reasons for the way I was, which made me endlessly curious about Rowan.
What made her stone cold enough to face an intruder twice her size without so much as a tremor in her voice? I’d sat in my car and done more research into her without finding anything remarkable other than a pencil-dick boyfriend who probably didn’t know what a clit was, let alone where to find it.
I’d had to battle the urge to follow her home and learn everything I could about her. Did she tuck her head and hurry along the sidewalk or keep her chin raised, daring anyone to meet her eyes? Would she take a cab or slum with the rest of the city down in the subway? The only black SUV out front was her father’s. Why didn’t he insist on her using a private driver? They had the means.
I had so many damn questions and knew that if I waited until she left her parents’ three-story mansion on the Upper East Side, I could learn a wealth of information by following her home. The compulsion to do it was almost insatiable. Almost.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that the female contingency of the Byrne family had scheduled a dinner at Paddy and Nana’s house that evening, I wouldn’t have fought the urge to follow Rowan. Instead, I tethered together my tattered self-control and drove to my grandparents’ house. If I had skipped the dinner, I’d have never heard the end of it. We only had these dinners once a month. As the eldest son of the eldest son, the family expected me to set an example.
Nana waved an arm toward the kitchen. “I think the girls have it about ready. You can sit next to me tonight and tell me what ye’ve been up to.” Nana and Paddy had come over from Dublin when they were teens and still carried remnants of their native accent. They probably could have worked to drop the accent had they wanted to, but my proud Irish grandparents would never have considered such blasphemy. I’m glad they didn’t. Hearing the lyrical quality of her words brought back fond memories of time spent at their home.
She led us to the dining room, and I followed for fear of further reprimand. Paddy had been the leader of our business for decades, but it was Nana who ran the family. No one crossed Nana Byrne. If it wasn’t for her, my dislike of social gatherings would have likely kept me from attending these dinners, but with her around, that wasn’t an option. Fortunately, I’d trained the people around me not to expect much in the way of conversation from me.
The Byrne clan had grown to nearly three dozen, and that was just those branching from Paddy and Nana Byrne. Paddy had four brothers and three sisters. All five brothers had gone into business with him back in the day, but two had been killed, one followed his wife back to Ireland, and the other had been sent to prison.
Our family was the only remaining pillar of the Byrne legacy, and one of a select few Irish families to have survived the organized crime shakedown in the seventies and eighties. Paddy was shrewd. He’d adapted and kept the family afloat. Now, we were on the brink of a new era of prosperity. Wealth had come in spades, but we were still considered one of the weaker underworld groups. That was changing.
My cousin Conner had come to dinner with his new Italian bride, Noemi. Their marriage solidified an unprecedented alliance between the Irish and Italians. And a year earlier, Oran, the eldest of the Byrne grandchildren, had married a Donovan girl to unite what was left of their dying clan with ours. The next key maneuver was to give us a better grip on law enforcement, thus my visit to Evan Alexander. With a little more finesse, all the stars would be fully aligned, and we’d be untouchable.
I couldn’t think of anything more important than providing a good life for the people surrounding me—my siblings and cousins, their children, and the generations to come. Family was everything to me, even if I preferred not to talk to them. For Nana’s sake, however, I forced myself to converse over the chaos of dinner.
My grandparents’ house no longer fit the family, but Paddy and Nana had refused to move, so we made do. The kids clustered in circles to eat picnic style on the floor while the adults used every chair available. It was loud, packed, and made my skin crawl. I ate fast, then excused myself to the back garden for air. It wasn’t long before my father joined me.
“How did your visit with Alexander go?” he asked, his breath a white cloud in the crisp evening air.
“He held firm.”
His lips thinned. “That’s what I suspected.” Jimmy Byrne was getting older at sixty-two but had been the de facto leader of the family business for decades. He’d done well over the years, and I respected his insight, though we didn’t always see eye to eye.
“I still say we’ll have to go at this from a different direction. He isn’t the sort to respond to being threatened, and while we could try to lean on the mayor, we’d end up stirring up trouble with the Greeks. They’ve owned him for years.”
Pop frowned as if considering, his arms crossed thoughtfully over his chest. “Sometimes it’s better to creep in the back rather than bust down the front door.” His eyes cut to me. “He has a daughter, you know.”
“Alexander? Yeah, I’m familiar,” I said warily. I couldn’t see any way in which my father’s mention of her was a good thing.
He shrugged. “We need someone on the inside. A seat at the table. What better way to do that than actually sit at the governor’s family table?”
Shit. I wasn’t sure what I would have disliked more—him suggesting I pursue Rowan Alexander or that we threaten her. It had been a toss-up which way he’d lean. A kidnapping would be more direct and a hell of a lot easier. Considering she was his only kid, all I’d have to do was lean into the threat I’d already presented. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d give eventually. But a marriage? I hadn’t signed up for that. Rowan was more intriguing than I’d expected, but that didn’t mean I wanted to marry the woman. Jesus.