Page 11 of Birthright (Sinners of New Orleans #4)
TEN
Sam
I 'm thinking about my mother as I enter my home office, my fingers itching for a glass of good alcohol to numb the intrusive thoughts. It's the house. Her ghost haunts me here.
When my father was still alive, I had a townhouse in one of the newly built areas of New Orleans. I liked that townhouse—the modern design, the solitude. Mostly, I liked leaving these ghosts behind.
But John sold it while I was rotting away in Orleans Parish Prison, and this house has been in my family since before I was born.
Waiting for me in my office, I find John. He's holding a crystal glass of amber liquid when I walk in. I go to the bar cart in the corner of the room and pour my own glass of bourbon before bringing the tumbler to my lips and letting the alcohol burn its way down my throat.
It feels good to be out. To be in the comfort of my own haunted home, wearing my clothes, and drinking my alcohol.
"How'd it go?" my cousin asks. Out of everyone in my life, John knows me the best. He's been my closest friend since we were kids.
I was two when he was born, and though I don't remember meeting him, I recall my father telling me how he brought me to the hospital where his sister had just delivered her first and only child.
How they had helped me "hold" the baby, and when he gripped my little finger inside his palm, I had gasped, declaring that he was squeezing me.
And how I had told that baby that he was my cousin, and that meant we were best friends.
My childlike statement became the truth. John spent a lot of time running through the halls of this house with me. And once my training to take over la famiglia began, John was at my side, ready to have my back through all of it.
"About as well as it could." I shrug, sinking into the cushioned seat next to him.
"The guys said you brought her here," he deadpans. Though, my cousin has never been great with emotions.
"I did."
"Why?" he asks. If I had sent John, he probably would’ve shot the girl and moved on.
Or maybe he would have relayed a very nice threat to get the point across and made her run across the country and never come home.
My father gave John the same lessons as me, the same rules to abide by.
But the only one that has ever truly stuck in his head is family, above all.
And at the end of the day, he'll do whatever it takes to protect the family.
There is no ending where John would have brought the girl home.
Maybe that's because he has his own girl at home, waiting for him. But I digress.
The truth is, I'm not sure why I brought Olivia here. I can boil it down to the turmoil in my head and my inability to kill a woman due to a moral code my father imprinted on me at a young age.
But part of me knows that I just wanted her here. Even if I don't understand why.
I shrug again, and John scoffs at my lack of an answer.
After draining his glass, I watch him discard it onto the side table as he leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs while his eyes lock with mine. "This is dangerous, ya know."
His words bring forth what my brain has been screaming.
Keeping a witness alive, bringing her into my home — those are bad moves.
"It will be fine." I dismiss his concerns, though my gut nags at me that danger is looming. I've only been out for a little over twenty-four hours. I just killed the acting boss of this family. Everything is chaos, and I decided to take a prisoner.
"We're not in the clear," John adds. "We have a problem with the Iron Serpents."
The name of the motorcycle club grates at my ears, and my chest aches, feeling like someone stabbed a knife right into my heart. I rub at the organ, trying to dull the sensation that rockets through my body every time someone mentions those snakes.
We've been focused on getting me out of prison since my uncle put me away.
John's quest for justice on my behalf ultimately led to him killing Marcus, though our cousin didn't leave him much of a choice when he kidnapped Zoe.
And once I was released, I was focused on taking out Damien. And then everything with Olivia…
There hasn't been much time for John and me to discuss anything else.
"What happened?" I ask, trying to hide the pain in my voice.
John knows that the Iron Serpents grate on me, that even hearing their name sends me back to being that ten-year-old boy, desperate to save his mother, but who failed miserably.
I don't need to hide myself from my cousin, my best friend.
But still, the idea of showing my vulnerability has me reaching for a refill. I won't be weak in front of anyone.
John sighs, his eyes on my glass as I pour more cognac.
"They've been moving into our territory while we were distracted by Marcus and Damien.
" John leans back, his face tight with concern.
"They've taken over some of our neighborhoods.
Two of our dealers have been injured, and another two are dead. They're coming for the Quarter next."
My blood simmers. The fucking snakes. First, they took my mother, and now they're trying to take everything else. I down the rest of my drink, the burn in my throat matching the anger in my chest. I can't let them run this family into the ground.
"How many?"
"At least thirty members spotted in the Quarter. They're operating out of that old warehouse on Tchoupitoulas."
I grip the crystal tumbler so hard, I'm surprised it doesn't shatter.
"We need to send a message. Clear them out, block by block, if we have to." John leans in closer, his voice deadly serious.
My cousin will always resort to violence first. A trait that has its place in our world. But that's not how I handle things. It's not how my father did business or how my nonno started this family.
"We'll start with a meeting," I tell John, trying to calm the anger now pulsing in my ears.
John shakes his head. "And if talking doesn't work?" He says “talking” like it's a bad word.
"Then we'll try your way."
"My way will be bloody." John quirks an eyebrow.
"Well, if talking doesn't work, I'm afraid bloody will be the only way forward."
John claps his hands on his thighs and stands. "I'll have Adrian set something up."
I nod, bringing my cognac to my lips and taking another long pull. My brain is already racing with thoughts and plans.
This is what I should be focusing on — not the girl upstairs with those big, blue eyes.
Olivia . Even thinking her name sends a jolt through me that I need to suppress. I can't afford distractions, not with snakes slithering into our territory. The family has to come first. Always has, always will.
John makes a move for the door, but pauses at the last second, turning to me with one more question.
"What about the girl?" he asks.
I clench my jaw.
What about the girl?
"She stays here until I figure out what to do with her."
Something flickers in my cousin’s eyes, and it looks like uncertainty. But he doesn't say anything, just nods and leaves me to stew in my office with visions of Olivia.