Page 72 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)

DANTE

F or twenty minutes, they make us wait in a room that smells like stale whiskey and piss.

Which is fifteen minutes longer than I planned on spending here.

No windows.

Green carpet discolored and stained.

And a crucifix crooked on the wall.

Keenan territory.

The door creaks open. An elderly man with gums where teeth should be jerks his head. “They’ll see you now.”

I don’t bother pretending I’m relaxed. This is their turf. Where we’re at their mercy.

So yeah, walking in was probably stupid.

But there’s only one way to get Riley out of the line of fire, and that’s to have me step into it.

For her, I’ll take the hit. I’ll always take the hit.

And for the first time, I’m not the lone bull in a china shop.

I’ve got my brothers at my back.

A united D’Angelo front.

We take our seats at the ancient wood table. Two men wait.

The one I really came for doesn’t bother to look at me at first. He’s too busy picking blood out of his nails with a knife.

Seamus Keenan. The King. Head of the family.

And father of Declan.

Beside him, his brother, Colm. A fucking psychopath who clawed his way up the ranks one body at a time. A butcher since the age of fourteen.

Seamus finally lifts his gaze, and takes a good long look. “You’re Dante.” No handshake. Just a glare. “We heard you were dead.”

“As you can see,” I say flatly, “rumors of my death have been highly exaggerated.”

Colm snorts. “I didn’t hear you were dead. I heard you lost your fucking mind and decided to be a professional wrestler.”

Enzo’s mouth twitches, but at least Smoke doesn’t blink.

“MMA,” I correct, sticking with the cover story my brothers so diligently built. They spun it for Trinity, but you know what they say—happy accidents.

I lace my fingers together on the table. “Let me cut to the chase. I need you to stop following my fiancée.”

Enzo’s brow arches so high I catch it from the corner of my eye.

So what if Pom isn’t technically my fiancée yet? She will be soon enough, fucker.

He coughs through a chuckle.

I kick him under the table. Hard.

“How’s our uncle?” I ask, casually. Their allegiance is tight as ever, and the only way I’m getting to my uncle now is through them.

“Concerned, Dante?” Colm laughs.

“I know you’re nursing him back to health. I’m guessing somewhere exotic.”

“You’ll never know,” Seamus says before his voice drops ten degrees. “There’s a rumor she’s carrying Zver’s child. And fiancée or not, I have a claim. Blood for blood. You know the code.”

I lock eyes with the man who buried his son and give him the respect of truth, not weakness. “I heard about Declan. And I am sorry for your loss. But Zver’s dead. My own brother killed him right before your eyes.”

“And paid you for the privilege,” Enzo points out. “Quite a lot, actually.”

Seamus takes in a long breath. Still unconvinced. “We may have killed Zver, but he killed my son. He takes mine. I take his.” Seamus slams the blade into the scarred wood, steel vibrating. “Even if I have to carve it out of his whore.”

Every instinct in me snaps. Whatever patience I walked in with burns out at the thought of his knife anywhere near Pom.

I yanked the knife from the wood and inspect the blade. “Your intel’s wrong. The child isn’t Zver’s. It’s mine.”

Colm chuckles. “And we’re meant to take your word for it?—”

“No.” I slide a blue folder across the table. “You’ll take her doctor’s.”

Seamus doesn’t reach for it right away. “I watch television. People fake these things all the time.”

My neck cracks as I roll it. “I don’t fake things. Riley Mullvain is carrying my child. A D’Angelo. If you want war with the D’Angelos, by all means—follow her one more time.”

Silence ticks by as the two men eye each other wearily. Then, finally, Seamus opens the folder, and scans the report.

I know it gutted Riley when I asked for the paternity test. Hell, I half-expected her to knee me in the balls on the spot.

But she didn’t. Thank God. Because if Riley knew what I was planning to do today? Her blood pressure would’ve blown past the stratosphere.

And if the Keenans don’t kill me, Riley damn sure will.

Seamus sets the folder down like it’s a live grenade. His eyes stay on me, cold and unblinking. “Ever since Zver stepped into the picture, the D’Angelo alliances have been dwindling. Maybe war wouldn’t be so bad.”

Smoke tips his head, letting out a lazy breath. “Not sure how you count, Seamus, but you should check your math.” He twists the gold band on his finger, the Bratva inscription catching the light. “My wife is Russian. The Bratva will back our play.”

Next Enzo leans in. “Ask around. I’ve got a global network of alliances that don’t play nearly as nice as the Bratva.”

The Keenans don’t blink, but the weight in the room shifts, the air colder, heavier.

It takes a fucking eon, but Seamus finally exhales. “We acknowledge the child’s… birthright.” He flicks the folder back to me. “But we want a gesture of goodwill.”

“Deals are my specialty,” Enzo offers smoothly. “Name your price.”

“Not from you.” Seamus points, the finger landing on me. “From you.”

My jaw tightens. “What?”

“I have a daughter. Fiona.”

A muscle ticks in my jaw. Christ, he better not be suggesting what I think he’s suggesting.

“There are only two types of alliances in our world,” he says flatly. “Blood. Or marriage.”

I scoff. “Really? Which of you married my uncle?”

He leans closer, eyes like flint. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, lad. I could give two shites about your uncle. But he’s holding Fiona as collateral. I need her rescued. And married to a family that will protect her.”

The chair creaks as I push back. “Is this a fucking joke? Riley and I are having a baby.”

“I don’t care how you handle it. You’ve got more balls than the parish on bingo night. And”—his lips curl—“no ring on her finger.”

I fold my arms, steady. “Not happening.”

Seamus’s grin is all rot. “Ya sure? Andre’s not the only one who knows what happened to your father.”

The words gut me. Air leaves my chest. My brain scrambles, clawing for an angle. Dillon. He’s single. Maybe—just maybe—if I can convince him…

“And don’t even try swapping that twin of yours.”

What the hell—mind reader now? “Why not Dillon?” I throw my hands wide. “He looks just like me, and he’s single.”

Seamus shrugs. “Fiona hates him.”

Of course she does. Most women he’s fucked and fled from do. Mr. Commitment Issues strikes again.

Fuck. If I do this—even on paper—I can’t marry Riley.

She’ll never forgive me. I know she won’t. And whatever trust I’ve built will be torched to ash.

Pom is my entire world, and I’m so close to pulling her back into my arms I can taste it. I can’t lose her now.

But what good is having her if I can’t keep her safe? She’s already lived life in a gilded cage. And, she hated it. To force her into that again—with our baby—day by day, it would kill her. And me right along with her.

Seamus rises slow, like he’s got all the time in the world, and extends his hand. “So—your girl and your baby stay safe, and you get answers about your father’s disappearance. Once Fiona says ‘I do.’” His smile ticks up. “So what do you say, son? Do we have a deal?”