Brutal Prince Bonus Scene (Brutal Birthright, #1.5)(14)

“Stay here,” he says. “Don’t make this worse.”

I don’t give a shit what they say. The moment they leave, I’m out the door, too. So I follow them up the stairs, not knowing exactly what I’m going to do, but knowing I’m not going to be left here waiting like a naughty puppy.

But before Dante is even halfway up the stairs, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He picks up, saying, “What is it?” in a tone that makes me certain that it’s Papa on the other end of the line.

Dante waits, listening, for a long time. Then he says, “I understand.”

He hangs up. He’s looking at me with the strangest expression on his face.

“What is it?” Nero says.

“Take off that vest,” Dante says to Nero. “Aida, go change your clothes.”

“Why? Into what?”

“Something clean that doesn’t look like shit,” he snaps at me. “Do you own anything like that?”

Maybe. Possibly not, by Dante’s standards.

“Fine,” I say. “But where are we going?”

“We’re going to meet with the Griffins. Papa said to bring you.”

Well. Shit.

I didn’t much enjoy my last meeting with Callum Griffin.

I’m really not looking forward to a second. I doubt his temper was improved by a swim in the lake.

And what to wear to such an event?

I think the only dress I own is the Wednesday Adams costume I wore last Halloween.

I settle on a gray turtleneck and slacks, even though it’s too hot for that, because it’s about the only thing I have that’s sober and clean.

When I pull the shirt over my head, it sets the knot on the back of my skull throbbing again, reminding me how Callum Griffin shoved me aside like a rag doll. He’s strong under that suit. I’d like to see him face off against Dante or Nero—when he doesn’t have his bodyguard along for the ride.

That’s what we should do—tell them we want a meeting, then ambush the motherfuckers. Callum had no problem attacking us on the pier. We should return the favor.

I’m amping myself up the whole time I’m getting dressed, so I’m practically vibrating with tension by the time I slide into the back of Dante’s Escalade.

“Where are we meeting them?” I ask him.

“At The Brass Anchor,” Dante says shortly. “Neutral ground.”

It only takes a few minutes to drive to the restaurant on Eugenie Street. It’s past midnight now, and the building is dark, the kitchen closed. However, I see Fergus Griffin waiting out front, along with two bruisers. Wisely, he didn’t bring the shit stain that stomped on Sebastian’s leg.

I don’t see Callum anywhere. Looks like Daddy put him in time-out.

We wait in the SUV until Papa pulls up as well. Then all four of us get out at the same time. When Dante slides out of the front seat, I see the bulge under his jacket that shows he’s still carrying. Good. I’m sure Nero is, as well.

As we walk toward Fergus Griffin, his eyes are fixed on me and me alone. He’s looking me up and down, like he’s evaluating every aspect of my appearance and demeanor on some kind of chart inside of his head. He doesn’t look very impressed.

That’s fine, because to me he looks just as cold and arrogant and phony-genteel as his son. I refuse to drop his gaze, stubbornly staring straight back at him without a hint of remorse.

“So this is the little arsonist,” Fergus says.

I could tell him it was an accident, but that’s not strictly true. And I’m not apologizing to these bastards.

Instead I say, “Where’s Callum? Did he drown?”

“Luckily for you, he did not,” Fergus replies.

Papa, Dante, and Nero close rank around me. They might be angry as hell that I got us into this mess, but they’re not going to stand for anyone threatening me.

“Don’t talk to her,” Dante says roughly.

With a little more tact, Papa says, “You wanted a meeting. Let’s go inside and have one.”

Fergus nods. His two men enter the restaurant first, making sure it really is empty inside. This place belongs to Ellis Foster, a restaurateur and broker who has connections to both the Irish and our family. That’s why it’s neutral ground.

Once we’re all inside, Fergus says to my father, “I think it’s best if we speak alone.”

Papa slowly nods.

“Wait here,” he says to my brothers.

Papa and Fergus disappear into one of the private dining rooms, closed off by double glass doors. I can see their outlines as they sit down together, but I can’t make out any details of their expressions. And I can’t hear a word they’re saying.

Dante and Nero pull a couple of chairs out from the nearest table. Fergus’s men do the same at a table ten feet away. My brothers and I sit along the same side, so we can glare across at Fergus’s goons while we wait.

That keeps us occupied for about ten minutes. But looking at their ugly mugs is pretty boring. Waiting in general is boring. I’d like to get a drink from the bar, or maybe even poke into the kitchen for a snack.

The second I start to rise up from my seat, Dante says, “Don’t even think about it,” without looking at me.

“I’m hungry,” I tell him.