30. Elena

Partof me didn't want to leave that hotel or LA, but the other part of me was missing Cillian and Finn more than I'd like to admit.

Not even just their scents.

This new information torments me on the car ride from the airport to the house. Or maybe it's because I know I'm going to meet their father, the head of the Irish mob, tonight.

"What's your father like?" I ask Lorcán, who's sitting on my left, his hand gently placed on my thigh.

"He's not all that different from Matteo. Maybe a bit more eccentric."

"Do you have a good relationship with him?"

He shifts in his seat. "It's strained. Especially since I was with you and your father for so long; we didn't talk often."

"She needs to be prepared, Lorc," Declan chastises from the other side.

"His wife, Cillian and Finn's mother, you can't let her get to you," he warns quietly.

"What he's trying to say is that the boss' wife is the biggest bitch you'll ever meet. She usually stays in Ireland, so just ignore anything rude she says and don't take it personally."

"But the contract? Did she not approve?"

"You mean the one we tore up? She didn't have a say, but it doesn't matter anyway. Orla doesn't think anyone is good enough for her sons," Declan sneers.

I have some mean thoughts that cross my mind, like how they are liars and kidnappers, but I keep them to myself.

"I'll behave myself," I promise.

Lorcán shifts beside me, and I glare at him.

"What? I will."

He grips my chin and kisses me softly but doesn't say anything else. How terrible can this woman actually be?

Maeve had to put the table leaf in for the dining table to accompany our guests. The table arrangement is extravagant, and the tension is thick as I sit between Finn and Cillian.

Declan and Lorcán are seated at the ends of the table. It almost feels like it's purposeful. To show that they aren't members of the family, while Seamus and Orla sit across from us.

Seamus looks more like Lorcán, I realize, with his light eyes and mostly gray hair, but you can tell he used to be blond. He smiles a lot, and seems the most at ease at the table, while his wife seems the opposite. I don't think the woman has blinked once.

Cillian and Finn are carbon copies of her, with the dark hair and deep, forest green eyes, which are currently boring into my fucking soul.

Cillian places a reassuring hand on my thigh and even Finn is sitting closer to me than he normally does.

"Didn't know when we would be seeing you at our table, Elena," Seamus comments as Maeve brings out dishes.

Orla only stops staring at me to glare at the cook, Declan's mom.

"Considering, until recently, I had no idea I was supposed to, me either."

Seamus laughs, and Orla puckers her lips.

How did such a jolly gangster end up with such an ice queen?

"All is well. I must say I was sorry to hear about your father. I knew Matteo for a long time. He was a good and reasonable man."

"Thank you, sir."

"Unlike your brother. Where do we stand on the situation?" Seamus asks, switching from our conversation to business.

I still feel slightly uncomfortable talking about Anthony. He's still my brother, regardless of all the horrible things he's done. I don't excuse his behavior, but part of me feels guilty. Would this all still be happening if I didn't run away?

I instantly shake that thought from my head; he wanted his cake and to eat it too. He wanted me gone.

"He's gone into hiding. Most of his men have sworn allegiance to the Barbieri family," Finn states calmly.

"I'm glad to see getting the shite kicked out of you actually paid off one of these times."

Finn smirks, his face is still covered in some bruising from his fight, but he doesn't look anywhere near as rough as he did before I left.

"How do we know she isn't some Italian spy reporting back to her brother?" Orla sneers.

Cillian's hand tightens on my thigh, but I very sweetly respond.

"Considering your son drugged me and locked me in this house with no cell phone or any other way of communication, I don't see how that would be possible."

"I think a good, respectable Irish girl would have been better," is her response.

"Má," Cillian warns his mother.

"It's not even as if Fionn wanted an Omega. Matteo is dead. The contract should die with him," she states, and it's the first time I hear Finn's real name. His jaw ticks when he hears it, clearly hating it.

"Orla, that's enough," Seamus scolds, waving his wife off, clearly used to her attitude.

"Send her back with her rabid brother and decrease our enemies," she continues, not listening to her husband. "Saoirse is single," she adds.

The insinuation of another woman has my hackles rising. We might just be figuring this out, but they're mine; we've decided we're going to be a pack. Her sons are my fucking scent matches, for Christ's sake.

"Saoirse is a lesbian. Let's not act like you would approve of anyone for your precious sons," Lorcán inserts.

"You and Declan can take this one, but you're right, she's not good enough for my sons," she spits.

Finn stands, pressing his knuckles against the table. "Enough."

"Fionn, sit down," she reprimands, pushing her plate away like the food is atrocious.

"I've told you countless times I prefer to be called Finn. Elena is mine and Cillian's scent match, Lorcán is our half-brother, and Declan is family. If you can't keep your opinions to yourself, you can leave our home and go the fuck back to Ireland."

The woman across the table sits up straighter, sucking in her cheekbones and looking away. Meanwhile, Seamus looks proud.

"I haven't seen you in two years, and this is how you treat me?"

"Orla, for fuck's sake, stop," Seamus shouts, banging his hand on the table.

The woman laughs sardonically, and then her eyes connect with mine.

"Maybe you'll get lucky like me, and one of them will bring home a bastard after you've dedicated years of your fucking life to a family."

I look down at the table where Lorcán is currently gripping it in anger. There's clear shame written on Seamus' face as his wife talks about his infidelity, and I've had enough.

"Mr. O'Brien, it was nice meeting you. Despite everything, I want to thank you for your part in bringing me to your sons and Declan. Lorcán has protected me for years. He's a good man, despite who raised them." I glare at Orla. "You still raised good men, so thank you for that. But if you'll excuse me, I'm not feeling so well."

I begin to scoot my chair and leave when Finn stops me from doing so.

"No, this is your house. Mother, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. When you feel as though you can act like a normal, civil human being, you can come back."

"You can't possibly have feelings for her," Orla spits, standing up.

"Whether I do or not is none of your fucking business. This is my house, my pack's house. You aren't going to come here and be nothing but disrespectful to everyone in said pack except Cillian and myself."

"After everything I've done for you?" she questions.

"You mean all the self-deprecating bullshit, the manipulation, the way you made us treat our fucking brother like shit?" he spews.

"I did no such thing!"

"You made us think that if we cared for Lorcán, then we didn't love you. He was a fucking child. He didn't ask for Dá to cheat on you or for his mother to fucking die. He was alone, and you made it so that the two people who should have made him feel safe hated him instead. It's taken me years to see this, and I'm sick of it."

"She's sickening your mind. You never used to feel this way. Cillian?" She looks to him for guidance.

"He's right. Everything with you was always a manipulation tactic. If we didn't do something or say something right, it meant we didn't love you. Your husband didn't love you enough, so you forced your kids to be the source of your affection. We're sick of it. We choose Lorcán, we choose Elena."

Orla starts crying, and Seamus sighs.

"Divorce is legal in Ireland, ya know?" Declan says, speaking for the first time as Orla makes a screeching noise and heads to the door.

Seamus rubs his temples and sighs.

"Elena, dear, I'm sorry this was our first introduction. Let me go get my wife settled, and I'll speak to you boys later," he says, excusing himself.

I blink and look around the table, wondering what the fuck just happened. It's quiet until Declan starts laughing hysterically. Lorcán and the twins follow suit.

I'm dumbfounded as I look at them all laughing their asses off. Declan literally has tears in his eyes that he has to wipe away as they all seem to quiet down.

"What the fuck was that?"

Declan holds his glass in the air. "That, blondie, was us becoming a pack."

The rest of the men hold up their glasses, and I do the same. I look Finn in the eyes as we cheer, and he holds my gaze the entire time. We continue our meal, and I can't hold back the question any longer.

"Why is your dad still with her?" I ask Cillian.

"You should know, weren't you raised Catholic?" Cillian questions.

"I mean, kind of. My pápa donated to the church, and we went on Easter and Christmas Eve, but we weren't really practicing."

"Dá was raised old school. Hell, divorce wasn't even approved until nineteen ninety-five in Ireland. Even still, it's a hard time getting a divorce."

"So he thinks it's easier to cheat on her than leave her?" I ask, confused if that's what made her the way she is or if she's always been a bitch.

Maeve brings out the dessert, sitting the strawberries and cream right in front of me. "Orla was always a selfish cunt. Seamus sleeping with other women just made her worse. Don't worry, girlie, I might be a crotchety old hag, but I think you're better than this lot." She pats my head like one would a dog as she walks away.

"Can I get another glass?" I ask, holding up my wine glass. Cillian refills it immediately, and I down it all in one go. "It doesn't seem fair that you all don't inherit any insane in-laws on my side."

"Your brother trying to kill us doesn't count?" Finn teases with a smirk.

"Touché. I won't lie, you standing up to your mom was kind of hot," I blurt out, and I swear to God, this gigantic mobster blushes.

"It was long overdue. I won't let anyone ever disrespect you."

"How very Alpha of you," I say, and he steeples his fingers, resting them on his chin.

"I'm trying," he says.

Finn stands up, his fingertips brushing my shoulder, and I wonder if maybe, just maybe, Finn and I can be more than just friends.