Gerald Fitzpatrick’s skin was pasty, splotchy, and marred pink. He was a heavy man with beady black eyes and thinning white hair.

All of us siblings looked like variations of our mother, despite having different coloring, with Hunter being the most aesthetically pleasing out of us.

“Shut up,” Cillian barked at Da, scanning the room impatiently. “Any idea who could have done this?”

“If we start counting our enemies, we won’t leave here until next year, and we have a vacation booked in the Maldives next summer.” Hunter checked his Rolex, cocking a sarcastic brow.

“I’ll take care of this.” Sam stepped forward to the center of the room.

He clapped a hand over my father’s shoulder. “Come on, Gerry. Let’s get to the bottom of this mess. Privacy, please.” He snapped his fingers in our general direction, signaling all of us to go out. “Jane, you too.”

Everyone trickled out of the room slowly. Everyone other than Mother. I had to take her hand and yank her out while she protested with huffs and puffs.

“It’s not fair! I want to know what they are saying.” She clutched my arm a bit too tightly as I steered her toward the kitchen, where the servants could watch her. “Oh, Aisling, be a darling and go eavesdrop on them. You know I’m no good at not being seen. You can slip in undetected, I am sure.”

“Mother,” I groaned, feeling a looming headache blossoming behind my eyes. “Brennan wanted them to have privacy.”

“Brennan is a brute and a beast. Who cares what he wants?”

She had a point, and I was feeling especially inclined to ignore any instructions Sam had given me after the past week.

I took the bait.

After wrapping Mother’s bony fingers around a steaming cup of tea in the kitchen and asking one of the housekeepers to keep an eye on her, I discreetly slipped into the adjoined sunroom to investigate what Sam and Da were talking about.

The voices from the dining room could carry to the sunroom easily; years of listening to my brothers and father drinking port and discussing business and women crassly had taught me that.

I pressed my ear to the wall, listening intently.

“Let’s take it a step back. Tell me about your former lovers, any potential bastard children who might be lurking around looking for a nice check.” Sam’s voice was smooth and hard as marble behind the oak doors.

“Jesus Christ, Brennan, talk about a loaded question. Well, in the last decade, I had Bonnie, Sheila, Christie, Ulrika, Ruthie—”

“Start with the first year of your marriage and move your way up,” Sam cut him off briskly. “We need to be thorough.”

“That could take days!” my father protested.

There was a black hole in the pit of my stomach, and it was full of dark feelings. The extent of the betrayal robbed me off my breath. He was so careless. So selfish …

I heard something snap, and when I looked down, I realized I dug my fingernail so deep into my palm, it broke.

I always knew both of my parents enjoyed the odd affair—but this was too much. I felt dirty sharing my DNA with the man.

“Days,” Sam mumbled impatiently, just as disgusted as I was. As if he had a right. As if he wasn’t known for his conquests between the sheets. “Fucking charming. Let’s try to narrow it down. Think of someone with the potential to seek revenge. Anyone you knocked up? Someone you might have hurt personally? Those would be the people most likely to dig through the dirt and harm you. No one wants to come out as the mistress, but people will have no qualms compromising someone else to take you down. It’s possible one of your other mistresses hacked into your latest one’s cloud to shed light as to what she considers foul play on your end.”

“I don’t do foul play,” Da roared, his face rattling the leaves on the plants in the sunroom. “I take care of my mistresses and provide them with money and jewelry and expensive cars.”

I felt lightheaded. No wonder my mother was so messed up. This man was inhumane. He treated women like prized horses. And growing up he was the person I looked to for compassion.

“I’m sure you make them feel like fucking rock stars, Gerry. But accidents happen, and you’re a virile man. Any chance you have any bastards lying around? Maybe women who had to get hush-hush abortions?”

Sam always called my dad Gerry. He was the only person to do so. Despite and especially because it drove Da mad.

“No. No bastard children. And I’m not that virile. As you are well aware, not all of my children are biologically mine.”

I winced, knowing exactly who he was referring to and blocking this piece of information from my consciousness. To me that person was still my beloved brother. But it was an important reminder Mother, too, dabbled in romancing people outside her marriage—and was less than discreet about it.

“You’re not really giving me much to work with here,” Sam growled. Something about the way he said that, with a tang of obvious frustration, made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

True, Sam was hotheaded, but he was also pragmatic. Detached and cold when it came to business. He was only explosive and unpredictable when it came to his personal life. Like when Sparrow or Sailor was in trouble or he and Troy had disagreements.

“Make me a fucking list, Gerry. Of every single woman you stuck your dick into. If I can’t be thorough, I can’t be helpful. No use in paying me a small fortune for sitting around and babysitting your two fully grown sons.”

“I’m also paying you to keep away from my daughter,” my father reminded him. I winced, pressing my ear harder against the door.

“Yeah.” Sam chuckled. “Some challenge that is. Make the list.” He rapped his knuckles against the dining table.

I knew the conversation was over, so I scurried out of the sunroom as quietly as possible, hurrying toward the kitchen to Mother to fill her in on their conversation.

I crashed headfirst into a wall.

No, not a wall. Worse. Sam’s granite chest.

“Ow.” I scowled, stumbling back as I rubbed at my forehead.

Turning around to make a beeline in the other direction and avoid Sam, I got snatched right back to his side. Sam, with his killer instincts, caught me by the hem of my blue scrubs and pulled me into an alcove between the dining room and the sunroom, his smoky, minty breath colliding with my face. Hot and fresh and intoxicatingly sexy.

“If it isn’t my favorite tight hole. Been eavesdropping, Nix?”

His casual sexism would have fazed me had I not known it was a front. I’d seen Sam handling his sister and adoptive mother and knew that for all his crass words, he was capable of adoring women.

There was little point in denying the allegation, especially since we got out of the adjoining rooms at the same time. I tilted my nose up and squeezed my shoulder blades together, like she had taught me, her French accent reminding me inwardly, Better die on your feet than live on your knees. Show courage, mon cheri!

“It’s my house, Brennan. I can do whatever I want, including, but not limited to, spending time in my sunroom.”

“You are many things, Aisling, including the daughter of two of the most pathetic creatures I’ve ever encountered and a champagne socialist, but you are no idiot. So don’t act like one. What were you doing in there?”