The Deliverance of Dilan (The Syndicate #4) by Kathy Coopmans

tug of his lips out of him. We all need to loosen up. This meeting is going to be fucking hell. I know it. Shit’s going down.
    “You hurt her and I’ll fucking cut that dick off.” Aidan joins us as we stroll down the hallway toward the Bellamissio room, where my uncle has lunch waiting. I pray he has some booze for these guys and beer for me. I know damn well we’re going to need it by the time this meeting is done.
    “I’m not going to hurt her, fuckface. Back off.” I swear he’s more protective of her than I am. Can’t say I blame the fucker though. She’s worth protecting.
    “I know you won’t. Just had to throw it out there. Thanks for taking care of getting the kids here. Deidre was going out of her mind without having Diesel here.” Aidan nods toward Cain. “My wife too. Now we’re all here. Ready to throw this shit down. We’re going home after this meeting though. As nice as this place is, I want my daughter sleeping in her own bed,” Cain says as he pushes the door open to the room.
    “We are too,” Aidan pipes in. “No one will be going anywhere.” My uncle stands from the head of the table, addressing the three of us. We stand stock still. Fuck me. “Bullshit. I’m not keeping my family here.” Cain plants his hands on his hips. “You will and you are. End of discussion. Some shit went down last night after we all went to bed. It seems we’ve underestimated Jazmin. I should have killed the bitch, instead of thinking I could outsmart the conniving cunt. She killed Doug, Keith, and Austin. The bitch had a goddamn knife on her. How the fuck she managed to escape is beyond me.” He runs his hand through his gray hair. Fucking hell. This is all my fault. He’s right. We should have fucking killed her. Goddamn it.
    “Fuck.” I slump down in the closest chair.
    “Dilan. Were a family. We take care of our own. Their death is on my hands, not yours. I should have killed her myself. This is my fault. Hell, boy, I’ve killed more people than I can count. I knew better than to leave a trained killer alone with those men. Don’t you fucking dare take this guilt away from me. It’s my burden to bear. Now we plan. I’m not living through this shit any longer. They won’t come after us here, but the minute one of us walks out of this goddamn building, they will. Now, all three of you sit the fuck down and listen.” Jesus. John is right about them more than likely being out there already, but he is wrong about the guilt. The blame. If I weren’t so set on making these people pay, then those men would still be alive and everyone could go about their business.
    I watch my uncle pour himself a shot of whiskey, then passing the bottle around the table. When it gets to me, I take the shot glass already in front of me and pour one. I down it and have another poured before the first one even starts to burn going down my throat. I take that one too then pass the bottle to Aidan. Fuck, I hate that shit. And yet, it will numb me quicker than any cold beer will.
    “You didn’t start without me, fuckers, did you?” We all turn to the door. I can’t say I’m shocked, but I become more pissed off at myself when I see Roan enter. Goddamn him.
    “Damn. I’m fucking sorry, man. Shit.” I stand and go to him.
    “For what?” He has a cocky look on his face. “For needing me?” he questions.
    “So my honeymoon is delayed by a few days. So what?” He shrugs, strides over to my dad, pats him on the shoulder, leans in to pick up the damn gasoline that’s burning my throat, and pulls a big swig of the whiskey right from the bottle.
    “Sit your ass down. My wife is getting a massage with your woman. She’s good. Are you?” I pause briefly to let what he’s saying sink in, roaming around the table, searching for any sign from these men who are here for me. Every single one of them shows me the loyalty they have to this family, to me. Even Ivan Solokov. The head of the Russian clan. “I’m good.