“He doesn’t have anything on me,” Cillian replies easily. “But I’ve talked with others and heard rumblings. He’s quite self-important for a man who’s only seven years old.”
I grin at Julian.
Yeah, we like the Irish.
“Rose was taken seven years ago,” Violet puts in. “Is that a coincidence?”
“Hello, lass,” Cillian says, his voice softening, and despite liking him, it sets my teeth on edge. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any more information about your sister.”
“How was she when you saw her?” Violet asks, leaning toward the phone. “Was she healthy? Did she seem scared?”
“I didn’t speak with her,” Cillian admits. “She didn’t make eye contact, but she wasn’t physically bruised that I could see. She was polite. I’m sorry, but that’s all I remember. It’s disrespectful to ogle another man’s woman.”
Violet hangs her head. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Can you reach out to Lincoln and arrange for another dinner?” Julian asks. “That we might also get an invitation to?”
“Now, that I might be able to pull off,” Cillian replies smoothly. “I’ll be in touch shortly with those plans. Are you sure you want to come to New Orleans?”
“I want her here,” Violet interrupts, shaking her head. “Can we host a party? Or a gala? Something important that this asshole will want to crash?”
I lift an eyebrow at my brother, and he narrows his eyes, thinking it over.
“What if it’s at Rapture?” I ask. “Or King of Spades.”
“Tell us what you need,” Declan says into the phone. “We could likely get the other heads of the families in Vegas for something like this, and there’s no way Lincoln would turn that down.”
“A charity event,” Natasha says. “Benefiting women who have escaped trafficking.”
“Bloody perfect,” Cillian agrees. “Again, let us know what you need and when we should be there. If needed, I could also host at the Four Leaf.”
The Irish own a resort here on the Strip, and the Four Leaf does quite well.
“We have options, then,” Julian says. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you,” Violet says before anyone can hang up. “Thank you so much. I don’t know how I’ll repay you.”
“Don’t mention it, lass,” Cillian says before ending the call.
Violet takes a shaky breath before she walks back to the screen and stares at the photo of her sister.
“She’s alive,” she whispers. Her breath hitches.
Julian takes Natasha’s hand, nods at me, and they leave the office. He closes the door, leaving me alone with my girl.
“She’s alive,” she says again, and now her voice breaks and she starts to cry, her eyes never leaving that screen. “Oh my God, look at her. She’s s-so pretty.”
“Like her sister.”
With a sob, she buries her face against my chest, her whole body shaking with each ragged breath, as if she’s held this back for seven long years and, now that she knows that Rose is at least alive, she can let go of this grief.
Lifting her in my arms, I cross to the sofa and sit with Violet in my lap. She buries her face in my neck and continues to cry, babbling words that I can’t understand, but I don’t need to.
Because what she’s feeling is obvious.
Grief.
Pain.