Nico’s soft brown eyes flashed gold in the glint of the fire’s light. “Rourke said you’d sent for me.” The hulking Italian that had come to be an integral limb of the Family Tree.

“Ye know those boys cannae keep a secret fer shit, aye?”

Nico gave only his characteristic lack of response.

“The girl,” Ryan offered in a gentler tone, pushing a half-filled glass of an old family whiskey toward the younger man he’d come to think of as a brother.

“Isobel.”