Bloom, Part 2 (The Smoky Vale Alliance #4)

PROLOGUE

“ N o, no, no. Whatever it is you need, fuck no!” I held up my hand to stop my brother Cillian in his tracks, skirting around him to get to my car.

“Come on, Keegan. You don’t even know why I’m here. Can’t I miss my baby brother?”

I snorted. Maybe twelve-year-old Keegan would have been moved by those words. Me? Not so much. I’d outgrown the hero worship of my eldest brother since middle school, when I learned what our family was and what he was to become.

“Yeah, right. When was the last time you came to see me just because? And at my workplace? Are you crazy? How did you even get into this parking lot? It’s for staff only.”

“Really? There aren’t many places I can’t get into.”

I pressed the button on my fob to unlock my car. Cillian slid between me and the car door, folding his arms across his broad chest. His muscular arms, covered in tattoo sleeves, bulged in his gray T-shirt.

If he doesn’t dress better, Pop will never hand over the family to him.

He has to put Cillian in charge. If not him, I’m the only one left. Emil is too careless for the job, and I tapped out years ago. In fact, I’ve never been in.

“Listen, Cill, you can’t keep interfering with my work.”

“How am I interfering? Your shift’s over, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I worked a sixteen-hour shift. All I want right now is a shower and some sleep.”

And maybe a quick roll in the hay if Aurie was available. Another reason I had to tap out of the Mafia. I was gay, and I couldn’t see Pop accepting that, even if everyone said I was his favorite son. So far, I’d hidden my sexuality from everyone, but it was only a matter of time before the secret was out.

“And you’ll get it, but before that, you’re needed.”

I groaned. “Whoever’s banged up this time, take them to the hospital. That’s what it’s there for. Pop pays his taxes.”

“You’re not fixing anyone. Not this time.”

“Then it’s really not an emergency. See you Sunday.”

On Sundays, our mother insisted all the family members sit down to have dinner together, even though both Cill and I had moved out. She only gave me a pass when I was on duty at the hospital.

“Pop sent me for you.”

“What?”

Cillian reached into his pockets and took out a cigarette from the box with the stylish golden crest that represented Pop’s favorite brand. He lit it up and took a deep drag, the orange tip glowing in the dim-lit parking lot, and blew out the stream of smoke.

“We should go,” he said. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

I heaved a sigh and nodded. Anyone else I would be able to refuse, but not my father. So many people, including Cillian, had cautioned me against asking his permission to walk away from our crime family businesses. But he was wrong. Not only had Pop consented but also supported my passion by paying for med school. With my uncle on my side, we’d convinced him to allow me to live my own life.

“What is it about?”

“He’ll tell you. Whatever you do, just don’t argue.”

Hell. Now I was really curious, but Cillian was tightlipped, so I knew he wouldn’t say anything else. We got into my car, and I backed out of the parking spot. I resumed my dystopian audiobook but missed half of it. My mind was racing with possibilities—none of them good.

I followed Cillian’s directions, and when I rolled to a stop outside one of my father’s warehouses in the industrial quarter, my earlier exhaustion vanished. A shiver of unease snaked its way up my spine as we exited the car. Soldiers patrolled the area, strapped with guns that weren’t legal to carry.

“What the hell is this, Cillian?” I whispered.

“Don’t say anything. Just follow me.”

As we approached the entrance, the heavy steel door creaked open, and a silhouette appeared: a tall, distinguished man with a straight nose and neatly styled black hair. Uncle Mickey was one of my father’s most trusted enforcers. His gray eyes flickered over to Cillian, then landed on me. Next to him stood a stocky man with a patch over his left eye. “Keegan.” Uncle’s voice was gravelly, as if he had swallowed shards of glass and washed it down with whiskey. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

For me? Why?

I kept my mouth shut and nodded. I hadn’t always known what my family represented. In kindergarten, I never understood why no one showed up for my birthday parties. When I was ten years old, Perry Von Lingen told the entire class his dad said that my dad killed people for a living. Upset, I’d gone home that evening and spilled what happened to my father. Perry’s entire family had been slaughtered that very night. No one had been spared.

It took me years to accept the truth—that my father had the Von Lingen family put to death as a warning. I’d known then that I didn’t want to follow in my family’s footsteps.

Cillian nudged me forward, and I followed Uncle Mickey into the warehouse. The space was cavernous and dimly lit by hazy yellow bulbs suspended from the ceiling. The smell of oil, dust, and old wooden crates filled my nostrils. Uncle Mickey led us down a narrow passage between two stacks of crates taller than me. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the low buzz of conversation.

We rounded a corner into an open space. The source of the chatter was a group of men gathered around a long wooden table laden with stacks of money, guns, and blueprints. Of what, I couldn’t make out from where I stood. My father sat at the head of the table, his imposing figure towering over everyone else despite his age. His crystal clear blue eyes were as cold as ice.

“Keegan,” he said, his voice rumbling. “You made it.”

I swallowed hard, meeting his gaze with as much confidence as I could muster. “Cill said you wanted to see me.”

But what did his business have to do with me? I was a doctor.

“Yeah. Follow me.”

When he walked off, I did as he said, and went after him. I’d lived with Marcello Agosti for too long to disobey him. I kept my gaze glued to his broad back in an expensive suit. He never set foot outside the house without a suit on, regardless of the season. I couldn’t recall him busting a sweat either during the summer.

We came to a door he slipped through. Holding my breath, I entered the room, which was larger than I’d expected. Shelves lined the wall, filled with containers, some of which were familiar from their labels—dangerous chemicals that should have been safely locked away in a controlled laboratory.

In the center of the room was a table that looked like the ones in the OR at the hospital. Below, the floor had a drainage system, and next to the bed was a stand with medical instruments.

My pulse thundered in my ears as my father, the crime boss, picked up a scalpel. He studied the sharp instrument with the delicate fascination of a man who dealt in bloodshed.

“Pop—”

His gaze was iron-hard, a ruthless determination that left no room for disobedience or disturbance. What did he want? For me to quit the hospital and practice healing people in a warehouse he owned?

“Do you know what this room represents, son?” he asked.

I swallowed, nodding slightly. “A surgery room.”

“But…is it?”

“I don’t understand.”

“This room represents all the years you spent in medical school—that I put you through medical school. It’s time for you to give back, son.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing when I patched up your people—”

“Our people.” His voice turned hard, a steel edge cutting through the air. “They are our people, Keegan, but you’re mistaken. I didn’t build this place for the reason you have in mind.”

“Then what? Because this seems like an illegal medical facility.”

“Illegal, yes. Medical? Not so much. I prefer to think of it as a torture facility.”

“Torture? What does this have to do with me?”

A scuffling behind me made the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. Cillian strode in, dragging a man with him who was bloodied and beaten, his shirt torn.

I let out a soft sigh. So this was it, then? He wanted me to look after a patient without involving the cops? But why did he say torture?

“This is Boris Galkin.”

I stepped back. Cillian dumped the unconscious man on the table and strapped him down. “Boris Galkin.” My throat went dry, and my exhaustion fled. “Isn’t he the son of the Russian mobster, Galkin?”

“Exactly.”

“What is he doing here?”

“The Galkins have been experimenting with doing business on our turf, not respecting our boundaries. We’re going to send them a message.”

“By doing what?” My voice wavered, breaking the illusion of confidence I had managed to maintain until then. Although I still had no idea why Pop wanted me here, a terrible feeling in my gut left me queasy.

“We need some answers out of him, and you’re going to get them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look around.” He spread his arms toward the shelves. “We got everything we could think of, but if there’s anything missing, let me know.”

Baffled, I stared at him, struggling to put words together. “You want me to…torture him?”

Pop smiled, the smile of the damned. “Finally you get it. With all that knowledge you gained about the human body and all that science stuff, who better to break him for us?”

I took a step back and another. “Are you joking? That’s Cillian’s job.”

“Your brother’s too rough with them. They usually end up dead before they can give us anything useful.”

My stomach churned, the acidic taste of bile rising to threaten the back of my throat. I looked at Boris, unconscious and vulnerable on the table, then back at my father.

“You’re serious,” I said, my voice a whisper.

“As a heart attack.” Dad burst out into a laugh. “Of course you’ll have to prevent him from having one while you perform the torture.”

“I can’t torture someone! I’m a doctor. My job is to do the opposite of that.”

“Maybe your job in the hospital, but for me, you’ll torture anyone I bring to you for information. Do you understand?”

“I can’t.” I curled my hands into fists. Just a couple of hours earlier, I’d had my hands in the chest cavity of a man, saving his life. “It goes against everything I stand for. I took an oath—”

“I paid for you to take that oath. I paid for everything, son. Your tuition, your books, your apartment. Your entire goddamn life! And if I need you to torture information out of someone, by god you will do it.”

Rooted to the spot, I looked at Boris. His face was battered and washed out. The sight turned my stomach; it wasn’t supposed to be this way. I’d walked out. I’d escaped this. Why was this happening?

“You promised me—”

“Only a fool takes comfort in promises, Keegan. Did you really think you could escape this? There is no walking away. You’re an Agosti. This is your legacy. We dominate and eliminate those who are weaker, forging wealth for our family and those to come after us.”

“But—”

“Keegan, get to it!” Cillian snapped, his eyes flashing with warning. I couldn’t get out of this. He’d been right all along. Pop had set me up.

All this time he hadn’t wanted a doctor. He wanted a torturer, and apparently the qualifications for both were the same.

“Just this once,” I whispered with my eyes closed. I pushed the words past my constricted throat. “After this, you leave me alone.”

“Of course, son.”

Only a fool takes comfort in promises.