His Possession (Mafia Masters #2)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

RORY

D ecades of wielded power and struck deals created the private club’s atmosphere of old-world opulence. Rory stepped into the room, his presence commanding as he scanned the faces of the gathered men. Representatives from the elite of Boston’s gangster families sat around the long mahogany table, their expressions carefully neutral. They were masters of this game, and the air crackled with the tension of unspoken rivalries and fragile alliances.

Rory felt the eyes on him, assessing, weighing, but he didn’t falter. He had spent his life navigating circles like these, mastering the art of control and dominance. He moved with purpose, every step measured, as he approached the head of the table. Beside him, Cormac was a steady presence, his gaze sharp as ever.

The chair creaked as Rory sat, leaning back slightly, his hands resting on the table. “Gentlemen,” he began, his voice calm but laced with authority. “Thank you for meeting on such short notice. I know how rare it is to bring all of you together.”

A man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick Bostonian accent nodded. “Rare and risky, McMahon. What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait for a more discreet venue?”

Rory’s lips curved into a faint smile that held no warmth. “The kind of urgency that concerns all of us. The O’Neill believed that meeting on neutral ground might put you more at ease. Michael O’Connell and Tadhg Kelleher are no longer a problem just in Galway. Both have crossed lines that threaten the balance we’ve all worked so hard to maintain.”

The room fell silent, the importance of his words sinking in. Rory let the pause stretch, meeting the gaze of each man in turn. It was a calculated move, one that established his control of the conversation. When no one spoke, he continued.

“My men intercepted a shipment bound for New York last week,” Rory said, sliding a folder across the table. “Inside were enough weapons to start a minor war. O’Connell has been using Kelleher’s docks to export and smuggle arms and other goods into your territories. They’re not just moving product—they’re positioning themselves to challenge us all.”

Luca opened the folder, his sharp eyes scanning the photos and documents inside. The others leaned in, their interest piqued. Rory watched them closely, noting the subtle shifts in their posture, the way their expressions hardened as the evidence mounted.

“You’ve come prepared,” said one man sitting at the table, his voice carrying the gravitas of his decades in the game. “But evidence is one thing. Convincing us to act is another.”

Rory inclined his head. “That’s why I’ve brought more than documents. You’ll hear it directly from someone who knows the depths of O’Connell’s treachery.”

The door opened, and Alexander O’Connell stepped in. He set his jaw, squared his shoulders, but a flicker of unease showed in his eyes as he took in the room. The dangerous men at the table stared at him, their scrutiny intense, but Alexander didn’t falter as he approached the table.

“This is Maeve’s brother,” Rory said, his voice steady. “A man who’s had the misfortune of seeing firsthand what his father is capable of. He’s here because he chose a different path. One that doesn’t end in bloodshed for the sake of pride.”

Alexander’s throat worked as he swallowed, and then he began to speak. “My father is unwell,” he said, his voice strained but firm. “His grip on reality has been slipping for years. What started as a thirst for power has become something darker, something far more destructive. He’s not just dangerous to his enemies. He’s a threat to anyone who doesn’t fall in line—including his own family.”

The room was silent, the weight of his confession settling over them. Rory watched the reactions closely. There was skepticism, yes, but also a flicker of understanding. These men had seen their share of unhinged leaders, of kingpins who couldn’t recognize when their reign had ended.

Alexander continued, his voice gaining strength. “I’m not proud of my family’s legacy. But I’m here because I want to be part of changing it. My father won’t stop until he burns everything to the ground, and if you don’t act now, he’ll take all of us with him.”

One man leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he regarded Alexander. “And you’re willing to testify to that? To stand against your own blood?”

Alexander’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”

The room buzzed with quiet murmurs; the men exchanging glances and whispered words. Rory let them talk, his own expression unreadable as he waited for the momentum to shift. When the man spoke again, his tone was cautious, but edged with grudging respect.

“You’re asking us to go against tradition,” he said. “To turn on one of our own.”

Rory leaned forward, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “I’m asking you to do what’s right for the future. Tradition doesn’t mean clinging to dead alliances or letting a madman burn the world down around our ears. Progress means adapting, and that’s what I’m offering—a chance to move forward, to strengthen our position instead of letting it crumble.”

“And what happens if we back you?” asked one man. “If we take out O’Connell and at least the younger Kelleher? What’s your endgame?”

“Balance,” Rory said simply. “We remove the threats, divide the spoils, and establish a new equilibrium. One where Galway thrives as a hub, and Boston benefits from the stability. The O’Neill is not interested in overreach or empire-building. We want what’s best for all of us.”

The room was silent again, but this time, the energy felt different. Calculated. The old guard wasn’t quick to make decisions, but Rory could see the wheels turning, the calculus shifting in his favor.

Finally, they nodded slowly. “You’ve made your case, McMahon. And I’ll admit, it’s compelling,” said one.

“It’s bold. But bold keeps our businesses alive,” said another. “And the O’Neill has always played square with us.”

The others murmured their assent, their collective power tipping the scales. Rory felt a flicker of satisfaction, but kept his expression neutral. This was just one step, and there was still a war to win.

“Then we’re agreed,” Rory said, his voice steady. “We move forward together.”

The meeting adjourned with handshakes and terse farewells; the representatives filed out with their entourages in tow. Rory watched them go, his mind already turning to the next moves. When the room was empty except for Cormac and Alexander, he finally allowed himself a breath.

“You played that well,” Cormac said, his tone approving. “Con himself couldn’t have done better. But they’ll be watching closely. If you slip, they’ll turn on you.”

“They won’t get the chance,” Rory said, his voice cold. “O’Connell and Tadhg won’t live to see the opportunity.”

“What about the senior Kelleher?” asked Alexander.

“I don’t think he has any idea what Tadhg has been up to. He won’t stand against the O’Neill, especially if he knows he will have no outlet in Boston. Trust me, to save himself, he’ll sacrifice Tadhg in a heartbeat.”

Rory looked to Alexander and spoke, “You did well. Maeve will be proud.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Let’s make sure it’s worth it.”

Rory watched him go, his mind churning. The pieces were in motion, the board set. But as he turned his thoughts to Maeve, his resolve hardened. This wasn’t just about power or politics. This was about her—protecting her, securing a future where she could finally be free.

Rory’s knuckles whitened around the edge of the polished mahogany table as the heavy doors to the meeting room slammed open. The sound reverberated like a gunshot. Rory raised his eyes to meet the younger Kelleher.

Tadhg stood in the doorway, his face flushed with wild desperation. Strapped to his chest was a crude suicide vest, wires crisscrossing the fabric, blinking red lights adding a grim cadence to the moment. Michael O’Connell wasn’t the only one who was losing his grasp on reality. Thank god the Boston families had already departed.

“You think you can erase me?” Tadhg’s voice was sharp, trembling, yet loud enough to reach every corner of the room. “You think I’ll sit quietly while you carve up my city?”

For a moment, neither Rory nor Cormac moved. Then Rory rose slowly, his chair scraping against the floor as he met Tadhg’s wild eyes.

“Tadhg.” Rory’s voice was low, commanding. “You’ve lost already. This isn’t the way to change that.”

“Lost?” Tadhg barked out a bitter laugh, his hand hovering dangerously close to the trigger in his fist. “You don’t know what losing is, McMahon. But you will. All of you will.”

Rory’s mind shifted into cold precision, the tactical clarity that had kept him alive in this world. His gaze landed on Cormac, standing near the side wall.

“Tadhg,” Rory said, his tone calm but edged with steel. “Let’s talk. You came here for a reason. Your family has nothing to gain by my death or yours. Your father will never stand against the O’Neill and believe me when I say he will return to Galway in force if you do this.”

“Talk?!” Tadhg spat the word like venom. “I didn’t come here to talk, McMahon. I came to make you bleed.”

“Cormac,” Rory said quietly, his voice carrying despite the tension. “Get out. Leave now. Take the men and get the civilians to safety.”

Cormac hesitated, glancing at Rory with a flicker of doubt.

“Now,” Rory repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

“I’ll do it!” Tadhg screamed, his voice cracking as his thumb moved closer to the detonator. “One more move and I blow this room to hell!”

The tension was suffocating. Rory raised his hand, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke. “Tadhg, think about what you’re doing. You trigger those explosives and you’re dead, too. All this for nothing.”

“Better dead than letting you win,” Tadhg snarled.

Rory’s heart thundered, but his voice remained steady. “You’re wrong. This isn’t just about me. Doing this will not immortalize you as a martyr. It will be spat upon and your father will do whatever he has to disown you.”

Tadhg’s hand trembled, the fury in his eyes flickering with doubt. Rory pressed forward, taking a careful step closer. “There’s still a way out of this, Tadhg. Drop the detonator. Let’s talk.”

Hours before, in the quiet of the night, Rory had found solace in Maeve’s arms.

The abbey was quiet, the distant hum of the city that stretched out below a faint backdrop to their shared silence. Rory sat on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, tension radiating from every line of his body. The earlier part of the evening he’d spent mapping out contingencies, his mind a whirlwind of strategy and risk.

Maeve moved closer, her hand brushing his shoulder. The touch was light, but it sent a jolt through him, grounding him in a way nothing else could. He looked up at her, his dark eyes meeting hers.

“You’re carrying too much,” she said softly, her fingers tracing along the curve of his jaw.

“I have to,” Rory replied, his voice rough. “If I don’t, it all falls apart.”

She knelt in front of him, her hands covering his. “It won’t. Not with you at the helm. But you’re allowed to lean on me too.”

Rory’s chest tightened. The words, simple and sincere, pierced through his carefully constructed armor. He reached for her, his hands tangling in her hair, as he pulled her closer. The kiss was fierce, a collision of need and desperation.

Maeve responded in kind, her body arching into his as she climbed onto his lap. Rory’s hands roamed over her back, pulling her closer, grounding himself in the feel of her. Her lips traced along his jaw, her breath warm against his skin as she whispered his name.

“Maeve,” he rasped, his voice a plea and a command.

She guided him back onto the bed, her movements deliberate but unhurried. Rory let her take control, his body surrendering to the warmth of her touch, the solace she offered. Her hands explored him, her fingers brushing over the scars and the tension he carried like armor.

When their bodies joined, it was a slow, deliberate melding. Every movement was a promise, every whispered name a reminder of what they were fighting for. Rory held her close, his lips tracing the curve of her neck as they moved together, the outside world fading into nothingness.

Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, their breath mingling as they stared into the darkness. Maeve rested her head against his chest, her fingers idly tracing patterns along his skin.

“I’m not letting you go,” Rory said quietly, his voice filled with resolve.

Maeve tilted her head to look at him, her gaze steady. “Then don’t.”

The words echoed in his mind as he stared at Tadhg, the detonator still clutched in his hand. Rory’s grip tightened on the pistol at his side, his heart thundering as he prepared to make the call.

“Tadhg,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “You want to hurt me? Fine. But not here. Not like this.”

Tadhg’s eyes narrowed, his knuckles whitening around the detonator. “Why not? Afraid I’ll take you with me?”

Rory’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Because I’m not the one you hate. It’s yourself, Tadhg. This is you giving up.”

The words struck home. Rory saw the flicker of doubt in Tadhg’s eyes, the rage wavering as the truth landed. It was the moment Rory needed.

The gunshot rang out, sharp and deafening. Rory fired the small gun in his pocket, ruining his trousers as the bullet struck Tadhg’s arm. The detonator fell to the floor as Tadhg let out a pained scream. Pandemonium erupted as Rory approached Tadhg and fired a single bullet into his brain. Relief coursed through Rory, as his men burst into the room, but it was short-lived. The battle was far from over, and Rory knew the war was only beginning.