My Irish Mafia King

Chapter 8

Eight

KILLIAN

I sit outside my uncle’s estate, Shane in the back seat, a hood over his head, his hands cuffed in his lap. It’s been one hell of a day. I’d stuffed Shane in my walk-in closet and cuffed him to a supporting beam while I’d spirited his prisoner outside of the city. She’s currently in the hands of an elite security agency, charged with taking her home to Maine, where she’s originally from.

Someone trafficked her here. When they felt the heat from the police, they scattered their prisoners, which is why Shane brought her to Lucy’s bakery. It was the only place he could think of to hide until the heat died down.

“I should put a bullet in your head,” I growl.

Shane whimpers, no longer the tough guy. Every time I look at him, rage bubbles up inside me. I can’t stop thinking about what he did to my lucky charm... except she’s not my lucky charm anymore, is she? I remember the way she stared at me as if I were a monster. She probably wants nothing to do with me. Can I blame her?

I take out my cell and call Uncle Frank.

“Hello, dear nephew,” he says.

“Call off the guards at your front gate.”

“Now, why would I do a thing like that?”

“I’ve got Shane Delaney in my backseat, cuffed with a hood over his head, half alive… or half dead, depending on your perspective.”

“What the fuck ?”

“Call the guards off and open the gate. I know you’ll be forced to retaliate if they see what I’ve done.”

“Jesus Christ, Killian.”

I drum my fingers against the steering wheel. I know from Ronan that Lucy is safe. She’s with her friend, and she knows everything about me. She knows I’m a mafia prince, that I worked as an enforcer for a few years. She knows the idea she had of me is completely wrong. She’ll never see me the same way again.

I push those depressing thoughts away. When the guards open the gate and leave their posts, I guide my car between the stone pillars and up to his house. Frank is waiting for me at the door, leaning against the frame, glaring.

I climb from the car, lock it, then walk up the stairs.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Frank snaps.

“Shane had a lot of interesting things to say when I threatened to remove his teeth, Uncle Frank,” I snarl. “It seems you’ve ventured beyond cut-price electronics, laundering, financial crime, and political blackmail. It seems you decided that wasn’t earning you enough. Human trafficking, Uncle? Human fucking trafficking ?”

“Watch your tone, boy.”

I stare down at him, my hands twitching. “Shane told me that, so far, you’ve only agreed to store people like products for big-time traffickers, but you’ve seen how much they earn; you want to make inroads into the business yourself.”

Frank leers at me. “Look at you, Killian. Turns out you know how to get your hands dirty after all.”

I grab his shirt and shove him against the wall, lifting him off his feet. “This is never what the Family was supposed to be. If Dad were here... But you made sure he’d never be able to stop you.”

Uncle Frank claws at my hands. “Let... me... go...”

“I saw the bloody ring in your office.”

“What ring?”

“The ring you took from him after you made him crash.”

I roar as I throw Uncle Frank to the floor. He climbs unsteadily to his feet. “You’ve got no right, boy.”

I take out my phone and flash the photo at him. “This was in your desk. A fucked-up memento from what you did, you bastard. Don’t deny it. And now you’re going to ruin this Family...”

“I don’t know how that ring got there!” Frank wails. “As for the Family, this is nothing to do with you. You had your chance to be involved. To have a say. That was over ten years ago. If you had any smarts, you’d pretend you never saw a damn thing and go on with your life.”

“Does Owen know what you’re doing?” I demand.

“Owen isn’t the Don. I am.”

“You and your fucking pride. Everybody knows Owen is the one who actually runs things, uncle. If that wasn’t the case, I would’ve picked up the crown a long time ago. The trafficking stops. Now.”

Frank grits his teeth. “Is that a threat?”

“My father would be fucking ashamed of you. So would Grandad. You’re nothing compared to them.” I turn away and storm down the steps, then grab Shane from the backseat and toss him to the ground. “It stops, uncle,” I growl. “Or I’ll make it stop.”

Getting into the driver’s seat, I leave the estate, knowing I might’ve gone too far when I put my hands on him. Or is it na?ve to think that I might still avoid a war? Is that just wishful thinking?

I drive through the city toward Owen’s much more modest home. His elderly wife greets me with a warm smile on her face. “Killian, what a lovely surprise...”

“Hello, Mrs. Doyle,” I say. “Is your husband home?”

“He’s in his study. Go straight through.”

Owen rises slowly, wincing in pain as he leans on his cane and walks toward me. Every movement is a reminder of his age, of how precarious the state of the Family is. When I shake his hand, I feel like I could break him by accident.

“Has Frank called you?” I say.

“No... should he have?”

“Let’s sit.” We sit on opposite sides of a small table with a chessboard on it. I look him squarely in the eye, judging by his reaction. “I know about the trafficking.”

Owen sighs. “So the rumors are true.”

“Rumors? You’re his consigliere. You run this Family.”

Owen steeples his fingers. “You see, Killian, it’s sentiments like those which have caused Frank to make a name for himself. His own name. During the last year or so, he’s grown tired of people explicitly claiming that I’m the one who really pulls the strings. A rift has opened, the men loyal to me growing more loyal... and the same with his men.”

“Are you saying there’s going to be a war?”

“I’ve done everything I can to placate your uncle,” Owen says. “When he told me he wanted to pursue his own business ventures without my involvement, I didn’t stand in his way. When I heard rumors that these were his ventures... I tried to withhold judgment.”

“Shane Delaney told me they’ve been holding trafficking victims for months. For the Cartel, Russians, or for whoever will pay the most. It’s fucked, Owen.”

Owen winces when I swear, but I’m not concerned with being civil. I left my civility on the glass-covered, bloody floor of Lucy’s apartment.

“I don’t disagree,” Owen says. “But Frank is the Don. When he agrees with me pulling the strings, the strings, I will pull... If he outright challenges me, however, there is only so much I can do without provoking a war. Which we all want to avoid.”

“What about my father?” I snarl. “Did you know what about?”

Owen looks out the window. “Your uncle drinks a lot. He says things which might merely be comments, his sick idea of a joke... or hints at the truth. I honestly don’t know.”

“It’s time you took a stand on this,” I tell him. “No more politics. No more riding the fence. You come out against trafficking. I refuse to allow this to happen. Even if it means war.”

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Owen asks. “I know how stubbornly you have refused participation in the Family. If you start a war, you will have to finish it... and what do you imagine comes after?”

“Perhaps it’s time you led from the front instead of the shadows, Owen,” I tell him.

He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. “I’m eighty-six years old.”

“That isn’t a no .”

“Perhaps it’s not, but the facts are the facts. I know things are tense with your uncle, but let me try to speak with him. I may get him to back down.”

“Either that or he flies off in a drunken rage and tries to get his own back. I’m worried he’s going to hurt my... friend Lucy.”

“Do you think that’s a possibility?”

“Do you think Uncle Frank is above targeting a woman, a civilian, to get to me?” Owen winces, and I say, “Exactly. It’s a risk I can’t take. If he hurts her...”

Flames flicker through me, a fierce fire, burning certainty that if he ever laid a single hand on her, a finger , even, I’d tear the Family down. I’d burn it to the ground. My grandfather and my father’s legacy... I’d turn it all to ash if he tried to hurt my lucky charm.

After leaving Owen’s house, I call my mother. “You need to take a trip to Ireland. I remember you were talking about it a couple of weeks ago. You and Ellie need to go.”

“What on earth for?”

“Uncle Frank has crossed the line. He’s forced me to become involved in the Family... there may be a war, Mom. Please, don’t fight me on this. I need to focus, and I won’t be able to do that if you’re in the city.”

“Killian...”

“Mom,” I snap. “Do you know what I’m doing tonight? I’m driving to a safe house run by a security agency I’ve tasked with reuniting an innocent woman, a trafficking victim, with her family.”

“Trafficking...” Mom’s voice trembles. “What’s going on?”

“Like I said – war. When you were the mafia queen, you told me you became good at turning a blind eye, at doing what was necessary without asking questions. You granted that courtesy to Dad. Please do the same for me. I don’t want to scare you or Ellie, but this is bad.”

“Oh, Killian. I’ll make arrangements. We can be on a flight tonight. Ellie has been keen for another trip, anyway. But what about you?”

“I need to stay here. Somebody needs to clean this Family up. Thank you for not arguing, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, son. Be safe.”

I’ll try. But I can’t say that to Mom, she’s already lost one loved one. “I will.”

Hanging up, I shoot Ronan a text, asking if Lucy is okay. He replies she is. She and her friend are still talking in her bedroom.

I start the engine, heading out of the city, part of me wishing I could take Lucy and leave for good... not that she’d want to come with me now.