Chapter Five Tiernan
CHAPTER FIVE
TIERNAN
There was only one thing I hated more than a Ferrante brother.
And that was two Ferrante brothers interrupting me while I was splitting the G. The heavenly act of taking the first, large sip of a freshly poured Guinness.
I was sitting in Fermanagh’s, going over the books, when Enzo and Achilles showed up at my door.
I drew my weapon and aimed it at Achilles’s head. Let’s be honest, a bullet would only do his face good.
“That’s a weird way of saying hello.” Enzo flashed me a friendly smile.
“I don’t acknowledge lesser life-forms.”
“Ouch. That is so uncalled for.” Enzo almost pouted. “If it wasn’t for me stitching your ass, I’d be visiting a cemetery right now, not a lively pub.”
I forgot how chatty the Ferrantes were. Already, I wanted my fucking time back.
“What brings you down to my humble kingdom?” I asked.
“Maybe we just missed you.” Enzo tossed his knife in the air with a shrug, catching it by the hilt.
I cataloged the Italian jokester. A preppy black peacoat and black hoodie combo, slim fit chinos, and a three-hundred-buck haircut. He looked about as scary as a moldy piece of marshmallow.
“Have your fill, lover boy. You just entered my territory unannounced, and I have every reason to make lasagna out of your brain. Frisk them.” I jerked my chin toward the Camorristi men.
Three of my soldiers stood up, stomping over to the brothers and patting them down. They raised their arms sideways with a disgruntled look. I grabbed my phone and took a picture of the humiliating moment.
Astonishingly, they were both unarmed.
“What do you want?” I grumbled.
“Come with us, and we’ll tell you.” Enzo tilted his head to the Humvee parked outside.
“Tell me here. I don’t serve at the pleasure of your crown.”
“We have an offer for you.” Achilles’s tone suggested his offer was to drink cyanide straight from the source.
I used the muzzle of my gun to scratch my jaw. “What do you want in return?”
“Not enough,” Achilles grumbled. “And the offer is time-sensitive, so hurl your ass this way now.”
“Bold of you to barge in here looking for a favor and put me on a deadline.”
“Look, either you’re coming or we’ll move down our list to another asshole who’d take this deal.”
“I’m coming armed.” I re-holstered. The brothers exchanged looks. Achilles jerked his head in a nod.
They led me to their Humvee, glancing at me every now and then to ensure I didn’t put a bullet in their heads. I had no plans to do that. Yet. Anger made you stupid, and stupid got you killed. Whatever they needed from me, they were desperate enough to ask for it nicely.
Achilles, Enzo, and Luca—who waited in the driver’s seat—bickered in Neapolitan the entire way to their Long Island mansion.
They sounded pissed, though it beat me as to why.
All the Russians I’d killed after our little reunion had been dumped far beyond the city limits.
I even attended Luca’s wedding. He and his new wife had the sizzling chemistry of a toothpick and a bucket of piss.
We arrived at their manor. Last time I was here, I lost an eye. Now, I was losing my bleeding patience.
We spilled into the foyer. Two curved, grand staircases stared back at me.
Intricate columns in ivory and gold. Vaulted high ceilings, rich Persian carpets, baroque paintings, and so much gold my healthy eye nearly bled itself into blindness.
The design was a mix of expensive, tacky, and over-the-top.
Servants rushed to take my coat and offer me refreshments. A wry chuckle escaped me. Last time I was here, I was a prisoner. Now, I was royalty. Oh, how the tables had turned.
“Not one word, Callaghan.” Achilles got in my face, his finger an inch from my good eye. “In fact, try not to breathe. Your goddamn existence chaps my ass.”
Ignoring him, I stalked inside.
“By the way, love the pirate look.” Enzo slapped my back from behind, catching my step. “Really suits you.”
“I don’t swing that way.”
“Don’t mistake my hate boner for a proposition,” he said smoothly, but the tips of his ears reddened. “Neither do I.”
“Sure, buddy.”
Eager to finish the conversation with a man so dumb he probably dropped out of the University of Life, I stepped forward, deeper into the house.
Luca and I ascended the curved stairway.
Enzo and Achilles trailed behind. I considered all theories during the ride here and still hadn’t figured out their angle for this meeting.
They gave me the okay to kill Alex and his siblings as long as I made their bodies disappear, which I hadn’t even done yet.
Other than that, I had no outstanding beef with the Italians.
We marched through the corridor and into the first set of double doors leading to Vello’s office. Luca opened the doors, and Achilles shoved me through them.
Sitting behind his desk was Don Vello himself, wearing a paisley cravat and a three-piece. He looked like a sphinx cat in a suit. Pale, mostly hairless, wrinkly, and too frail for his scowl to be taken seriously.
The rumors were true, then.
He was dying.
To his right, on an upholstered velvet settee, were his wife and daughter.
Lady Chiara was bawling her eyes out into what, at some point, was a tissue. She stared at me like I pissed in her grits this morning. I didn’t take it personally. That tended to happen with women who knew what I did for a living.
The vast room was paneled with mahogany and filled with pictures from Camorra events—weddings, funerals, and baptisms. There was an elaborate, gold-gilded chess set on the desk in front of Vello.
In one of the two seats in front of him was my da, wearing his Sunday best and a placid expression. Next to him was my older brother, Fintan, and my twin sister, Tierney.
My irritation turned to apprehension. What the fuck was my entire family doing here?
“Callaghan. Thank you for coming.” Vello gestured to the chair in front of him.
I glanced around. “What’s the story? We throwing a party? Enzo’s balls finally dropped?”
Vello signaled to the chair again. “Have a seat.”
I sauntered painfully slowly just to piss everyone off before sprawling on the recliner opposite him.
“Do you enjoy making people wanna bash their heads against the wall?” Achilles seethed.
“Of course,” I answered matter-of-factly. That he’d even ask was disconcerting.
“Let me start by saying nothing we’ll discuss here will ever leave this room.
” Don Vello stood up, limping toward a drink cart with his cane.
“If I hear you as much as breathed about it to anyone else, I’ll make sure to kill your entire family in front of you before slaughtering you.
That includes your father and siblings, who kindly grace us with their presence today. ”
His words, calm and deadly, brushed right past me.
He plucked two small glasses and a bottle of Amaro del Capo from a mini freezer, returning to his seat and setting the glasses in front of us.
His knees gave out, buckling him back into the seat.
His fingers trembled against the bottle of liquor.
I wasn’t about to offer him help. I wouldn’t piss on a Ferrante if one was on fire. It was a matter of principle.
Vello filled the glasses halfway. I snapped my fingers and motioned upward.
“Keep going. I’ve a feeling I’m going to need it.”
He filled my cup until the liquid sloshed over. I picked it up and downed it in one gulp, slamming it against the table. “Why am I here?”
“Lila is pregnant,” he announced, reaching for an engraved box. He produced a Cuban cigar, ran it under his nose, and bit off the tip with a scowl.
“I see.” I ran my tongue across my teeth, considering the information. “Who the fuck is Lila?”
Whoever she was, I hadn’t done the impregnating. I’d sampled my fair share of Camorra princesses, but never in the traditional, baby-making ways.
“Raffaella. Lila. My daughter.” Vello’s molars ground into dust.
Ah. Raffaella. The youngest. Mentally three, the lads at the poker tables whispered. Which still put her a few dozen IQ points above Enzo.
“Congratulations?” I yawned.
“Che idiota.” Achilles scrubbed his face with his hand.
“That’s a bit harsh.” I tsked. “She’s your sister, after all.”
The taunt made Achilles bulldoze in my direction. Fintan lunged to his feet, blocking his way to me.
“Another move toward my brother and you’ll be God’s problem.”
“Sit your ass down, Fintan. You’re not even a made man.” Luca’s voice dripped in disdain.
I toyed with the ring on my pinky, still annoyed I left a perfectly poured pint of Guinness for this shit.
“Lila was raped during Luca’s wedding,” Vello provided.
Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably. Mrs. Ferrante let out a strangled sob. Fuck’s sake. Was there a bottom line to all of this?
And then Vello stared at me in a way that indicated the bottom line might be that I did the raping.
“Don’t look at me. I’ve very few red lines, but raping children is one of them.” I tapped my pinky ring. “Besides, I only do blowies and anal. Less chance of giving the woman an orgasm.”
Vello screwed his fingers into his eye sockets. Luca stared at the ceiling. Enzo looked like he was about to hurl his knife straight between my eyes.
“I pray for your soul,” Chiara muttered.
“Don’t have one, but cheers.”
“Actually, the fact most people in the underworld would believe you’re a child rapist is exactly why you’re here,” Achilles said.
“I already told you; you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“You’re not being blamed for anything, son,” Da clarified.
“Doesn’t sound like it.” I thunked my glass Vello’s way, signaling for him to top me up. “Happy to do a paternity test.”
Vello pushed another glassful of alcohol toward me, staring at me shrewdly. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Do you guys think it’s a Camorrista?” my twin sister asked curiously. “A turncoat?”
Luca dragged a hand over his face. “We’re still connecting the dots.”
“And you need someone discreet to find the rapist?” Tierney guessed. “Is that why you called us here?”