CHAPTER TWELVE
William
THE DOCKS SMELL like rot.
Salt and decay and old wood that's seen too many storms. The kind of place that had been abandoned decades ago when the shipping routes changed, leaving behind warehouses with broken windows and piers that groan under their own weight.
It's dangerous territory now. Neutral ground that belongs to no one, which means it belongs to everyone.
Perfect place for a meeting you don't want anyone to know about.
I park the Audi two blocks away and walk the rest of the way. Frank's instructions were clear: come alone, or don't come at all. So here I am, alone, walking into what could easily be a trap because I'm desperate enough to think my uncle might actually help.
The cocaine from last night is gone. The high faded hours ago, leaving me with a pounding headache and hands that won't stop shaking. I should've done another line before leaving. Should've steadied myself. But some part of me, the part that still pretends I have control, wanted to do this sober.
That part is an idiot.
The old dock stretches into the harbor, wooden planks warped from years of weather and neglect.
Some are missing entirely, leaving gaps that show dark water below.
I step carefully, testing each board before putting my full weight on it.
The last thing I need is to fall through and drown before Frank even shows up.
He's already here.
Of course he is. Frank Murphy doesn't wait for anyone.
He stands at the end of the pier, hands in the pockets of an expensive charcoal coat, looking out over the water like he's admiring the view instead of waiting to blackmail his nephew.
Even from behind, he looks composed. Dangerous in that quiet way that makes people underestimate him until it's too late.
I hate him.
I also need him.
The thought makes my stomach turn.
"William." He doesn't turn around. Just says my name like he's been expecting me, like this is a casual meeting between family instead of a deal with the devil. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
"You said you had information." I stop a few feet away, close enough to talk, far enough to run if this goes sideways. "So talk."
Frank turns. He's aged since the last time I saw him. More gray in his dark hair. Lines around his eyes that weren't there before. But he still has that same sharp intelligence, that calculating look that says he's three steps ahead of everyone else.
"No pleasantries?" He smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes. "No 'hello, Uncle Frank, good to see you're not dead?’”
"You want pleasantries, go have tea with someone else." My hands curl into fists at my sides. "I'm here for information. That's it."
"Straight to business then." Frank's smile fades. "Just like Edward. Your father never had the patience for social niceties either."
The mention of my father makes rage flare hot in my chest. "Don't talk about him."
"Why not?" Frank tilts his head. "Because Alex killed him? Because the great Edward Murphy was murdered by his own son?" He laughs, low and bitter. "I always knew Alex had it in him. That boy was too much like Edward for his own good."
I take a step forward before I can stop myself. "Say his name again, and I'll throw you off this fucking dock."
"Temper, William." Frank doesn't move, doesn't even flinch. "That rage is going to get you killed one day. But then again, maybe that's what you want."
The words hit too close to home.
I force myself to step back. To breathe. To remember why I'm here.
"The Russians," I say through gritted teeth. "You said you know about their plan."
"I do." Frank's expression shifts, goes serious. "Viktor Tarasov isn't just coordinating random attacks. He's planning something bigger. Something designed to eliminate the Murphy family entirely."
The words settle like stones in my gut. "How do you know this?"
"I built relationships with the Russians years ago." Frank's voice is matter-of-fact, like he's discussing the weather. "Connections that deepened after I disappeared. I've been cultivating them. Listening. Learning."
"You've been working with the Russians." The accusation comes out flat.
"I've been using the Russians," Frank corrects. "There's a difference. I feed them small pieces of information. Nothing critical. Nothing that could actually hurt us. In return, they trust me. Tell me things they shouldn't."
Us. Like he's still part of this family. Like he didn't try to destroy it.
"What things?" I ask.
Frank studies me for a long moment. Measuring. Calculating. Deciding how much to reveal.
“Viktor sees the Irish families as competition. Obstacles to expanding Bratva operations in Ireland. He wants us eliminated so he can move in and take over our territories."
I knew this. Aoife told me yesterday. But hearing it from Frank, hearing the confirmation, makes it real in a way it wasn't before.
"He's planning a coordinated strike," Frank continues. "Multiple targets. Multiple families. All at once. Something big enough to fracture the alliances you're trying to build. Something that will leave the Irish families too weak to resist a Russian takeover."
"When?" My voice sounds calmer than I feel.
"Soon." Frank's eyes narrow. "Within weeks. Maybe days. The attack on Dillon O'Rourke was just the beginning. A test to see how you'd respond. How the families would react."
"And?" I force myself to ask. "How did we do?"
"You survived." Frank's expression is unreadable. "But barely. The engagement party you're planning for tomorrow night? Viktor knows about it. He knows when. He knows where. He knows who will be there."
The air leaves my lungs.
How? How does Viktor know about the party? We only finalized the details yesterday. Only sent invitations to a handful of people. Unless...
"The mole," I say.
"Yes." Frank's voice softens, just slightly. "Someone close to you is feeding Viktor everything he needs. Every plan. Every meeting. Every weakness."
"Who?"
Frank smiles. It's not a pleasant expression. "That information has a different price."
Of course it does. Because nothing with Frank is free. Nothing is ever simple.
"What do you want?" The words taste like ash.
"Shares in Murphy businesses." Frank's voice is calm, measured, like he's negotiating a normal business deal. "A legitimate stake. Full voting rights."
After Father died, everything ended up in Frank's name.
The businesses. The assets. All of it. Whether Father intended that or Frank manipulated his way into control, we never found out.
Alex suspected Frank swindled his way into Father's position, but we couldn't prove it.
By the time we realized what happened, Frank had legal ownership of everything.
After we thought he was dead, everything reverted back to Alex.
And now Frank wants back in. Wants shares. Wants power. Wants a seat at the table he had no fucking right to sit at.
"No." The word comes out automatically.
"Then Viktor Tarasov will continue picking you off one by one.
" Frank's expression doesn't change. "He'll hit the engagement party tomorrow.
Kill more people you care about. Destroy the alliances you're trying to build.
And eventually, he'll come for you directly.
When he does, you'll have no idea who you can trust because the mole will still be feeding him intelligence. "
I think of Aoife. Of her coming to find me in the basement yesterday, trying to warn me about Viktor Tarasov and the mole. Of the way she looked at me last night when I told her about the engagement party. The hurt in her eyes. The betrayal.
If Viktor hits the party tomorrow, she could die.
My brothers could die.
Everyone I'm trying to protect could die.
And Frank is offering me a way to stop it.
For a price.
"The shares aren't enough," Frank continues. His voice is still calm, still measured. "I also want to be consulted on major decisions. Not as a leader. I know that ship has sailed. But as an advisor. Someone with a voice at the table."
An advisor. Frank Murphy, sitting in on strategy meetings. Offering counsel. Having influence over family business. The man who nearly destroyed us from the inside now wants back in a position of power.
My stomach turns.
"No," I say again, but the word has less force this time.
"Think about it, William." Frank takes a step closer. The pier groans under his weight. "Viktor is planning something that will destroy everything. Your family. The O'Rourkes. The alliances. All of it. Gone. And you're standing here worrying about giving me back what was mine to begin with?"
"It wasn't yours." My voice is hard now. "You manipulated your way into Father's position. You betrayed the family."
Frank laughs. It's a bitter, sharp sound. "Betrayal?" His eyes narrow. "Jason shot me. How about that for betrayal?"
The words hang between us. Jason shot Frank. We all thought he was dead. And now he's standing here, alive, throwing it back in my face.
"You earned that bullet," I say quietly. "Everything you did. Everything you put Jason through. Everything you did to Father."
"What I did to Edward?" Frank's voice drops, goes dangerous. "I gave him money when he needed it. Kept this family afloat when he was drowning in bad investments. And what did he do? Tried to have his own son killed because he couldn't handle losing to me."
My jaw clenches so hard I can hear my teeth groan.
"That's right, William." Frank takes a step closer. "Edward was going to have Jason killed. Made Alex choose between his brother and his inheritance. That's why Alex put a rope around Edwards neck. Not because of me. Because Edward would rather murder Jason than admit I'd beaten him."
My hands curl into fists. "You manipulated him. Took the business piece by piece—"
"I invested when no one else would." Frank cuts me off. "Edward made his choices. He could have said no. Could have found another way. But his pride was more important than his family. So he lost everything. Including his life."