CHAPTER SEVEN
conall
PRESENT DAY - EIGHT MONTHS LATER
The blood oath hadn’t unfolded exactly as I intended. It gnawed at me, the lingering imperfections and the loose ends I couldn’t tie off. The fundamentals had gone smoothly—manipulating the name draw had been almost too easy—but the deviations from my envisioned outcome wouldn’t stop needling me. I replayed the process in my mind countless times, dissecting every step and every possible variation to ensure I had accounted for every angle.
The others hadn’t agreed to put the blood oath into effect, but as I reminded them, there was no way out of it. Angelo and Ilias protested, their hesitation grating on my nerves like an itch I couldn’t scratch. Maxim, however, behaved exactly as I anticipated. He stepped forward first, his decision shielding me from suspicion. That had been a critical factor in my calculations. What I hadn’t accounted for—what had thrown my internal balance askew—was that Maxim and my sister had fallen in love. A variable I hadn’t considered. An outcome I hadn’t planned for. It satisfied me in a way I couldn’t quite explain.
Complications had arisen. Certain parties—those we hadn’t anticipated—had learned of the blood oath. This realization made my pulse quicken every time I thought about it. I hated the unknowns. The Vanellos were among those dissatisfied with their exclusion from our fathers’ alliance. Old man Vanello had been pushed out of the supply lines decades ago, yet he persisted. Like a cockroach scuttling in the shadows, he refused to be stamped out. The thought of his operations continuing unchecked made my hands clench. It was unacceptable. Maxim, Angelo, Ilias, and I had been fighting ever since.
The fighting had also earned me a bullet in the gut—a consequence that could have been avoided had everything fallen into place as it should have. I had gone over the sequence of events a hundred times since, searching for the misstep.
I settled into the leather chair at the head of the table in my Vinegar Hill mansion’s conference room, trying to mask the pain that flared with each movement. The room was brightly lit, showcasing a large mahogany table designed to accommodate a full squad of men. Maxim was already there, his expression chiseled from granite. Angelo leaned back in his chair, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, while Ilias—always the strategist—scanned a map of our contested territories displayed across the table.
Maxim’s gaze flicked toward me as I settled in. “You should be resting.”
“Rest doesn’t win wars.”
The words were immediate and precise. The ache in my abdomen was secondary to the urge to fix what had gone wrong. If I focused hard enough, if I analyzed every misstep, I could avoid the next one.
Cora had texted me when the shooting began. She and Maxim were leaving my building after a meeting just as a Vanello hit squad ambushed them. Maxim and his soldiers were holding their own, but they would have been overrun if we hadn’t come out to help. I barely registered the pain at first, focusing solely on getting her and Maxim to safety. That night left me injured, but it had strengthened my resolve.
“We need to talk about the docks,”
Ilias said, tapping the map. “If we can cut off their supply chain, we force them to overextend. They’ll bleed themselves dry.”
Angelo exhaled a plume of smoke, his dark eyes narrowing. “That’s far easier said than done. Their docks are fortified. We’ll need inside intel or a damn miracle to make it happen.”
“Then we’ll create our own miracle,”
Maxim said, his voice low yet resolute. He locked eyes with me. “Conall, can we trust your man O’Rourke to obtain what we need?”
I nodded. “O’Rourke has been with me for over a decade. He’ll gather the intel, but we need to move quickly. If the Vanellos catch wind of this, they’ll reinforce their security.”
“Speed is crucial,”
Ilias nodded, folding his arms. “But we cannot afford any sloppiness. One misstep, and we risk losing more than just a shipping route.”
“We’ve already lost enough,”
Angelo muttered, glancing at me. His meaning wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. The ambush outside my mansion had been a deliberate maneuver by the Vanellos, and my injury was evidence of how close they had come to succeeding.
Maxim’s jaw tightened. “They won’t have another opportunity like that.”
I leaned forward, ignoring the protest from my wound. “They won’t need another chance if we don’t act decisively. We take the docks. We cut off their lifeline. Then we force their hand.”
Angelo stubbed out his cigar and nodded slowly. “Alright, Conall. What’s your plan?”
I outlined my strategy, and each step was calculated to exploit Vanellos’ weaknesses. O’Rourke would gather the intel we needed on their guard rotations and shipment schedules. Once we had the information, we would strike under the cover of darkness, targeting their weakest points first to sow chaos before taking the docks entirely. It would take multiple strikes, but it would be effective.
“It’s bold,”
Ilias said, his keen eyes scanning the map once more. “But it could work. We’ll need to coordinate perfectly.”
Maxim’s gaze remained fixed on me. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
I met his gaze. “I don’t have a choice. None of us do. If we falter now, the Vanellos will perceive it as a weakness. And weakness in this business is a death sentence.”
The room fell silent, the weight of my words settling over us. Finally, Maxim nodded. “Then we move. O’Rourke gets the intel, and we will hit the docks within the week.”
Angelo and Ilias voiced their agreement, yet the unspoken understanding between Maxim and me remained. This war wasn’t just about power or territory but about survival—for our families and legacies.
“Do you have any more intel on people joining Vanello’s side?”
I asked. Allies were crucial in street wars, and everyone understood that. We already had the Olivetos on our side, which would be significant. Vanello made a bold move, but it didn’t pan out.
“I believe Scarpato appears to be aligning with Vanello. I’m still searching for more signs, but that’s my impression.”
Ilias leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. “Dino Scarpato is good friends with one of the Vanello enforcers. They’re close.”
“Well, let’s keep an eye on that. The Scarpatos have been quiet for a while.”
I glanced at the territory map, pondering what they might gain from aligning with Vanello. “Their business has been pretty stagnant. Maybe they’re trying to get in the game.”
“I’m just not sure yet.”
Ilias tapped the pen against the table as he rocked down to two legs. He was a restless fucker, always having trouble staying still.
“And the Olivetos? Is Cosmio still onboard?”
Cosmio Oliveto had recently done us a significant favor by delivering the body of one of our enemies in a test of loyalty — minus a few parts. While he posed just as much of a threat to Cosimo as he did to us, it went a long way toward winning our favor. Cosimo said he was willing to ally with us to take on Vallone. It’d mean more manpower for us if he joined us. It was a win-win.
“He is,”
Ilias confirmed. “He carries a lot of baggage against Vallone.”
He pushed his chair back and rocked, making my teeth grind.
“Why’s that?”
Maxim asked. “You knew something the other day when Cosimo dropped off Caruso’s body. What is it?”
He fixated on Ilias, locking him with a cold stare, but Ilias just grinned back as if he didn’t give a shit.
“Don’t be sore, Max, just because my contacts are better than yours.”
“Share with the group, you spanner.”
I rubbed my hand over my face.
“Cosimo hated his pops too, for one thing. He has no desire to see Vallone win for that reason. The real kicker is that Cosimo wonders if Vallone killed his brother Fausto. He thinks it was a hit.”
“Really?”
This was news to me, and I could see from Ilias’s self-satisfied smirk that he knew it was news to all of us.
“Is it true?”
Angelo asked. “Did someone in the Vallone organization orchestrate the hit? Because we could use that.”
Angelo’s interest had perked up. He loved a bit of gossip.
“Nah. Fausto was a scumbag. He was found in a burned-out car. There’s no evidence of who did it, but it doesn’t hurt us if Cosimo believes it was Vallone.”
Ilias shrugged. “Better that way.”
As the meeting adjourned, I stayed seated, allowing the others to file out. Maxim lingered, his hand resting briefly on my shoulder.
“You have more lives than a damn cat, Conall. I’m glad you’re healing up. Are you still planning to take that next step with Francesca?”
I smirked despite the pain. “Don’t worry. I’ll uphold my part of the bargain. Regardless of the situation with Vallone, there’s no backing out now that the blood oath is no longer a secret.”
He nodded solemnly. “That’s true, brat. The only way to go is forward now.”
Once everyone left, I exhaled slowly, my hand grazing the bandages beneath my shirt. The bullet wound reminded me of how close I had come to losing everything—and how much more I could lose if we didn’t succeed.
**
The sun hung low in the sky by the time I arrived at O’Rourke’s place. His safe house, nestled in a forgotten corner of Brooklyn, was as unassuming as the man himself. It had a weathered door with peeling paint and a mailbox so rusted that it looked like it might disintegrate at a touch. However, inside, it told a different story—pristine, efficient, and filled with the tools of our trade. I could appreciate that. Efficiency.
O’Rourke wasn’t cheap, but he excelled at gathering intel. He also possessed an intriguing moral compass that I couldn’t find fault with. He turned down contracts and often refused jobs from individuals he disliked.
“Conall,”
O’Rourke greeted me as I stepped inside, his Irish brogue as familiar as the aroma of the coffee he always had brewing. He stood in the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel, his sharp green eyes observing my every movement. “You look like hell.”
I smirked, removed my coat, and hung it over the back of a chair, ignoring the tug in my abdomen. “Nice to see you too, O’Rourke.”
He gestured for me to sit, sliding a mug of coffee across the table. I didn’t bother to touch it. “So, what’s the job this time? You have that look that says I’m about to regret answering the door.”
“It’s big. The Vanello docks.”
O’Rourke whistled softly, leaning against the counter. “You’re not just aiming high. You’re reaching for the bloody moon.”
“We don’t have a choice,”
I said, meeting his gaze. “If we’re going to win this war, we need to choke their supply chain. That means taking the docks, and it means we need you.”
He crossed his arms, his expression inscrutable. O’Rourke had always been difficult to interpret, but that was part of what made him effective at his job. He was a man who could blend into a crowd, gather intelligence without leaving a mark, and leave his targets wondering if he had ever been there at all.
“Alright,”
he said finally. “What do you need from me?”
I pulled a folder from my coat and spread its contents across the table: maps, photos, and notes on guard rotations. “We need intel — guard shifts, shipment schedules, and security measures. Anything and everything you can find. The Vanellos have fortified the place, but every fortress has a weakness. Your job is to find it.”
He studied the materials, furrowing his brow. “What happens once I find it?”
“Get the hell out of there, and let us handle the rest,”
I said. “We’ll move in quickly and hit them hard, but we can’t do that until we know exactly what we’re walking into.”
O’Rourke nodded slowly, tapping a finger against one of the photos. “This will take time. You can’t rush good intel.”
“We don’t have much time,”
I admitted. “But I trust you to get it done. You’ve never disappointed me before.”
He looked up at me, a faint smile flickering on his lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Conall.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the task ahead settling over us. I had known O’Rourke for years, long enough to understand that he was the best man for the job. He had entered my life when I needed someone who could navigate the shadows, and he had proven himself time and again.
“One more thing,”
I said, breaking the silence. “Be careful. The Vanellos are on high alert after the ambush. They’ll be watching for anyone who seems out of place.”
O’Rourke’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been playing this game for a long time, remember?”
I nodded, yet the unease in my gut didn’t fade. The Vanellos weren’t just any enemy. They were ruthless and wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate anyone who stood in their way. But if anyone could outsmart them, it was O’Rourke.
As I stood to leave, he placed a hand on my shoulder. “You take care of yourself, Conall. The docks won’t matter much if you drop dead before the job is finished.”
I smirked, disregarding the throbbing pain in my abdomen. “Don’t worry about me. Just get the intel.”
As I stepped out into the cool evening air, I couldn’t shake the feeling that taking on the Vanellos would be trickier than I had anticipated. However, with O’Rourke on the job, I knew we had a fighting chance. In this war, a fighting chance was all we could ask for.