Chapter Fifteen
Ronin
My father sits in the chair opposite my desk, glass in hand, watching me pretend to work.
He showed up twenty minutes ago and didn’t bother with pleasantries.
Just said Seamus and Mick were coming, helped himself to a drink, and took a seat like he didn’t give a damn what I thought about it.
Like I hadn’t been sworn in as head barely a week ago—like the title meant nothing unless he allowed it.
And right now, it didn’t. The announcement had been made. Da had already named me in front of the men, in front of the families, so the seat had to pass to me. But that didn’t mean he trusted me with it. And it sure as hell didn’t mean he was stepping aside.
And I couldn’t even blame him. Not after the embarrassing shit show I’d caused at my own wedding reception.
Not after I’d humiliated my wife in public and walked out like I didn’t care who saw.
Not after I’d forgotten that a woman I’d been sleeping with might show up as a plus-one.
Kathleen O’Malley’s da had worked for mine since before I was born.
That alone made it worse. A mistake I should have known better than to allow.
He didn’t need to say it out loud. He’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t think I was ready to hold it—to lead without embarrassing the family, without letting my personal fuckups play out in front of everyone.
I flip through the ledger on my desk without seeing any of it. Numbers blur. Dates mean nothing. I’ve spent the week like this—shuffling papers around my desk, checking on jobs that are already handled, giving orders I don’t care about—because sitting still feels worse.
It’s been a week. A whole fucking week since Alannah vanished.
At first, I told myself she’d be back in a day or two. That she just needed time. Space. A chance to cool off. I’d given orders to keep an eye out, had men all over the city checking every place she might turn up. But nothing.
By the third day, the confidence wore thin. By the fifth, it was gone.
Alannah didn’t have friends she could disappear with.
She’d gone to a private girls’ school after Mick and I graduated—after things got ugly once we weren’t there to keep people in line.
Even there, she’d had problems. Too many girls either afraid of her name or eager to use it. She kept to herself. Always had.
She had some money, but not enough to vanish like this. And the bag she’d taken—I could still picture it—it wasn’t big enough for a clean break. So where the hell was she?
I don’t scare easily. Never have. But I’m scared now.
Not just of her being angry with me. Not just of her never forgiving me.
At this point, I can live with her hating me.
What I can’t live with is what might have happened after.
Who she might have trusted. Someone seeing her alone and deciding she was easy prey.
At night, the last images I have of her play over and over in my head. Her smile at the altar, full of love I didn’t deserve. The look on her face at the reception—confusion first, then heartbreak, right before I turned away.
And then nothing.
The door opens without a knock. Seamus comes in first, jaw set, eyes tired. Mick follows a step behind him, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He pulls one of the spare chairs over to my desk and drops into it. Just seeing the fucker in my office gets under my skin.
Seamus goes straight to the bar cart. “Anyone want one?” he asks, already reaching for the bottle.
“Yeah.” I have a feeling I’m going to need one when I find out what brought everyone to my office today.
He pours two drinks, then comes over and takes the chair beside Da, sliding one across the desk to me.
He takes a drink, then lowers the glass with a tired breath.
“Look, I’ve been going over this every way I can.
We’re no closer to finding my daughter today than we were yesterday.
Or the day before. After a week of this, there’s no way she’s stayed out of sight this long on her own. ”
Da looks at him. “You think someone’s helping her.”
Seamus nods. “I can’t come up with another explanation.”
The thought of someone helping my wife hide from me pisses me off. “But who? Alannah barely talked to anyone outside our families. And who the hell around here would risk hiding her from us?”
Seamus doesn’t answer right away. His eyes drop to the glass in his hand. “That’s just it. I don’t think whoever’s helping her is around here.” He pauses. “And he wouldn’t give a flying fuck who came looking for her.”
“Fuck,” Da says under his breath. “I hadn’t even thought of that. You think your da’s helping her hide?”
I frown. “Your da? But he’s in Ireland. What the hell could he do from there?”
Seamus looks at me. “You don’t understand my father. He’s got money, connections, people he trusts on both sides of the ocean. And he’s always been close to your wife. If Alannah needed help, he’s the first person she’d turn to.”
Da studies him. “You thinking of calling him?”
Seamus reaches for the phone and pulls it toward him before answering. “Unless one of you has a better idea, I don’t have much choice. But once I make this call, there’s no taking it back.”
No one offers one. The way he says there’s no taking it back should worry me. It doesn’t. Not when this might be the first real chance we’ve had of finding my wife.
Seamus lifts the receiver and dials zero. The dial whirs back into place, the soft clicks filling the room. A woman answers on the other end. “Get me overseas,” Seamus says.
It takes a few minutes for the call to go through. When it finally connects, static crackles through the receiver. “Da. It’s Seamus.” Seamus waits, but there’s no answer. He shifts in his chair. “How’s things—”
A deep Irish voice cuts him off. “Don’t start pretending this is a social call, boy. Tell me what you want.”
Seamus tightens his grip on the receiver. “Fine. I want to know if you’ve been helping Alannah.”
“Helping her with what?” Malachy asks lightly.
“You know damn well what,” Seamus snaps. “Helping her hide from us.”
Malachy’s voice comes back, slower this time. “Set the receiver down so everyone can hear me. I know you’re not alone.”
Seamus hesitates, then props the receiver on the desk. “All right. Everyone can hear you.”
Malachy’s voice carries into the room, thin through the line but clear. “How did I know you wouldn’t have the backbone to make this call alone?” He doesn’t wait for Seamus to answer. “I’d hazard a guess Michael is there. Cormac Byrne. And his boy.”
How the hell does he know I’m here? I look at Mick for the first time since he came in. His eyes are narrowed at the phone, his jaw tight. He’s always hated being called Michael.
“Now, what were you asking me about—ah, yes. My granddaughter.” He pauses. “You’ve the gall to call me about her after what happened.”
My mouth opens—why, I’m not even sure. To apologize? To explain? To say something that might make this better? It snaps shut when my father cuts me a look that says not now.
“Now listen to me, all of you,” Malachy says.
“I know exactly how every one of you failed her.” His voice hardens.
“You forget, Seamus—my reach doesn’t end at the Irish coast. I have eyes on boats before they leave the pier.
Ears in rooms you don’t even know exist. And I knew how Ronin treated my granddaughter before the last guest left the reception at the Bradford Hotel. ”
Another crackle of static. “And if you ever speak to me like I’m one of your Southie bookies again,” he adds quietly, “I’ll remind you why I’m the one still standing.”
Seamus’s face drains of colour. I’ve never seen him look anything but in control—until now. Now I understand why he hesitated to make this call. Why he asked if any of us had a better lead. Why he warned us there’d be no taking it back.
“You chose Boston. You chose that life. You chose your friend.” Malachy pauses. “What you didn’t choose was your daughter.”
“Da—”
“I told you to listen, boy. Keep your gob closed.” The office goes dead silent.
“As for Alannah, she’s here. She’s safe. And she’s exactly where she belongs.” His voice turns colder. “You are not welcome here,” he continues. “Not you. Not your men. Not your son-in-law. And if by some miracle you set foot on Irish soil, I’ll know before your boots touch the ground.”
The line goes dead. Seamus stares at the phone, then mutters, “Fuck.”
My father clears his throat. “Jesus, Seamus. Your father’s gotten even scarier with age,” he says mildly.
I’m on my feet. “What the fuck was that?”
Seamus sets the handset back onto its cradle harder than necessary. “That was my father.”
“What am I missing here?” I demand. “He runs the work, not the country. Who cares what he says? We get over there, put her on a boat, bring her back—”
Before I can finish, Seamus is out of his chair and in front of me.
“Ronin, you don’t understand the man we’ve pissed off.
” His words come hard and deliberate. “My da doesn’t run a few protection rackets or move a handful of crews around the docks.
When I say he runs the work, I mean all of it.
My father is the District Commandant.” He jabs a finger into my chest and holds it there.
“When Malachy O’Connell says you’re not welcome in Ireland, he’s not making a suggestion.
He means Ireland’s closed to you. If you go anyway, no one will protect you.
No one will interfere. And if you disappear, no one will come looking. ”
I don’t have a fucking thing to say to that. I look down at the glass in my hand and realize it’s empty. I don’t remember finishing it.
Holy shit. I’d assumed Alannah’s grandfather couldn’t be that high up. If he were, Seamus wouldn’t have left. Wouldn’t have chosen Boston over following in his footsteps. Obviously, I was wrong.
Seamus pulls his finger from my chest and goes back to the desk. He grabs his glass, drains it in one hard swallow—then his arm snaps back.
The glass shatters against the wall. Crystal explodes. Whiskey sprays.
“Fuck!” Seamus roars.
He turns on me, eyes wild. “My da didn’t want us bringing Alannah to Boston,” he snaps.
“He wanted her left at home—with him, with my mam, with her cousins. Safe.” He laughs once, sharp and bitter.
“But your father and I—we had ideas. A match. You and Alannah. We thought you’d be a good fit.
Thought it’d be smooth sailing. I was so fucking confident.
” His voice rises with each word as he starts toward me.
“And then you fucked it all up. If you’d just acted like a fucking man—”
My da moves just as fast, stepping in between us before Seamus can get any closer.
Then Seamus’s eyes cut to Mick. He veers toward him and swings, catching him hard across the side of the head.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Seamus shouts.
“You’re her brother, you little shit. What kind of brother does what you did? ”
Mick staggers back, then straightens, fury lighting his face. “Oh, fuck this,” he snarls. “Now it’s my fault? I already spent the whole night sitting in that hall waiting for Alannah like I was the one who did something wrong.”
He steps forward, crowding Seamus. “He was my friend before you tied him to Alannah. Maybe he didn’t want to be stuck with her. Maybe he didn’t get a choice.”
Seamus swings at him again, but Mick jerks back out of reach.
The fucker still doesn’t know when to shut his mouth.
“What kind of fun was I supposed to have with my best mate playing happy fiancé?” Mick snaps.
“It wasn’t real. The engagement wasn’t real.
And the wedding sure as fuck didn’t make it real either—or else he”—he points at me—”wouldn’t have acted like a complete idiot and blown it all up over nothing. ”
I don’t realize I’ve moved until I’m in Mick’s face. “It was real,” I bite out. “I cared about her. I said yes to the betrothal. I chose her. I proposed.” My voice cracks. I don’t care.
“I love your sister. I fucked up. Is that what you want to hear?”
He scoffs. “Love?”
“You fed me to Kathleen O’Malley on my stag night,” I shout. “I was supposed to get a cab home. I was drunk. You shoved me at her and said she’d drive me.” I laugh, harsh and ugly. “What the fuck did you think was going to happen?”
“I let Danny get in my head,” I admit. “I thought I had to put Alannah in her place.” The words taste like ash.
I’m breathing hard, my eyes burning. “This whole thing is fucked.” It’s all I can manage.
The room goes quiet. No one argues. No one even looks at me.
My father clears his throat and jerks his chin toward the door. “I think we’re done here for today.”
Mick spits on the floor near my feet and stalks out without another word.
Seamus follows, still laying into him as they disappear into the hall.
My father hangs back, looking at me like there’s something he wants to say.
He shakes his head instead, then follows them out and closes the door behind him.
Then it’s just me.
My office. My mess.
Glass crunches under my shoe as I move around the desk.
I grab the waste bin and drag it closer, then bend to pick up the larger pieces first. One of them slices my palm.
I don’t pull my hand back right away. Blood wells slow and bright, dripping onto the floor.
I watch it fall, detached, like it belongs to someone else. Figures.
I dump the glass into the bin and pull my handkerchief from my pocket, wrapping it around my palm and pressing until the bleeding slows, then sink into the chair behind my desk. I stare at the empty space where Seamus’s glass shattered. Whiskey streaks the wall where it hit.
Alannah is safe.
The knowledge should calm me. It doesn’t. Not when I know the person she needed to be safe from was me.