Chapter 19
Nineteen
LUCY
I wait around the corner from the men’s bathroom. When Owen emerges, I walk down the hall, then stop in front of him. He looks like a kind elderly man… except for something in his eyes. It’s difficult to say what, exactly. It’s a vibe.
“Mr. Doyle, isn’t it?”
“Owen, please,” he says with a thin smile.
“Owen, I’m not sure if you remember?—”
“We just met. I’m not senile.”
“Sorry.” My heart is thundering so hard, I wonder if it’s going to block out the recording device. “I was wondering if we could speak. It’s a delicate matter. I think it’s better if we do it in private.”
“What could we possibly have to speak about in private, girl?”
I swallow. This is it: the gamble. If I bet wrong, I could ruin any shot we have of proving that Owen is behind this. I’m trusting Killian’s instincts. And, after briefly meeting these two men, it seems far more likely that level-headed Owen is behind it than Frank, who’s already incredibly drunk.
“The mob,” I say.
His eyes snap open widely. “What has Killian told you?”
“Nothing,” I reply. “This isn’t coming from Killian. A man has been visiting my bakery for quite some time, and he mentioned you, sir.”
I somehow keep a steady voice. The whole time, I’m watching Owen for a reaction to what I say. His smile returns, more calculating and belittling than before. I imagine him thinking, This stupid little thing doesn’t know what she’s getting herself involved with…
“I’m not agreeing that I have any notion of what you’re talking about,” Owen mutters. “But yes, perhaps speaking in private would be better. Follow me, then.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Ignoring my question, he snaps, “So, does Killian know you’re aware this is a mob gathering?”
“Killian’s just a businessman trying to do a good deed,” I tell him. “He was going to invest in my bakery. He was there so I could show him some of my special menus when that attack happened. And he helped me with something else… concerning that man I mentioned.”
“A businessman,” Owen says, laughing harshly, the kind mask slipping away. “Is that what he told you? This will do… Well, open the door, will you? Can’t you see I need some help?” He says, lifting his cane.
“Are you sure we’re allowed to use the manager’s office?” I say for the benefit of Killian, so he knows where we are.
“I own the hotel, so I’d imagine so, girl. After you…”
Fear spikes in me as I walk ahead of him. What if he pulls out a gun and simply shoots me? I gave Killian my word that I could do this, but the deeper I get, the more terrifying it becomes.
He closes the door behind us, then leans against it, gripping the pommel of his walking stick in both hands. From the way he holds it, it seems more like a weapon than a tool of assistance.
“Why don’t you enlighten me about what you think you know?”
“For months, a man named Shane Delaney has been visiting my bakery to collect payments. I knew he worked for the mob, but not for who… until recently, when he arrived with a prisoner. I demanded that he let her go. He got angry, and he mentioned your name. Owen Doyle. He said that if I didn’t do what he wanted, I’d have to answer to Owen Doyle.”
“He used my name,” Owen mutters, his eyes widening, his jaw pulsing like he’s trying not to scream. “My name specifically.”
“After that, Killian helped me get rid of the man. I don’t know where he took him. I know nothing. But when I heard you were going to be at this party?—”
“You stupid bitch,” he cuts in.
It’s good. It means my na?ve tone is working. He sees me as a misguided young woman, beneath his contempt. His age and his culture and his personality are bending toward the perception I want him to have… that I would never have the guile to trick him.
“Do you think Killian could do that if he wasn’t in the mob?” Owen snaps. “Your magnanimous mogul isn’t who you think he is.”
I gasp, shooting my eyebrows up, hoping I’m not going too far. “What!”
Owen pushes away from the door, walking toward me… no longer leaning on his stick. In fact, everything about him changes. He seems fitter, more capable, no longer a harmless old man.
“You made a mistake asking to speak with me alone,” he growls, reaching into his pocket and taking out a pistol.
Are you going to shoot me? I almost say that, but if I let Killian know he’s just pulled a gun, he’ll rush in here before I can get the proof we need.
“But I should thank you… Shane was wrong to mention my name, but he wasn’t lying, you stupid bitch. Do you think that drunk moron runs the Family? I’m in charge. I’ve always been in charge. From the very beginning.”
“I just want to know why you sent those men after me,” I whisper. “It was Killian who got rid of Shane and that girl. Not me. I didn’t ask him to.”
He raises the gun. “Then you have your answer.”
“Those men weren’t targeting me,” I whisper, struggling to stay calm, but exerting all the willpower I have. “Why burn down my bakery?”
“It’s beyond your comprehension. You’re not part of this world. You don’t understand the importance of messages. But soon, you’ll learn how this all works. I’ve seen the suspicion in Killian’s eyes… and I see the way he looks at you. We’re going to work together. You’re going to keep tabs on him. If he shits, I’m going to know about it.”
“I won’t do that,” I say.
He laughs in disbelief, prodding me with the cold barrel of the gun. Sweat slides down my body. “You’ll do whatever the fuck I tell you to do.”
“I want nothing to do with the mob,” I hiss. “I never did. Please, just let me go. I’ll leave the city. You’ll never hear from me again.”
“I’ve survived and thrived this long by recognizing a potential tool when I see one,” he says. “Shane was right; I run this fucking Family, and I always have. If you think the fire was bad, you’re truly more ignorant than you seem. I can make your life agony from the moment you open your eyes to the moment I finally allow you to pass out.”
“Killian’s been through enough,” I snap. “Don’t make me betray him. He’s had too much tragedy already.”
When Owen smirks, I know this is the right tactic. I’m on the right track. I just have to keep pushing forward, bury the fear, bury the desire to scream for my man to rush in here and save me.
“Killian is a spoiled little shit who doesn’t appreciate how fortunate he is,” Owen snaps. “Most men in his position would’ve leapt at the chance he had.”
“What chance?” I hiss. “The chance to lose his grandfather before he had a chance to really know him? Or the chance to lose his dad? What the heck are you even talking about?”
“You’re a dumb slut,” Owen snaps. “Killian is the prince of this Family. If he wanted, he could’ve picked up the crown the day his father died. Instead, he managed restaurants . That’s the most ludicrous thing he could’ve done. It’s an insult to all the men who have been fighting and climbing their entire lives to be where they are.”
“But you haven’t fought, Owen,” I say, hitting his ego, knowing it’s going to hurt, knowing he’s going to feel the misguided need to defend it. “I might not know everything, but I’m not as dumb as you seem to think. Frank is the Don of the Family. I’ve been listening all night long. He’s in charge. He took what he wanted. I heard the rumors. I heard what he did. He was willing to kill his own brother. You just stayed on the sidelines.”
I gasp when Owen grabs the front of my dress and pulls me toward him. He moves the barrel of the gun toward my mouth, pressing it between my lips. Suddenly, I’m a lost kid again, walking across the windswept fields, a storm coming, no savior in sight.
“Frank didn’t do a goddamn thing,” Owen snarls, spittle flying from his mouth. “You need to speak to me with some respect. You’re looking at a god. For years, I’ve shown everyone what I wanted them to see. When dear dead grandaddy died, I was a mourning friend. When the next Don slid off the road, I was a grieving brother-in-arms. Nobody looked at me. Not once. I’ve played my role perfectly. You’re looking at a man capable of killing two generations of Dons and getting away with it. What do you think I’ll do with you? Now, nod if you understand; you work for me now?—”
Suddenly, the door bursts open. Killian rushes in, aiming his gun at Owen, another man beside him.
Owen moves far faster than I would’ve expected from him, turning around and placing the gun against the side of my head. Killian stares with pure hate in his eyes.
“Let her go,” he growls.
“Motherfucker,” Owen snaps.
“It’s over. I heard it all.”
“Is this bitch wearing a wire?”
“It’s over.”
The man beside Killian snaps, “Fuck, Killian.”
“What?”
“Frank’s coming… with backup.”
I try not to show any fear, but it’s difficult with the gun pressed against me, with the tension in Owen’s body. I can sense how badly he wants to pull the trigger.
“I knew you were up to something,” Frank says, voice slurred, out of view beyond the doorway.
Killian keeps his gun trained on Owen, but he turns his head. “Stay out of this, Frank.”
“Frank,” Owen calls. “Your nephew knows. The bitch tricked me.”
“He knows?” Franks says, confused.
“He knows , Frank,” Owen grits out pointedly.
“Wait… Uncle Frank, you’re in on this?”
“We’re not having a fucking shootout here,” Frank bellows. “Are you insane? That’ll mean the Feds for all of us.”
“I’m not letting Owen leave after what he just confessed.”
“Then I hope you’re okay picking a bullet out of this bitch’s brains,” Owen snaps. “How many years do you think I’ve got left, young prince? Five? Ten? I’ll gladly end my time prematurely if that’s what it takes to finally show you how helpless you are.”
Killian grinds his teeth. The man beside him – I think his name is Colm if I’m remembering correctly – quietly says, “Shit, Killian, I hate to say it, but Frank’s got a point. A shootout here won’t help anybody. We need to fight another day.”
“Put the gun down, Owen,” Killian snarls.
“What’s stopping you from shooting me if I do that? I’ll have my driver pull a car up. Frank will keep his gun on you. I’ll keep the woman close by until the last moment.”
“It’s okay,” I tell Killian. “Do what you need to do.”
“I mean it,” Owen snaps, pressing the gun harder into my temple. “I’ll end it right here.”
“ Fuck .” Killian glares. “Pull the car up, Frank.”
For the next few minutes, everything is on a knife-edge.
“So much for needing a walking stick,” Colm mutters as Owen walks out of the room, using me as a human shield. He takes me out a side entrance, then, right before darting into a car with Frank, I shove Owen, breaking his hold on me.
Killian catches me, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tight as the car screeches away. I try to stay strong, to keep my shield up, but the moment I feel his arms around me, I break down into a torrent of tears.
“It’s okay,” Killian whispers, kissing the top of my head. “You did well, a stór . You played him perfectly.”