30. Ciaran
Ciaran
Adeline’s phone goes straight to voicemail. It’s the third time I’ve tried to call her in the past half an hour. Something’s either happened to it or happened to her.
I’m about to grab my wallet and keys and head over to her new place when there’s a knock on the door.
I pause, my hand creeping for the gun in the back of my waistband.
It’s dark now, the evening setting in an hour ago.
I’ve been with Seamus and Dermot all day down at the docks. Wallen was there too, but I’d always had plans to check in on Adeline. She sent me a text after her final exam, ecstatic to be over with the semester. I know she grabbed lunch with Nat and afterward headed to her new place.
I’m happy for her. She’s worked hard on her schoolwork, and I see her relief now that she doesn’t have to deal with Rina and Trish, her weird as hell roommates. But that doesn’t mean I want her to get used to having her own place.
I’ve been careful the past few weeks as I set the groundwork for marriage.
There’s going to be a gut reaction on her side, there always is.
She’ll rant about being fiercely independent, but I have ways of making her understand this is for the best. At the end of the day, she’ll do what’s best for her family, and an alliance by marriage is what’s best for everyone.
Plus, I have an inkling that she’s sweet on me.
I see it on her face when she smiles at me.
But something isn’t right, because she’s not answering her phone.
I don’t have long before I need to meet up with Cormac again. He made me swear to come back to his place by nine and that’s not far away. He had that same look on his face—the one that means there’s no option but to obey.
I peek through the peephole on my door and frown. “What are you doing here?” I ask my da. I’m not surprised he knows where I live, but he’s certainly never showed up before.
He’s wearing a dark green suit jacket, his clothes pressed. His hands remain in his pockets, his face serious. There’s not even a hint of a smile, making him appear older. In my almost twenty-three years of life, I’ve never met a somber Cain Murray.
“What’s going on?” I ask when my father has yet to say anything.
He steps around me, not waiting for an invitation. Since I was on my way out, most of the lights are off, and he’s cast in shadows.
“Da?”
His gaze is focused on the stack of boxes near my computer.
“Going somewhere?” he asks.
“Yeah, I was on my way out.”
He nods at the boxes. “Packing your stuff up then?”
I frown. “No, I’m just switching some stuff out.”
Da glances at me. A lock of dark hair has fallen into his eyes. He makes no move to brush it away. He’s lethally still, and something zips down my spine.
Adeline’s phone isn’t working.
“Da—”
“Go pack a bag.”
“What?”
Nothing flickers over Da’s face. He’s stoic as he speaks.
“Go pack a bag, son.”
“Why?”
His arm strikes out, fisting his hand into my shirt. “If you don’t want to pack a bag, that’s fine. If you don’t want to take any souvenirs home, that’s fine.”
I shove him off me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
He lets out a sharp whistle. Two of his soldiers appear in my flat. Da nods at one of them, and they head into my bedroom.
“What the fuck—” I’m grabbed from behind and pulled out. “You son of a bitch!”
Da’s face remains blank as I’m hauled out of my own flat. I throw my head back and am satisfied by the crunch it makes when I break the soldier's nose. But he’s well trained. He doesn’t break his hold on me. If anything, his arms grasp tighter as he pulls me down the stairs.
I’m thrown into a black SUV. The soldier opens the door, throwing in a bag that hits me square in the face. The fucking indignity burns into me.
My da gets in, as calm as can be, considering his son is using every curse word ever invented. It takes me a moment to understand why things feel weird in the car. Da’s gotten behind the wheel, and he’s left his soldiers, including the bloody one, at the curb while we barrel off into city traffic.
The door won’t open, and I’m tempted to try to bust the window, despite knowing it’s bulletproof. If those fuckers hadn’t taken my gun off me, I’d have more of a chance.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell at Da.
He uses his indicator, merging lanes.
Father-son relationships can be contemptuous in our lines of work. Heirs kill so they can claim the family business. Some fathers don’t let it get that far and prefer to take out the competition before then.
I’ve never been under any illusion that my father is a good man. He’s not even a decent father.
“Where the fuck are we going?” If he doesn’t answer me, I’ll bash his head in.
“Airstrip.”
“What? No. Pull the fuck over.”
“You’re going home.”
“The fuck I am!”
I pull my phone out. Da glances at it and then sighs when he sees who I’m trying to call.
“I’d let that go, if I were you, son.”
“I’m not taking bloody relationship advice from you of all people.”
Da nods, staring out at the dark skyline. “Fair enough.”
“Why the fuck are you driving me to the airstrip? I’m not going to Dublin.”
“Well, you’re not sticking around.”
“Yeah, on whose fucking orders?”
“Walsh’s.”
The name pings around the car. I might not like my father, and I might not like the Irish Mafia. But I have to respect them.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask.
Da cuts the wheel, taking a sharp left. “Russians are pissed at you, and to be frank, it’s just not fecking worth it, having you O'Connells around.”
“Fucking worth it? Oh, I’m sorry, Da, is my existence fucking inconvenient for you?”
Da doesn’t bother glancing over. He takes another turn, only one hand on the wheel. He’s more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. It’s incredible how at ease he is when he’s not trying to turn on the charm.
“What the fuck is Walsh’s problem?” I ask, needing to understand what the fuck is going on.
“The Russians don’t like you doing business in the dockyards.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Da shrugs. “That’s their territory, and you fecking knew that. So don’t act surprised when it bites you in the arse.”
“Wallen is letting us use his territory.”
“Well, there’s your second problem. The Russians don’t like Wallen.”
“This is about—”
“Adeline. Yeah.”
For a second the car is silent.
“Come on, son, what did you think was going to happen?”
Seconds go by before I can reply. “Would it fucking kill you to at least act like I’m worthy of her.”
“Worthy?” Da sighs as he mulls over the word. “It’s not for me to decide if you’re worthy of her or not. That’ll be all up to her.”
My head swings toward him, fear chilling my chest. “Adeline loves me,” I declare. I need it to be true. Da says nothing as he drives me to a plane that will take me back home.
There’s no way Adeline knows anything about this. She’d be furious at her father if she knew.
“This is all Boris!” I realize while rage wracks my body.
The airstrip looms in front of us.
“Walsh doesn’t give a damn about our operation. He’s had plenty of time to tell us if he had. This is Boris thinking he can get rid of me.”
Out of sight. Out of mind.
“I’m going to fucking kill him.”
My head smacks into the window. I blink harshly, dazed at the realization that my father just knocked my head in.
“You’re not thinking straight,” he tells me, his voice a low growl.
“I can’t answer if you’re worthy of Adeline, because I am not Adeline.
I am, however, a man who’s done business with Boris Akatov.
You damn well knew what you were getting into when you started seeing her.
Of course he wants your balls. But don’t underestimate how the Russians do business.
They aren’t friendly with Wallen. They don’t want to give up their territory, and they sure as shit won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head for so much as thinking that you can take one of them out. ”
His anger freezes me, my mind stalling.
Da drives through a gate, heading toward the plane.
“It was Lev who called,” Da clarifies. “Said we had an issue. Walsh is a fair man. If he’d wanted to, he’d have left you at the mercy of the Russians. Instead, he’s very kindly allowed you this opportunity to go back home to Dublin.”
“I’m not going back to Dublin.”
Da puts the car in park. His hazel eyes meet mine. “Yes, you are, son.”
I grit my teeth, ready to bash his brains in.
“Lick your wounds,” Da says. “You might not get the dockyards like you want, but you’ve done well for yourself. It’s enough to make a statement back in Dublin.”
“I’m not fucking lea—”
The door opens, and someone grabs me from behind, forcing me out of the car.
“Fuck you!”
My voice is drowned out by the whirl of the plane’s engines. Cars are lined down the airstrip, and I lose my voice when I spot Dermot and Seamus.
Blood drips down Dermot’s temple, and he’s holding his brother up.
“What—”
Dermot shakes his head, not needing me to finish the question. “They showed up at the docks. Dimitre Zimin had an AK-47 with him.”
I turn to my father, who merely lifts his brows. So much for Walsh doing us a favor.
“Bruce got taken out,” Dermot adds.
“What?” That’s Cormac’s best friend and business partner. I look at Seamus. “Is he?”
My cousin rouses himself up. “I’m fine.”
“Go on,” Da tells them, nodding to the plane. My cousins glance at me, waiting for my lead.
I nod at the plane, angry at myself for agreeing with him. The docks are gone. We’ve pissed off the Russians thanks to Wallen.
“Ciaran!” Cormac yells, racing over. The sleeve of his suit jacket is torn and smoke darkens his face. He’s got blood running down his temple, too.
I clasp his shoulders. “Are you all right?”
Fire lights his eyes as he stares over my shoulder. At my father.
“Are you all right?” I ask again, shaking him.
He pats my cheek, trying to reassure me. “I’m all right. I’m all right.”
“Best get going, Cormac,” Da says. I grit my teeth. He’s really going to antagonize Uncle Cormac right this second?
Cormac’s entire body tightens, the rage rolling off him. He mutters a curse in Irish and stalks off toward the plane.
I watch him walk away, knowing the truth. My uncle isn’t one to admit defeat, but he knows when it’s time to walk away.
I round on Da. “How the fuck could you do this?”
“Do what? Convince the Russians not to shove a bomb up your arse?”
“You couldn’t fucking stand it, could you? The idea that your son is better than you.”
Da’s eyes search me. “That’s all a father wants, Ciaran.”
I scoff. “Shame you’ve never been my fucking father, then.”
Da nods, chewing on his bottom lip as he stares down at his shoe. His hands are tucked into his pockets, once again at ease. My anger means nothing to him because I mean nothing to him.
“I’m not done here.” Adeline is here. My heart is. . . I suck in a deep gasp.
Da shoots me a pitying look. “Go home, son. Build your life there.”
I spit on the ground. “Fuck you.”
A soldier throws my bag to me. Everything at my flat, my computers—it's all gone. Just one more way to turn the knife in my back.
I turn, leaving my father. Jesus, how stupid was I? I came here to prove myself to a man who isn’t afraid to kick a dog when he’s down.
“Ciaran.”
I pause at the end of the stairs leading up to the plane.
“You understand the Russians want you dead,” Da says. “Do you understand, son?”
If I come back for Adeline, I’m risking a death warrant.
I don’t turn around, but I tell him the lasting truth. “She’s mine.”
The door closes behind me. The O'Connells are worse for wear. The ones that made it back from the docks are bloody and bruised.
Uncle Cormac’s lips are pressed in a thin line. Thoughts course between us, but we both know it’s not a good idea to speak. We need to nurse our wounds and tamp down on our rage. We’ll come up with a plan. We always do.
I drop into a seat, staring out the small window.
“All right?” Seamus asks, his voice hoarse. Dermot’s got his eyes closed in the seat next to him.
“Bloody fantastic,” I murmur.
The plane takes off, and we fly away from New York City. In a few hours, we’ll be home again. I’ll see Nora and Ian and maybe even my mam.
Adeline won’t be there, though.
I don’t give a damn about the docks or Wallen. They took Adeline away from me. And for that, every single fucker in New York City will pay.