CHAPTER TWELVE #2
The rage comes back, hot and sharp. But underneath it, something else. The sick realization that Frank's right.
Father did lose everything. Did choose pride over family. Did force Alex into an impossible choice.
And I never knew.
"Don't," I say, but the word has no force behind it.
"Don't what?" Frank's voice is almost gentle now. Almost sympathetic. "Don't tell you the truth about what Edward really was? About why your family fell apart?"
The words hit like bullets.
Because he's right.
I'm only sitting in Father's chair because Alex killed him to save Jason.
Because Alex left rather than face what he'd done.
Because Jason left with Kira to escape the Bratva connections Frank built.
Because Matty can't lead and Aidan doesn't want to.
I'm the last option. The desperate choice.
The man they're all hoping can somehow save them.
And I can't.
I can barely save myself.
"I need the shares," Frank says quietly. He's watching my face, reading every emotion I can't hide. "I need the advisory position. That's my price for the intelligence you need to survive. Non-negotiable."
"And the mole?" I force the question past the tightness in my throat. "You give me the name after I agree?"
"No." Frank's smile returns. "I give you the name when I have what I want. When the shares are transferred. When I'm sitting at the table again. Then, and only then, will you know who's betraying you."
It's manipulation. Classic Frank Murphy manipulation. Give me just enough to make me desperate. Hold back the crucial piece. Force me to commit before I know what I'm really getting.
I should walk away. Should tell Frank to fuck off. Should find another way to protect my family.
But there is no other way.
Viktor Tarasov is planning something big. The mole is feeding him intelligence. And tomorrow night, everyone I care about will be gathered in one place, making themselves easy targets.
I need Frank's information.
Even if it means selling my soul to get it.
"If I agree," I say slowly, hating every word, "and you're lying. If your information is bullshit, if you're playing me—"
"Then you can kill me yourself." Frank's voice is steady. Sure. "I'll even hand you the gun."
We stare at each other. Uncle and nephew. Two Murphy men who hate each other, need each other, and are willing to destroy each other to survive.
The water laps against the pier pilings below us. The wind picks up, carrying the smell of salt and decay. Somewhere in the distance, a ship's horn sounds.
I think of my brothers. Of Aidan trying to hold everything together. Of Matty struggling with demons I don't understand. Of Alex, wherever he is, carrying the weight of Father's murder.
I think of Father himself. Of finding him hanging in that office. Of cutting him down. Of the rage and grief and guilt that's been eating me alive ever since.
And I make a choice.
The kind of choice that damns you.
The kind there's no coming back from.
"Fine." The word tastes like poison. "You get your shares back. You get an advisory position. You sit at the table."
Frank's expression doesn't change. But something flickers in his eyes. Victory. Satisfaction.
Triumph.
"Smart boy," he says softly.
"But," I continue, my voice hard now, "you fuck me over even once, you give me bad intelligence, you use this position to hurt my family in any way, and I won't just kill you, Frank. I'll make you beg for it first."
"Understood." Frank extends his hand. "Do we have a deal?"
I look at his hand. Clean. Manicured. The hand of a man who's never done his own dirty work. The hand of a snake.
The hand I'm about to shake.
I take it.
His grip is firm. Strong. The handshake of a man who knows he's won.
"Viktor is planning to hit the engagement party," Frank says, releasing my hand. "Multiple shooters. Coordinated. They want maximum casualties. Maximum chaos."
"How many shooters?" My mind is already racing, planning, strategizing.
"At least three. Maybe more." Frank's voice is matter-of-fact. "Professionals. Not the kind who miss."
Like the one who shot Dillon O'Rourke. The precision. The timing. The escape.
"Where will they position themselves?" I ask.
"I don't know the specifics yet." Frank tilts his head. "But I'll find out. I'll get you whatever intelligence I can before tomorrow night. Positions. Numbers. Timing."
"And the mole?" I can't keep the desperation out of my voice. "You'll tell me who it is?"
"When your lawyers draw up the paperwork transferring my shares." Frank's smile is sharp. "When I'm officially back in the family business. Then you'll get the name."
It's blackmail. Pure and simple. But it's also strategic.
And I hate that I understand it.
"Fine," I say again. The word is getting easier to say. That's how I know I'm making a mistake. When selling out gets easy, when compromising feels natural, that's when you know you've crossed a line you can't uncross. "I'll have the paperwork ready by tomorrow."
"Good." Frank looks back out over the water. "Viktor is playing a long game, William. This isn't just about territory or money. He wants to break the Irish families completely. Make an example of us. Show the world what happens when you stand against the Bratva."
"Then we'll show him what happens when he fucks with the Murphys."
Frank laughs. It's a genuine sound, surprised and pleased. "There's hope for you yet."
"Don't," I warn. "Don't pretend we're family. Don't pretend this is anything other than a business transaction. You want your power back. I want information. That's all this is."
"Of course." Frank's expression goes neutral again. "Business. Nothing personal."
Everything about this is personal.
But I don't say that. I just turn and walk back down the pier, each step echoing on the old wood. The planks creak beneath my feet. Some shift dangerously. But I keep moving, putting distance between myself and the deal I just made.
The deal that might save my family.
Or might destroy us all.
When I reach solid ground, I pull out my phone. Aidan's name is at the top of my recent calls. I need to tell him what just happened. Need to explain that I brought Frank back into the family. That I'm giving him shares and power and influence.
But I can't.
Not yet.
Not until I figure out how to explain that I just made a deal with the man who nearly destroyed us. That I'm trusting Frank Murphy, of all people, to help protect us.
That I'm that desperate.
Instead, I get in the Audi and sit in the silence. My hands grip the steering wheel. The shaking is worse now. The headache is building. The comedown from last night's cocaine is making everything sharper, more painful.
I need another line.
The thought is automatic. Immediate. The solution to every problem. Just get high and everything will feel manageable again. The guilt. The fear. The crushing weight of every choice I'm making.
But I don't reach for the cocaine.
Not yet.
First, I need to get home. Need to tell my security team about the threat to tomorrow's party. Need to figure out how to protect everyone without revealing that I'm working with Frank.
The engine starts with a smooth purr. I pull out of the parking space and drive through the abandoned docks, past warehouses with broken windows and graffiti-covered walls. Past the places where people who don't matter anymore used to work, used to build lives, used to think they had futures.
Like me.
I used to think I had a future, too. Used to believe I could be something other than this. Other than a Murphy prince drowning in cocaine and violence, and choices that damn me a little more each day.
But that future died the day I found Father hanging in his office.
Now all that's left is survival.
And I'll do whatever it takes to survive. Even if it means making deals with devils. Even if it means trusting snakes. Even if it means becoming exactly the kind of man I swore I'd never be.
The kind of man who'd sacrifice anything to win.
The kind of man who'd destroy himself to save his family.
The kind of man Frank Murphy always knew I could be.
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
I already know who it is before I read it.
“The paperwork better be ready by noon tomorrow. And William? Don't disappoint me.” - F
I don't respond. Just set the phone down and keep driving.
The city passes by in a blur of gray buildings and people who don't know they're living in a war zone—who don't know that tomorrow night, at a party they'll never hear about, decisions will be made that could change everything.
That could save us all.
Or destroy us completely.
I think of Aoife again. Of the way she looked at me in that basement. The anger and hurt and something that might have been the beginning of trust.
I broke that trust. Shattered it when I told her to smile at the engagement party while her father fights for his life. When I showed her exactly what kind of monster she's agreed to marry.
But maybe that's for the best.
Maybe it's better she knows now. Better she sees me clearly. Better she understands that the man she's going to spend her life with is capable of anything.
Even making deals with Frank Murphy.
Even sacrificing his own soul.
Even destroying the last good parts of himself to protect the people he loves.
The estate comes into view.
I pull through the gates and park in front of the main entrance.
And I sit there for a long moment, hands on the steering wheel, staring at the house. The house that's both a prison and a fortress. The house where I'll either save my family or watch them die.
No pressure.
I laugh. It comes out bitter and broken.
Then I get out of the car and walk inside to face whatever comes next.
I close the door behind me, and the sound echoes through the empty foyer. Somewhere in this house, Aoife is preparing for tomorrow. Somewhere, Aidan is coordinating security. Somewhere, my family is trusting me to lead them through this.
And I'm trusting Frank Murphy to give me the intelligence I need.
God help us all.