Chapter Three
Rian
“Are you ready to head back to Ashford?” I ask Cillian as everyone files out of the building. We had most of our family here today—Tiernan, Dean, Rory (Cillian’s best friend), Conan, Finan, Flynn, and about twenty others—for an O’Shea family meeting, meaning a business meeting.
We have a warehouse we use for this—one outside of the city and less likely to call much attention, but then, anyone who is anyone knows who we are and what goes on here, anyway. Pretending otherwise is always just pretense—but our name is too big, too important for anything else to be true.
Not a lot of Irish gangs made it out of the Prohibition era, but the O’Shea family was one of them—the only one that matters really.
And while things were up in the air a little after Sloan’s death, we’ve made sure everyone knows we’re not going anywhere, even if the Italians run most of the rest of the East Coast—hell, the country.
We still own Boston.
We own the whole fucking state of Massachusetts, and that’s not going to change.
Ever.
“Why are you asking me that?” Cillian frowns, pulling my attention back to him.
The truth is, I don’t know why I’m asking him about going back to college.
It’s something the Rian of ten years ago would have asked his son.
Is he ready for school? What is he most excited about?
But questions like that are so foreign to us now.
At first, because I was too sad, and then, because I knew I didn’t deserve him after everything I’d put him through.
We’ve been trying to find our way back to each other since last Thanksgiving.
Then, in the spring, when Rory’s boyfriend’s mom had been kidnapped, Cillian called me for help.
It took a lot for him to do that, and there hadn’t been anything I wouldn’t have done to fix whatever he’d needed that day, if only so he could start to learn that he could trust me.
I think he can trust me.
I want him to be able to trust me.
“I don’t know. Isn’t that a thing fathers do?” I ask.
“It’s not a thing you’ve done in a long time,” he reminds me. I can’t even be mad at him about it because it’s true. “It’s not a thing Sloan would have asked Tiernan, or Rory’s father would have asked him.”
He’s right. None of us have been shining examples of what it means to be a good father, but I’ve always tried to be different. For a long time, I thought I had been.
“Should I be an asshole instead?” I cock a brow, hoping Cillian is willing to be playful with me, rather than us hashing out what a shitty job this family has done by their children.
And my father had been the worst of them all.
“Par for the course.” Cillian shrugs. He doesn’t take shit, and I respect him for it. Still, he must take pity on me because he replies, “Yeah, we’re ready. Ollie’s excited.”
“But not you?” I attempt to continue the conversation.
“College isn’t important to me. I go because O’Sheas go to Ashford, and because it’s what Tiernan wanted.”
That’s my son in a nutshell—doing what’s expected and proving his loyalty to those he loves.
I hope he never has to learn the lesson that eventually the loyalty between people he loves will pull him in different directions.
That doing what’s expected, what’s always been done, will conflict with what the most important people in his world will want or need.
I know because I experienced it many times myself when Moira was still alive.
“Ollie’s a smart kid,” I say, bringing the conversation back to his boyfriend.
“The smartest,” Cillian replies, the pride clear on his face. My son is good to his partner, good to all the people he loves. I’m proud of him for being better at it than me.
“Senior year…” I continue. Cillian pushes his hands into his pockets, the fact that we’re still not good at talking to each other painfully obvious.
“Yeah, not for Ollie or Dean, though. We’re going to have to figure that out next year.”
The intent behind his words is clear—he’s not leaving Ollie, and there’s not a chance Tiernan will leave Ashford without Dean either.
It’s only a few hours’ drive away, but both boys are stubborn, so I know he’s right. We will have to figure it out.
“We have time,” I say just as a flash of red catches my gaze, Rory sticking his head through the door.
We’re still working on what to do with his boyfriend, Shai.
We’ve allowed him to participate in more family business with the younger generation, but he’s not at family meetings like these.
He has to earn his way here, and while Rory isn’t happy about it, he’s accepting it.
“Yo, Cil. You ready? We got shit to do, people to hurt…boys to fuck.” He pumps his brows, and even I can’t stop myself from smiling.
I love Rory like he’s my son. From the first day I met him—burnt hand from trying to cook when he was much too young to do anything of the sort—he’d been stubborn and fucking loyal.
He’s a wildcard and one we have to watch, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.
And even though they’re not in a relationship and not in love, he is my son’s other half.
“Oh shit. Am I interrupting bonding time?” Rory adds.
“Fuck off,” Cillian tells him.
“Go.” I nod my head. “Tell Tiernan I’ll be in touch.”
Tiernan and I have run this family together since Sloan’s death—though for nine months out of the year, while they’re at school, it’s mostly me.
The mini-mob—as Ollie calls them—Cillian, Rory, Dean, and Tiernan come back to Boston when they’re needed, but I do my best not to need them as much as possible.
While Cillian says he’s only at college for Tiernan, I want that experience for him.
I’d love for my son to have as many normal experiences as possible. It’s what Moira wanted for him, too.
Plus, I have Conan here. The group of people I trust implicitly is incredibly small, and Conan is at the top of that list. Before Sloan died, I know how much Conan stepped in to be there for Tiernan, stepped up in ways I didn’t because of the hold my brother had on me.
I’m really not the man most people think I am.
“Okay.” Cillian walks away, making it all the way to the door before he stops, keeping his back to me. “Thanks for asking…about school, I mean.”
My pulse speeds up, a form of pride I don’t often feel surging in my chest. “You’re welcome, son,” I reply, and without another word, Cillian walks out.
Just seconds later, I’m not surprised when Conan approaches. Like me, he’s wearing a suit, not something all the guys do, but it was drilled into me by my father, and Conan has always done the same.
We’re both closer to fifty than forty, probably more tired than we should be, and definitely have seen and delivered more death, too. Conan has no kids of his own, but even though he would never say it, I know he loves Tiernan and Aislin like they’re his.
It was Conan who helped Tiernan cover up that it was Fia who killed Sloan and not some random junkies, like the world thinks.
Again, something they don’t realize I know.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Conan as he pulls over one of the folding metal chairs and sits down. The warehouse isn’t pretty, filled with supplies, boxes, and old blood staining some of the concrete.
Conan doesn’t beat around the bush. It’s not how he is, and he immediately starts, “Remember that guy you took out at the convenience store last month?”
I nod. Honestly, shit like that is beneath me. I usually have better control than that, but it had been late, and I’d had a really shitty day.
“He’s got three brothers—the Bellini brothers.”
I frown, not recognizing the name, but it’s very clearly Italian. “They connected?” I ask, because if they’re connected to any of the Italian organized crime families, I might have bought us some trouble we don’t need.
“No. Low-level criminals, but they’re playing a game that they don’t realize they’re not prepared for. Rumor has it, one of the remaining brothers was drunk in a pub, ranting about Rian O’Shea and how he’s going to take you out for killing his brother.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “He should try. I hope he does try.”
Conan cocks a brow. My first sentence is very like me, my second, not as much.
I don’t have a death wish, and I’m not the type who needs to constantly prove my power.
I know who the fuck I am, and so does everyone else, but even killing the one brother was different for me.
I’ve felt more reckless lately, uneasy, like I’m waiting for something to happen, but I don’t know what it is.
“How does he even know it was me?” I ask.
“You know how shit works in the streets. People find out things they’re not supposed to know.”
“Pay a visit to the store owner. Looks like he has a big mouth, and we’ll need to shut it for him. Also, keep an ear to the ground. I’ll watch my back. Maybe we should pay these Bellini brothers a visit too, and show them who they’re dealing with.”
“Let me know when and where you want me,” Conan says.
“I will.”
“Cillian seems good,” he says, changing the subject.
“He is,” I agree. “Better than me.” Though I guess that’s been true for a long time.
“Cut yourself some slack, Rian. You love that boy, and he loves you. You’ll fix what you messed up.”
It’s very much like Conan to be supportive, but also to not let me off the hook for my shit. I did fuck up. There’s no changing that.
“I’m trying.”
“Which is more than most of the men we know would do. It’s more than our fathers would have done. And those kids…they’re better than us. That’s all we can hope for sometimes—to be better than the generation before us—and they will be.”
“They will be,” I agree. They already are. The loyalty, the love, the respect.
The brotherhood. It is more than I ever could have had with my own brother.
“How are things at Paradise?” I ask Conan, changing the subject.
If you’re in Boston and there’s something you want—sex, drugs, guns—everyone knows you can get it at Paradise.
Conan is the perfect man to work around that much temptation.
He doesn’t touch hard drugs. Hell, he doesn’t even fuck, that I know of.
Need someone murdered? Conan is your guy.
He’s silent and deadly, but any of the other sins most of us participate in from time to time—or more often for Finan—Conan doesn’t partake in.
“Good as always,” he replies, before we go into chatting business for a few minutes.
Not long later, we’re locking up and heading out to our vehicles together.
“You should have a bodyguard,” Conan tells me, not for the first time. Sloan had one—a driver, too, but that’s just not me.
“Because of the Bellini brothers?” I tease.
“Because you’re important to us and we need you,” Conan counters, and again, I feel lucky to have him. Despite his lie about Sloan, I know Conan always has my best interests at heart. “Your son needs you,” he adds.
“I’m not going anywhere, brother.” I’m too damn stubborn to die, but it’s as we stand here together that I realize I don’t want to. There had been a time—a lot of it—after Moira died where I did want to die, but I don’t feel that way anymore. I want…more. Maybe because I see my son having more.
Conan gives me a simple nod, then watches as I slide into my SUV. It’s bulletproof and about as safe as possible.
Conan doesn’t get into his own vehicle until I’ve pulled away.