11. Connor
CONNOR
Deck and three guards follow me to the entrance of an upscale Italian place called Dolce Vita.
“You shouldn’t go in there alone.” Deck stands at my shoulder. He’s in a black bomber jacket and jeans, the suit discarded the first chance he got. There’s a vest underneath and at least two guns that I can see, but probably more. My cousin loves weapons.
“Declan’s mad enough as it is. I have to face him alone.”
“You might not come back out.”
“It’s a chance I have to take.”
Deck grunts unhappily. “I’ll secure the perimeter at least. Make sure the Gallaghers aren’t coming.”
“They don’t know yet.”
“How long until they do? Everyone’s aware you didn’t show up.”
“They think I got cold feet. That’s bad enough. They’re angry, but not ready to start murdering.”
“That’ll change when they find out about the girl.” Deck turns away. “Good luck in there, boss.”
I stride through the doors, leaving my men outside.
The interior of Dolce Vita’s handsome and richly decorated.
There’s no hostess up front since they’re not technically open yet.
A lone waitress sits at a front table rolling napkins.
She ignores me as I walk past her, heading to the private room in the very back.
The kitchen staff is already hard at work, the sound of music blaring and cursing in multiple languages filtering through the doors.
I find Declan Whelan sitting with his back to the wall, a glass of wine in front of him. Several guards are stationed around the room. The closest immediately closes on me, a gun aimed at my chest.
“Don’t move,” the guard says and starts to pat me down.
I keep my eyes on Declan and submit to the rough treatment. He watches impassively. When the guard clears me, he waves them away. The big men file out, leaving us alone, the table acting as a buffer.
Declan’s gaze is heavy and painful. It’s sorrowful and angry, and I don’t know what hurts most. Knowing I betrayed him, or knowing I’d do it again.
“What’s her name?” he asks, finally breaking the quiet.
“Angelina Bellandi.”
“Italian?”
“I think so. That’s my guess. She’s pregnant.”
Declan nods like he expected it. “When did you find out?”
“This morning before I left for the church.”
“Bad timing.”
“I didn’t plan any of this, boss?—“
“No, you didn’t, otherwise, it wouldn’t have been such a fucking nightmare. You didn’t think, you didn’t consider, you only acted impulsively and foolishly, and now here you are, knee-deep in a river of shit with no bridge to either side.”
I blow a breath from my nose and look down at the table. “You’re right.”
“I know I’m right. Look at me, Connor.” I meet his eyes, jaw flexing.
I haven’t been treated like this in a very long time, but by God, I deserve it and I’ll take it like a man.
“I gave you everything. I raised you from nothing, put you in charge of the Maguire clan, and supported every decision you made, even those I thought would not work out. You exceeded every one of my wildest expectations. You have proven yourself smart, strong, capable, and loyal a dozen times over. I had high hopes for you, Connor, and it breaks my heart that I have to do this.”
Wildly, stupidly, I wonder if he really is going to kill me. “She’s carrying my child, Declan?—“
“I am Boss Whelan to you now.”
“My baby, Boss Whelan. That means something.”
“It does. Frankly, it’s the only reason you aren’t dead. Killing you would fix this situation. The Gallaghers would be furious, but we’d find a new husband for Sinead and life would go on. Your family would burn, blood would flow, but that’s the cost of business. Instead, you’re still breathing.”
I wish I felt relief, but I don’t. In some ways, dying for this would be easier than living with the shame of what I’ve done.
But I keep Angie’s face firmly on my mind, not the terrorized and horrified look she’s had ever since going to the Maguire mansion, but the way she gazed at me when I filled her to the brim that terrible, beautiful evening we ruined each other.
“I will fix this.”
“How?” He holds his hands out toward me as if trying to pull an answer from me. “How could you possibly do that?”
“I’ll handle the Gallaghers.”
“You’re really going to war with them? You think that’s a fight you can win?”
“When they’re broken, they’ll bend the knee to you.”
“That’s a lot of fucking work for an outcome I’d already secured,” he says sharply through his teeth.
“I know. And I’ll bleed for it.”
“You or your men will.”
I curl my hands into fists. Yes, there is going to be blood, and pain, and death, and I will hold it all on my shoulders, because that’s what a man does.
“When it’s over, the Gallaghers will be yours, and I will always be your loyal soldier. I will make this up to you, I swear it.”
“I hope so, Connor, but I will not back you on this. When Padraig Gallagher comes with his soldiers, and his boys Fergus and Lorcan and Cillian come to cut your throat, I will watch from the sidelines. I will not mourn you if they burn your life to ashes.”
“I understand.”
“Good. I hope you do. I hope you’re prepared. I’m going to tell them about the girl in two hours. That’s all I’ll give you for years of service. Two hours and nothing more.”
“That’s all I deserve.”
“You deserve to die, Connor. We’ll see what you get.” Declan lifts his glass, blood red and shining. “Good luck.”
I walk slowly out of the restaurant under the gaze of Declan’s soldiers. None move to speak to me. Deck’s waiting outside and he seems disappointed nothing happened. “You good?” he asks.
“We’re in the woods now. We’re on our own.”
“About what I expected. I figured you’d have a knife in the heart.”
“Upset about it?”
“Depends on how the next few weeks shake out.” He bares his teeth and pounds my back.
“You seem like you’re in a good mood now.”
“Once the shock wore off, I realized I’m headed into a very nasty fight. Nothing makes me happier than the promise of killing.”
The drive back to the house is filled with logistics.
Deck’s on the phone relaying my orders to the various captains and lieutenants stretched all across the city.
Two hours isn’t enough, but it’ll have to work.
We drive the whole time, meeting with a few important men in person to make sure they understand what’s going to happen.
I consolidate our territory and oversee the distribution of guns, ammunition, and body armor to our people, and I personally prepare them for what’s to come.
Two hours turn to three. The fact that there hasn’t been some kind of explosion is unnerving. The Gallaghers have to know by now.
I can only imagine their reaction. Old Padraig losing his mind, her brothers apoplectic with rage. Sinead’s angry, embarrassed tears. She always did deserve better.
Marcus calls when we finally reach Malba. There are guards stationed on the house grounds lurking among the trees with rifles and grim faces. “Tell me good news,” I say as I get out of the car, rolling my shoulders.
“I have your family. They’re safe and secure. The little brat?—“
I hear Rowan in the background. Don’t be a dick, Marcus?—
“She insisted on packing all her shit, which took forever.”
“Tell me you have men with you.”
“Plenty, no worries.” Marcus’s voice drops low. “Danielle is pissed, brother, just a heads-up.”
I shove back against a groan. My father’s wife is always a pain, but I have a feeling she’s only going to be fifty times worse. “I’ll handle it.”
“I bet you will. Lots to handle now.”
I’m surprised to find several young women in dark outfits pulling covers off furniture and dusting. I wrinkle my nose and swallow a sneeze. A vacuum’s running nearby. “Staff’s already at work. Good job.”
“Pleasure’s mine. Got to run. We’re all good here, see you soon. Danielle’s yelling about something. Hey, what the fuck do you—“ The phone goes dead. I shove it into my pocket and stand in the entryway of my house, trying to let the weight of the situation descend onto my shoulders.
This building was never my home. I stay here once or twice a week, at most, but only ever use that master bedroom.
The place is haunted by the dead Maguires from years past. I always wonder how the hell they afforded it, considering we were barely more than a bunch of grimy car thieves.
But the answer’s obvious: the grime was a distraction and the money was always there, propping up our operations.
Only I took what was a disorganized mess and turned it into a money-making flywheel.
Mostly what we do is legitimate. WashCo is an actual salvage and towing operation.
The books are mostly real. But there’s the other half of the business, the half that’s a front for drug sales and the catalytic converter trade.
Illicit car parts, stripped and boosted, flow across the country from our warehouses, mixed in with the legit pieces.
Before I grew our operations, this house was a crumbling wreck. I’ve been holding it up for ages.
But now I have a wife and a child coming, and it’s time to bring it back to its former glory.
The doors behind me slam open. Deck enters, walking fast. “Boss, they’re here.”
The grim tone in his voice sets my jaw on edge. “Where?”
“Three cars. Tons of men. All the brothers. But it’s the girl?—“
“Sinead?”
“She says she wants to talk. She comes in peace. Connor—“ Deck’s usual expression twists painfully. “God, fucking hell, you’ll have to see it.”
I step out the door and stand on the front landing overlooking the driveway.
My soldiers stand in a wide ring around three SUVs, their weapons leveled.
I recognize three men standing near the lead vehicle: Fergus, the oldest brother, built like a tank with a neck like a double-wide, chewing on a cigar angrily, and Lorcan, the middle of them, athletic and handsome and smiling, which is worse, and the youngest Cillian, stone-cold, long hair pulled back, dead eyes watching carefully.
But nobody’s paying attention to them.