Chapter 3
Two years later
C all me a cocky bastard, but striding into an office with my name on it never gets old.
It doesn’t matter if I’m heading into one of the smaller offices across town or the main O’Neill’s Corporation Headquarters in the heart of Canary Wharf—it’s always a heady feeling.
Every day here is a glimpse of what’s to come, a glimpse at the power that will one day be at my fingertips.
It’s tangible proof of my future; one I can’t wait to grab by the bollocks and make my own.
As I stride up the few steps to the doors, the mantle I wear every day falls over my shoulders.
My posture eases into something less threatening, more alluring.
Behind these walls, I’m the guy who can charm a deal out of even the most reluctant customer, not a gangster who will do some wanker’s kneecaps in to get what I want.
This office is the respectable side of the family business, what we can present when questions arise as to how we make our billions.
It’s a way to keep the pigs off our backs and the less-than-legal dealings under the radar.
Dipping my chin at Tina, the front receptionist, I step into my private lift and take one last deep, centring breath.
From the moment this lift spits me out on the executive floor, the day stretches in front of me like a long, winding road with no rest spots in sight.
I thrive best when I’m this close to burnout out and, as such, every day is jam packed.
“Good morning, Mr O’Neill. Your coffee is on your desk, as well as this morning’s analytics report.” Brenda, my executive assistant, appears at my side the moment the doors open. She rushes to keep up with my long strides through the office, used to my aversion to slowing down or stopping by now.
“Perfect. Anything I should know?”
“No, sir. Profit margins look good, and enquiries are flowing in steadily. Mr Jameson requested a lunch meeting, but other than that, no changes to the schedule.” At my nod, she jots my approval down in her ever-present notepad before breaking off to go to her desk while I continue my path to my office.
An office that I’ve painstakingly put my stamp on and made my own.
Alright, fine. I got Brenda to put my stamp on. Same difference if you ask me.
In most of our other offices scattered across the city, Da has the corner office reserved, even if he hasn’t set foot in the building in years, and the clubs, while fun to run, don’t provide anything beyond a dark and seedy room to work in.
So, as soon as I had the keys to this kingdom, I wasted no time in putting Brenda to work.
My first, and arguably favourite, order of business was designing it so that Brenda’s office is attached to mine.
It gets rid of the inconvenience of having to go out into the hall any time I need her and has the added benefit of making it impossible for people to bypass her and storm into my space.
Letting out a groan, I loosen my top button and collapse into my chair.
Last night was a long one. Running a successful empire was never going to be easy, but doing all the heavy lifting and getting none of the credit is starting to grate on me.
Over the last year or so, Da has increasingly stepped back, leaving more and more of the day-to-day business up to me.
Which is fine , except I’m out here busting my balls without so much as a thank-you, while he skulks around his mansion, shutting me out both figuratively and literally.
Shrugging my suit jacket off and draping it around the back of my chair, I crack my neck before logging on.
Immediately, the ping of a dozen emails makes me want to turn the damn thing off.
Clenching my jaw, I down my espresso before I get started on answering the people waiting for my attention.
The morning passes in a blink, and before I know it, a knock on my open door draws my attention away from the computer screen and up to the figure in the doorway.
Dark, cropped hair and green eyes dancing with mirth greet me, a smirk planted firmly on my oldest and closest mate’s face as he strolls into my office like he owns the place.
“Oh, sure, make yourself at home,” I drawl with a shake of my head. The jab rolls off Seamus’ back as he pours us both a measure of whiskey before turning to face me with a smirk planted firmly on his face.
“I’d have thought you would be a wee bit more relaxed this morning,” he taunts with a salacious smirk, tilting the bottle at me in question. At my refusal, he shrugs and helps himself to a top up before pouring me one anyway.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Well, I heard through the grapevine you were seen getting close to one of our girls last night at Alibi.” It’s a statement, not a question, one that makes me roll my eyes. Seamus should know better than to listen to gossip.
“Diamond’s ex came sniffing around. What was I meant to do?
Let that fucker hit her again?” I throw back, leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms behind my head.
Tipping my chin at the chair in front of my desk, I watch as he throws himself into it, looking every inch the relaxed, recently reformed playboy he is.
He slides one of the whiskeys towards me as he sips his.
“You and your martyr complex. You should be living it up, taking one for the team, not locking yourself in this office all day and then the office over there all night. Come on, mate, live a little. Any one of the girls would jump on your dick in a heartbeat if you so much as winked at them.” He snorts, pumping his eyebrows at me.
If he was anyone else, he’d have lost a limb by now, but Seamus is my right-hand man and fellow businessman.
By businessman, I don’t just mean behind these shiny walls.
No, he’s my brother forged in blood in a way only Four Points men can understand, and one day, he’ll be my underboss.
That doesn’t mean he can get away with running his mouth unchecked, though.
“Fuck off. Not all of us let our dicks rule us.”
“How about you let me set you up with one of Fiona’s friends?”
“How about you take a hint? Now, why are you plaguing my office today?” I snap, trying to get him off this insane crusade.
Just because he’s got himself a ball and chain doesn’t mean I want or need one.
Life as the heir to the Four Points is chaotic enough without throwing in a woman who expects me home in time for dinner and demands my undivided attention.
As he crosses his foot over his knee, his gaze grows serious as he ponders, “Any update from Senior?”
“No. He’s rejecting my calls again,” I grunt, distaste coating my tone. Seamus is one of the few I dare be so candid around. There’s no one I trust more than this bastard, all jokes and teasing aside.
He clicks his tongue, a thoughtful look on his face. “We’re going to have to do something about that. There’s unease amongst the ranks. No one has laid eyes on him in months.”
“I’m working on it,” I snap before changing the subject to more urgent matters. “Any more updates on Graham?”
“It’s suspiciously quiet down there. Word is, he’s getting married soon, so maybe that’s why they’ve been quiet.
Though it does beg the question: how the hell are they keeping the cash flowing?
” he muses, voicing my thoughts. Normally, Angus is the first to leap at any cash flow opportunity, but the last few drug and gun runs haven’t drawn any kind of response out of him.
It makes me wonder if Da was right in thinking there’s more than meets the eye going on with him.
“Keep your ear to the ground. Something’s not right with that fucker,” I mutter before my phone rings, cutting off his response. Unease sinks in. Brenda knows better than to interrupt me unless it’s urgent.
“Yes?” I clip, picking up on the second ring.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir. There’s someone on the line, a housekeeper? She says your father needs you—urgently.” Her rushed words send a jolt of dread through me. With a curse, I thank her and hang up, my jacket already half on as I gather my things.
Seamus is hot on my heels as he asks, “What can I do?”
Meeting his dark gaze, I fill him in as we leave the office with little more than a barked command at Brenda to clear my schedule and hold my calls.
“Make sure this doesn’t leak. If anyone asks, I had an urgent appointment I forgot about.
If they keep pressing, make up an excuse that keeps the focus on me,” I instruct him as we make our way to the underground car park.
With a clipped nod, he dips into his car as I get into mine.
Letting out a breath to centre myself, I peel out of the car park, heading for Da’s house.
Sheila, his housekeeper, wouldn’t call the office looking for me if it wasn’t urgent.
He wouldn’t let her. That, coupled with his disappearing act lately, worries me.
Who the hell knows what I’m about to walk into.
Pulling into his driveway, I abandon my car and have the front door open before Sheila can even move.
She’s been our housekeeper since I was a kid.
She is by no means a stranger to the violence and horrors that go hand in hand with being Irish mafia, so the frantic look in her eyes as she ushers me in has a rock wedging its way in my rib cage.
“He’s in his room,” she explains as she leads the way, only to stop outside his splintered doorway.
Turning her hazel eyes on me, she places her hand on my arm.
Motherly concern radiates from her as she warns me to brace myself.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I dip my chin and ease the door open .
Jonathan O’Neill Sr has always been a force to be reckoned with, but the man in front of me is a shadow of the man I idolised growing up.
Gaunt, dishevelled, bed bound in the late afternoon—words I never thought I would use to describe the man who taught me how to dismember a body on my thirteenth birthday.
His wheezing breaths have me freezing at the foot of his bed as he struggles to open his glazed eyes.
Frail is not a word I ever thought I’d use in conjunction with Da, but as I take him in, it’s the only word that comes to mind. Guilt slams into me. I should have demanded to see him before now. Whatever plagues him should never have gone unchecked for so long.
“Son? Is that you, Junior?” he rasps, eyes looking through me rather than at me.
“I’m here, Da. Why didn’t you tell me things weren’t going so well? Let me phone Doc.” Before I can pull my phone out, he’s already shaking his head, his hands trembling.
“No. The men can’t know. They’d oust me. We can’t risk it, not now. Not with Angus spiralling out of control. We can’t let that son of a bitch know. He’d use it to his advantage. Bastard is already up to no good,” he spits.
“Trust me, okay?” I plead. The thought of letting whatever’s wrong with him go unchecked a moment longer has me grinding my teeth.
No fucking way am I risking his health over his pride.
Rather than answering me, he just rests his head back against the pillows and lets sleep pull him under.
Slipping out of the room, I catch Sheila’s eye, indicating for her to follow me further down the hall.
“What the hell is going on?!” I demand in a hushed whisper.
“He barricaded himself in his room a few weeks ago, but he accepted his meals and left the trays outside his door. I just assumed he was attending to urgent business and didn’t want to be disturbed.
Then, this morning, I knocked but got no answer.
When I came back up to collect the tray, it hadn’t been touched, so I tried again.
Still no answer. That’s when I forced my way in,” she confesses, heat rising to her cheeks as she explains why the door to his room is damaged, though that’s the least of my concerns.
“Your niece is a nurse, isn’t she?” I frown, mentally flicking through our limited options. Normally, everything medical is dealt with by Doc, and then we go from there, but news of us calling him will travel through the ranks like wildfire.
“Yes…but only just. This might be a bit complex for her. She only graduated last year,” she rushes to explain, but I’ve already made up my mind. This is the way we’ll get him outside help without alerting the masses.
“Then get her to bring a doctor she trusts. They’ll be heavily compensated for their time.” As I raise an eyebrow at her, she catches my drift and scampers down the hall to make her call. Slumping against the wall, I let out a sigh before pulling my phone out.
Time to call in reinforcements.