Ciaran
Two weeks later, I found myself in Uncle Cormac’s study. Sunlight cascades through the windows, blanketing his desk in gold.
I lean back in my chair, a tumbler of whiskey in front of me. I prefer when Cormac’s place is quiet. Even without a birthday party, the horde of O'Connells means there’s always something going on.
This afternoon, everyone is scattered, off in their own world.
I’d like to be gone myself. We took a night off to celebrate my uncle’s birthday, but our workload has more than made up for it since.
The idea of going home and sitting on the sofa next to Adeline while she studies sounds perfect.
Her typing on her laptop will lull me into a post dinner nap, and when I wake up, she’ll be done with her textbooks, and I’ll happily take her to bed.
“You all right there?” Cormac asks, turning in his desk chair.
I force my muscles to relax, making myself appear less annoyed. I’ve never hated spending time with my uncle. A woman shouldn’t change that.
“You talked to your father lately?”
I frown. “No. Why?”
Cormac shrugs. My uncle never shrugs.
“Should I have heard from him?” I ask.
He drinks his whiskey. “No. I’d just wandered about Walsh, is all.”
We haven’t heard from the head of the Irish Mafia since our meeting a few months ago.
Walsh’s operation hasn’t been in contact since, though they haven’t run interference in any of our plans.
I take it as no news is good news, especially if it means I don’t have to take any awkward phone calls with Cain Murray.
It still amazes me that my dad is so close to Walsh. Is his over-the-top leprechaun charm that vital to the Irish Mafia?
“Walsh took not just one, but two meetings with the Russians last week,” Cormac says, crossing his ankle over his knee as he leans back in his chair.
“About what?”
Cormac levels me with a look. Clearly annoyed I have no insider information.
My shoulders tighten. I remain silent.
“I didn’t think Walsh was so close to Zimin,” Cormac says.
The word ‘close’ isn’t quite accurate. What he means is, there are no current arguments spilling out into the streets.
“The Russians are tidy,” I remind. Uptight is a nicer description for Lev Zimin. And while Walsh’s Irish might seem like friendly little fellows hanging out in pubs, he’s got his thumb on everything.
The lines have been drawn in New York City for a long time. The occasional dispute comes up, but for the most part, there’s an orderly chaos to the place.
“What are you on about?” I ask Cormac, lifting my whiskey.
Cormac pauses to take a drink himself. When he sets it back down, the sun hits the crystal just the right way. It creates a rainbow starburst, the effect happier than the somber tone my uncle uses.
“Wallen’s a powerful player.”
I stay silent. He’s not said a thing about Wallen since his party. I’ve waited, wondering if he’d mention him. For a second there is relief when he doesn’t bring up Las Vegas.
“The contract for the harbor,” Cormac says, “is a good starting place, but I think you and I agree it’s just the start.”
“Of what?”
He cocks his head at my question.
I’m not stupid. I know what he’s getting out. But I want my uncle to spell out the specifics.
“He wants the head of a Russian. We can give him that.”
Physically, I am sitting in a chair in my uncle’s office. Pressure glues me to the seat, a dark, leaden feeling weighing down my limbs.
“He can’t be that stupid.”
I’m used to playing devil’s advocate. Uncle Cormac is the one who taught me how. In this line of work, you’re better off preparing for every scenario possible.
“He so much as takes out a foot soldier—”
“He’s not talking about a foot soldier,” Cormac cuts me off.
I shake my head. Wallen is a clever bastard, but he’s asking for too much on this one.
“If Wallen wants to start war with the Russians, let him at it. It’s got nothing to do with us, though.”
My uncle narrows his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“About avoiding war with Lev Zimin?” I’m not one to squirm under fire, but I very much like my balls. And if it came to it, I don’t doubt Boris Akatov would take any excuse to torture me.
Cormac pours himself another whiskey. “Wallen thinks he can take more territory by the docks. More territory there means more trade routes. More trade routes means more money. We’re looking at an opportunity here.”
To die.
I shake my head. My uncle knows better, but I play along.
“There are other ways to get territory.” No matter what major city you’re in, you’re bound to find disputes when it comes to the harbors. Shipments are crucial, but the Bratva isn’t going to budge an inch on this.
“Wallen has the power to take it.”
“In what fucking world?” First he wants to take on the Knights, and now the Zimin’s. “He might have the weapons, but he doesn’t have the manpower.”
I know as soon as I see my uncle’s face what he’s thinking.
“The O’Connells are not his soldiers.”
Cormac remains silent.
“There might be a fuck ton of us,” I add, my voice gruff, “but not enough to take on the fucking Bratva!”
Cormac shrugs, agreeing with this argument. It doesn’t do enough to pacify me. He shouldn’t be entertaining Wallen. It’s one thing to allow the man to vent, it’s another to make him believe we might be willing to help.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “Why are you putting up with him?”
“Surely you want to own a home one day.”
I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes in time. We’re not disputing money. “You can’t bring cash with you into the afterlife.”
“I want the harbors,” Cormac admits, and there it is.
Cormac is stone. His blond hair and lighter eyes make him into a marble statue. He’s gotten an idea into his head, and it will not leave him.
Truth be told, we’ve always wanted the harbors. It’s been our ultimate plan.
I lean forward, placing my elbows on the desk. “Controlling Dublin is one thing.”
That’s our territory. Wallen’s letting us use his harbors in New York, where we’ll run more ships through the Atlantic, getting them into Dublin.
“We have no business getting into war with the Russians,” I tell him. “We want them on our side.”
Cormac looks at me strangely. “Do we?”
“Our lives are in Dublin. Anything we do here will need Walsh’s approval.
Unless you intend to start a war with him too?
” Cormac stays silent, so I go on. “We are not the type of men to be asking for permission. Let us go home with more money in our pockets and contracts for the future. Let Wallen deal with his shit on his own.”
“But if we have a chance to get the harbor, would you take it?”
I take a deep breath, trying to understand. I shake my head after a moment. “It’s madness. Taking out a Russian, who would we—”
“You don’t think you could get close enough to Boris?”
Icy claws tear into my chest. I rub my bearded jawline.
Cormac watches me closely.
I refuse to waver. I refuse to think about the way Adeline adores her father.
“We kill Lev Zimin’s best friend, his brother”—I meet Cormac’s eye—“we declare war. Fuck Wallen. Fuck whatever he’s after.
It’s us they come after. Did you not raise me on the stories of the Zimins and what they do to their enemies?
The Armenians got blown to bits. Let’s not even mention their tiff with the cartel back in the early 2000s. ”
Cormac nods, slowly digesting this information.
A sinking feeling overtakes me. It’s a lost cause. I knew my uncle had ambitions for more territory, but I had no idea he’d take such a risk.
I try a different approach. “You catch more flies with honey.”
He taught me that. He taught me that no one takes advantage of an O’Connell. But he also taught me it never hurts to collect friends along the way.
That’s why I’ve spent all my time trying to make inroads here. Adding important contacts to my arsenal.
“War is not the only way to gain territory.”
It’s easy to think of the various criminal organizations constantly fighting one another. But if that were the case, nothing would ever get done.
“What are you suggesting?” my uncle asks.
“An alliance.”
“With Wallen?”
“With the Russians.”
We stare at one another, a clock ticking in the background.
“An alliance by marriage.” Fire rains down my spine, but it doesn’t blister. There is something right about this move.
Cormac lifts a brow. “You sure you’re not better off taking your chances and killing Boris?”
“Adeline will agree to marry me.” I’m sure of it. “He’ll get over it.”
It’s the perfect solution.
“They’ll try to absorb us,” Cormac argues.
“We’ve got Dublin,” I remind. “And they hate working with the Stuarts. They’ll shift things over.
As part of the terms, we’ll make sure we gain more New York City territory as the marriage goes on.
Start with one dockyard as a marriage gift.
By my tenth anniversary, we’ll have more than we even thought possible. ”
“You really think she won’t have divorced you by then?”
I smirk. “I’ll be a very loving husband.”
He’s got that strange look on his face again. “You would really marry her?”
“Well, I don’t think her lesbian sister would be inclined.”
“If we proposed an alliance, they could offer the middle sister up.”
I snort. There’s no way in hell Elijah Zimin is letting anyone near Lennie.
“The Petrova twins just turned eighteen.”
“Never heard of them.”
Cormac rolls his eyes, but there’s a tiny smile on his lips. “Lucky for you, I doubt Andrea’s willing to offer up her daughters.”
I lift one eyebrow, and I know we’re on the same page. A plan is locking into place.
“This thing with Wallen—”
I shake my head, not letting my uncle finish. “At the end of the day, who’s a more powerful ally? Wallen or the Russians.”
The weapons dealer’s got nothing on the Bratva.
This is the move that will give us more power and more leverage.
“One day it will be us,” I promise my uncle. One day, it’ll be others fighting to align themselves with the O'Connells thanks to the power we’re going to amass.
“Is this you agreeing to being a kept man?” Uncle Cormac asks.
I laugh, something light floating in my chest. “Just give me some time. Better to have a solid offer before we approach them.”
Adeline Maria Akatov will become my wife. One way or another, I’m going to make sure it happens.