Mob Justice #2
"Not a traitor's daughter," I bark. "My daughter."
Kenneth licks cracked lips. "You hear him? Outsiders. That's what Fitzgerald's doing to this family. Elevating outsiders while Shaughnessy blood gets pushed aside." His gaze swings toward Brogan. "You let him do this."
Still no one speaks. Kenneth mistakes their silence for uncertainty.
"This is all lies. Fake recordings. AI generated images. Tortured men saying whatever they had to say to make it stop." He points at Mick with his bound hands. "He's covering his own sins."
A few men shift in their seats.
Kenneth takes it as support for his garbage accusations. "They even frightened my wife into turning against me."
If a single man in this room believes Allison was frightened into lying, he's lacking too many brain cells to tie his own boots.
The contempt on her face could have powered Manhattan.
A captain stands from halfway back in the room. "I've got something to say."
Brogan nods once.
The captain squares his shoulders. "Confessions taken under chemicals and interrogation shouldn't decide a death sentence."
Another man stands before Brogan answers.
"Those boys he sent away are our sons." His voice carries through the gym. "The future of this mob." He points toward me. "He can claim that girl as his own, but we all know her real dad was a traitor."
"Let's discuss that later," I say to him, voice cold.
He blanches and sits down while I make plans to pay him an educational visit.
Near the back, another soldier stands. I recognize him. One of the men Noah plays basketball with. The one who Noah said talked smack about Mick. "Shaughnessy blood should lead the Shaughnessy mob."
He's already on our watchlist for traitors, but I mentally shift him up to active threat. His willingness to express that shit here, in the face of what he just heard, says he's deep in his own delusion about this mob and who should run it.
Brogan rises and raises his hand for silence. "Enough. I didn't want to believe my own flesh and blood could become a flesh peddler and a rat." He looks at Kenneth. "But that's exactly what kind of lowlife Kenneth Shaughnessy…" Brogan turns and spits. "Turned out to be."
The words echo silently through the gym as Brogan sweeps his gaze across the room. "You either trust me and the leaders I have chosen..." He lets the sentence hang. "...or you don't."
Another pause. This one a little longer. "If you don't, speak now."
Nothing. Not a cough. Not a chair scraping.
Every man here understands exactly what Brogan has offered them. The chance to sign their own death warrant.
The Shaughnessy Mob may have been instrumental in establishing labor unions in New York. They might back the politicians of the people.
But the mob is not a democracy.
And we all know it.
Brogan nods once and sits.
Kara stands and steps around the table. "The confession exists in Kenneth's own voice.
" She gestures toward the screen. "The financial records came from Kenneth's own companies.
" She looks around the room, meeting the eyes of soldiers, captains and lieutenants alike.
"If anyone believes numbers lie, they're welcome to review every page. "
She turns toward the captain who questioned the exile. "You said those boys are someone's sons."
A nod.
"They are. And every one of those boys has a father in this organization."
Another nod.
"What punishment does our organization impose for rape?" she asks, her voice sharp.
The captain doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. Everyone knows.
Kara says it anyway. "Death."
The word lands like a stone in the silence.
"Every single one of those fathers could have been sentenced in place of their sons. The evidence existed to charge those boys through the civil authorities." She looks around the room. "If charges had been filed, they would be sitting in youth detention facilities right now."
Then her eyes harden. "If even one of those boys had succeeded in what they attempted, my son would have killed every last one of them." She waits a beat. "And I wouldn't have punished him for it."
Mick stands beside her. "Kenneth is right. I was made at eleven years old. My son could just as easily have been made at twelve." He lets that sink in. "Fitz will lead this mob one day and he will do so with ruthless strength."
No one misses what he didn't say. The question of blood has already been answered. Fitz was not only given the Shaughnessy surname at birth, but he is Brogan Shaughnessy's grandson.
Brogan stands one final time. "Kenneth Shaughnessy."
Kenneth lifts his head.
"For betrayal. For conspiracy against this organization. For trafficking women and children. For attempting to sell a child under our protection. For arranging unsanctioned murder. For conspiring with federal law enforcement. For conspiring to murder your boss."
He stops and lets every single charge settle in the hearts of his men, before he says, "I sentence you to death." Brogan turns his head and his eyes meet mine. "He's all yours."
I cross the stage with measured steps.
Kenneth tries to rise from the chair, but the soldiers hold him down.
He starts talking. Begging. Threatening. Promising. The words blur together and no one on this stage is listening anyway.
I pull my skean from its sheath. The one Mick gave me when I was inducted into the brotherhood. Every member of the Shaughnessy mob has a dagger just like it, given to them when they joined.
The steel catches the overhead lights. My name engraved beneath the Claddagh. The year I became one of them. Belonging forged into metal.
I pull the forceps I brought just for this purpose out of my pocket and instruct the soldiers on either side of Kenneth. "Hold his head."
He starts screaming when they obey me, making it easy to reach the offending appendage. I grab his tongue with the forceps. There are sharp serrations that grip his tongue and stop it slipping from between the metal tongs.
My skean flashes once and his scream turns into a wet choking sound as his tongue falls to the stage.
Blood pours down his chin.
I hold up the blade.
"I did not cut out his tongue for betraying our brethren." My voice carries through the gym. "I cut it out because he used it against my wife and daughters."
Someone says, "Feckin' hell."
I smile and several men flinch. "If any man in this organization makes the same mistake, he'll suffer the same fate." I let the words settle over the room.
Then I drive the skean straight through Kenneth's heart. "But betrayal is why he dies."
Kenneth gasps. His body jerks. His breathing grows labored and then so shallow it can barely be heard. I leave the dagger where it is until even that sound is gone and his eyes stare wide and glassy in death.
Pulling it out, I let the blood drip from the steel that welcomed me into this family years ago. Now it has removed a man who abandoned it long before today.
No one applauds. No one speaks.
The only sound in the Bunker is Kenneth Shaughnessy's body hitting the stage when I step back and the soldiers let him fall from the chair.