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A sigh escaped my lips as I leaned back in the booth, running a hand through my hair. I realized this was high stakes, a tricky game with no win-win outcome. My instincts were screaming at me, warning me of the impending danger, the ticking time bomb that was the Orsini family.
I pushed my empty beer glass to the side and leaned on the table, looking at each of my men in turn. “We need to prepare ourselves. The Orsinis aren’t a gang to be trifled with; we’ve all seen what they can do.”
Ronan snorted, “Aye, but they’ve also seen what we can do, haven’t they? It’s not like we’re pushovers.”
“I’m not that upset,” Ray said. “I could use a little adrenaline.”
“Aye, I think we all could,” Killian added, a slight smile playing on his lips. The others murmured in agreement, their spirits seemingly buoyed by the prospect of a challenge.
I glanced at Kieran, who was unusually silent. He raised an eyebrow at me but offered no comment. Instead, he drained his beer and signaled for another round. I couldn’t read him anymore; he was as enigmatic as our father. This uncertainty left me uneasy–a feeling I had to shrug off if we were to face the Orsini family head-on.
As the night deepened, the energy around our conversation did too. Everyone was playing tough, excited about the oncoming street war. But beneath the lads’ bravado and good-natured ribbing ran a current of apprehension, a subtle tension that came with the territory of our lives.
The pub had long since emptied out when we finally rose from our booth, my head swimming from a few too many beers. It was only then that I noticed the man at the bar–a guy in a leather jacket and dark denim who seemed to have been at the bar all night, listening to our conversation. I hadn’t clocked him, distracted by the energy from my men, but now…
Something was off with this guy.
And in an environment like this, when war could break out at any second, you could never be too careful.
He was leaning against the bar, nursing a glass of what looked like whiskey, his eyes never straying far from our table. His features were obscured by the low light and the shadow of his flat cap. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
“Is there a problem?” Kieran asked.
The man reached for his gun instead of answering him.
In that split second, time seemed to crawl. I instinctively reached for my own weapon, my body moving without conscious thought as a result of years of survival instincts being honed to near perfection. Kieran was already in motion beside me, his own hand deftly sliding into the pocket of his jacket.
Just as the man raised his gun, a deafening gunshot echoed throughout the pub, followed by a loud echo in the small space. I grunted but continued my motion, pulling out my gun and firing back.
Before he could fire off another round, I had shot him in the arm, causing him to drop his weapon with a distinct clatter. His face contorted in agony as he crumpled onto the floor, clutching his wounded arm.
Without wasting another second, I bolted towards him, kicking his gun out of reach before he could try to retrieve it. As I pressed the barrel of my gun against his forehead, he looked up at me, right into my eyes. “Callahan, listen...”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
I pulled the trigger.
He fell back, a lifeless heap on the cold pub floor. The others paused in shock, their eyes wide and mouths agape as they looked between me and the man.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the neon sign above the bar door and my own shallow breaths. I glanced back at Kieran, who was staring at the dead man with a mix of surprise and what looked to be admiration.
“And that lads,” I said, slipping my gun back into my coat pocket, “is an example of how we deal with the Orsinis.”
Killian was the first to break the silence. “Well,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve got balls.”
“You know me,” I replied with a half-smile, “never one to shy away from a fight.”
The reality was less glorious–I was just trying to survive.
Kieran’s hand landed heavily on my shoulder, bringing me back to the present as I tried to process the weight of what I’d just done. “We need to move,” he urged, scanning the pub for any other potential threats. I nodded, the adrenaline coursing through my veins now mingling with an icy dread.
Just as we began to edge towards the door, the distant sound of sirens wailed through the still night air, their shrill cries getting closer with each passing second. We exchanged a swift look; there was no time to waste. The bartender was one of ours and would cover for us, but that wouldn’t do any good if we were caught in the act.
“Out the back, now!” I commanded, and we all moved with haste.
But as we pushed through the rear exit into the alleyway, bathed in the dim glow of a flickering street lamp, a shadow detached itself from the wall. A woman stood before us—Adriana Orsini—her dark eyes blazing with fury and something else I couldn’t quite decipher. She was alone, unafraid, and her presence was as commanding as any weapon.
“Running so soon, Tristan?” Her voice was deceptively soft, but it cut through the tension like a knife. “And here I thought we had unfinished business.” My heart hammered against my ribs; Adriana was supposed to be out of reach, untouchable—not here in my world, not standing in front of me ready for a confrontation that could ignite more than just words between our families.
