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“Sorry, Da.” I tell him, rubbing my sweaty palms on my jeans. “What’s up?”
He scoffs. No response from me would ever be the right one. I’m not the beloved son, that was Niall, my father’s namesake.
Niall was supposed to have this all, and now he’s just bones in a graveyard.
I think about him rotting away in a metal box more than I should. My family strictly believes in moving on. We don’t talk about things, we don’t fawn over memories. Niall’s name is rarely mentioned. My father removed all the photographs of him. We live as if he never existed.
It’s not that I was close with my brother, my father pitted us against each other so often I don’t think we could have ever gotten past it. Still, he was my flesh and blood and he was murdered just for being a member of our family. I can’t move past that as easily as the rest of my family has.
I wonder what it’s like to be cold and gone, wasting away. People always say you rest when you’re dead and I think my older brother is probably at rest or being fucking tortured by the devil. If it is rest, I think I’d like to join him.
If he’s being tortured… I might still want to join him. Anything to escape my father.
“The fucking Italians,” Declan says, tossing me a glare. He’s sitting in the chair across from my father's ornate desk. While some of our men, our neighbors, live in tiny houses in the South Side of Boston, we live in a fucking mansion. My father doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself. His office is opulent, full of expensive and meaningless things. The whole place is just a display of wealth.
At some point my father went from self-made man to a fucking rich prick. When does money take over and just ruin you? Because he’s past that point. Money is everything in this family. It’s the bread and butter, the air that we breath. Money is everything to my father. It means more than his own children.
“What about ‘em?” I push off the wall I’m leaning against. Besides Declan and I, my father's best man, Lachlan, sits in the other chair across from him and another man, Sean, stands in the corner at the back of the room with both arms across his wide frame. Sean won’t say anything, he grew up with us, so he knows how my father is. He’ll stay quiet and act on any orders my father gives, he’s a loyal man.
“The fucking girl.” Declan looks at me like I’m a complete moron, like I didn’t find a fucking DelGado in my bar a few nights ago.
I shrug. “I roughed her up and sent her home to her daddy. She’s not coming back.”
I serve two purposes to my father and two purposes only. One, I can beat the shit out of people. A fact I’m not proud of, but you need to be able to watch your own back in this city. Being able to fight my own battles has served me well. Two, I’m good with numbers. I’ve been good with numbers since I was kid, Da had me studying under his account when I was sixteen. By eighteen I was a bookie out on the streets. Now I keep our books clean and pockets full.
My father sighs, it’s a heavy sound filled with disappointment. “She’s a spy, you idiot.”
“If she is, she’ll be too scared to come back.” I say this, but it’s a lie. I wasn’t exactly kind to Gemma but I also didn’t rough her up too bad. Plus, she’s not a scared little girl, she’s tough. I can’t promise she won’t be back, but if she does come back I want to be the one to deal with her.
We have unfinished business.
Niall Sr. rises from his chair and stalks around the desk to meet me face to face. “I hope you’re fucking right, Liam, because if you’re not, you’ll be the one to kill the girl.”
After that fun-filled family meeting, I need a cigarette. I take the steps two at a time, rushing to get outside the mansion, feel the cool spring air on my skin. I need to get away from my family, away from my thoughts.
I light the cigarette and inhale the smoke, letting it fill me before I blow it out.
“Liam?” Chay’s voice is soft as she peeks out the back door to find me smoking on the patio.
I exhale all the stale air and smoke I’ve been holding in. “What Chay?” I’m not mad at my little sister, I’m mad at the world if I’m being honest.
I’m pissed at being born. Being an O’Connor. It’s not a namesake I’m proud of.
She slips out the door. She’s wearing a thin sweatshirt and black leggings with no shoes on. She wraps her arms around herself as she peers up at me. “I’m sorry.” She whispers. “Did I get you in trouble?”
Chay is twenty but she’s sheltered. She knows enough about the family business to get her in trouble, but not enough to actually know what goes on behind closed doors. All she knows is our father has a brutal temper and it doesn’t stop with words.
She does however have it drilled into her head that Providence and the Italians are fucking off-limits. A memo that the Italian princess apparently didn’t get.
“Nah.” I tell her, taking another puff of the cigarette. “You’re fine.”
She considers my answer for a moment, then her deep blue eyes find mine. “Did I get her in trouble?” She means Gemma, the girl she brought into my bar.
I shrug. I won’t lie to her. “Yeah, but she’ll be fine if she’s smart.”
Chay nods solemnly and leans against the brick wall next to me. “I didn’t know.” She repeats, it’s a line she’s told me several times. “I just… she seemed fun.”
“Yeah.” I take another drag, blowing out the smoke. “But she’s not, Chay.” I tap the cigarette against the brick wall to put it out. “Stay away from her, hmm?”
