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“Disrespectful shit,” Brennan grumbled. “Jensen took a bullet that could have been lodged in Dec, and Rogan died keeping Shay and Aela safe.”
Conor huffed. “I wasn’t being disrespectful. I’m very grateful to them. Just don’t see why we have to stand around a fucking hole in the floor to show them that respect.”
Eoghan, who was like Da, a goddamn eidetic, didactic freak, interrupted, “Donahue’s was a closed casket ceremony. So was Rogan’s.”
Conor’s smile turned smug and he slapped Eoghan upside the head in retaliation. Eoghan would probably only allow us and Finn to ever do that without trying to do damage to a part of the other man’s body.
Everyone knew Eoghan had a fetish for kneecaps.
Well, blowing them out.
His wedding gift to his father-in-law was the reason this war with the Italians had commenced. Of course, it had been a war that had long since been brewing. Sadly, even though I’d been around for three wars, they just kept on coming. Rolling around every five or so years, but never with the big boys.
In New York City, the Russians, Italians, and the Irish ruled the roost. There were spats with the Haitians and the Latinos, but the major players were never a part of the action.
For the Russians and the Irish to be allied against the Italians was unheard of.
We had a real chance of annihilating the scum sucking cunts. Although, they were like fucking cockroaches. Even a nuclear blast wouldn’t stop the fuckers from coming back.
“If it was a closed casket,” Conor was saying, “then the body could have been swapped.”
I had a feeling I knew where he was going with this. Back in 2010, we’d had some issues with a flurry of DEA agents trying to intercept our shipments.
“If they put him in WITSEC,” I mused, “then there’d have been a court case. They don’t just protect people out of the good of their own heart.”
“Might have just run off on his own merit. Might have been scared,” Eoghan pointed out.
“Maybe. But remember when the DEA was sniffing around us? Seemed to be one step ahead of us?” I threw down. “It’d fit if he was the one feeding them intel. But there was no court case.”
“Could have just turned informant. Never did like that piece of crap,” Brennan grumbled.
“Where’s he living now?”
“Astoria,” Conor told me.
I shook my head. “Why the hell would he run away to Queens?”
Conor blinked. “No. Illinois.”
“Illinois, what?” Brennan snapped.
“Astoria, Illinois.”
My brothers stilled at Conor’s statement, and my lips twitched as I realized they’d come ready and willing to wage war on my blackmailer, who was halfway across the fucking country.
“You could have mentioned it was a different fucking state, Conor,” Brennan snarled, his hands balling into fists.
Conor was lucky that Ma had instilled in us a certain appreciation of our brother’s brain or he’d have had the crap beaten out of him right then.
“Why the fuck do you think we’re here? To go fucking bowling?” Eoghan inserted, scowling at Kid.
“It can’t be Cillian,” I muttered, breaking into the brewing argument. “He was loyal to the Points.”
“Maybe Deirdre’s death messed with him.”
“He had plans for her,” I said, unable to disagree with Brennan. Then, I muttered, “Please tell me that while you were sharing this with Eoghan, Da or Aidan didn’t overhear?”
Brennan grumbled, “What the fuck do you take me for?”
