Page 3 of Irish Princess


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Saoirse turns away without a word, and I feel mildly irritated, as if I’d almost hoped she’d argue—which is ridiculous, of course. The more compliant Saoirse is, the easier my life here will be—and it isn’t likely to be easy overall by any means.

I slip into my own car, watching her walk away through the tinted glass, my pulse speeding up slightly at the sway of her hips, the toss of her hair.

I’d be a fool to think life will ever be entirely simple with her.Both of our personalities are too strong—and that thought excites me more than it should.

As the car pulls out into Boston traffic, I push her out of my mind. I have other things to focus on, like the meeting I’m about to have, my first on the soil of my new future kingdom. There’s a great deal that rides on the meeting today, and I’m not about to let wandering thoughts of Saoirse get in the way of it.

Graham, Jacob and I worked together on securing a temporary headquarters while in Dublin, in an old warehouse being rented for cheap—Boston cheap, anyway. Only those within our circle—my men from London, Graham, Luca and his right hand Alessio, and Viktor and his right hand Levin Volkov know about it, so it’s as secure as we can manage while we set our plans in motion.

It would be easier if Liam would simply leave. But so far, that doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

Even that thought makes something deep within my soul ache, something that I can’t look at too closely and keep my resolve to move forward. Liam’s only choices now are death or exile—he can’t stay here in Boston with Ana and their future child and hope to live in peace. And as we drive towards the warehouse, Jacob to my left in the car, I feel the prick of guilt at my part in all of this.

If I hadn’t left all of those years ago, Liam would never have been in the position to make a vow to Saoirse that he would eventually break in the first place. He never would have sat at the head of the table. That distinction, and Saoirse’s hand, would have passed to me—something I tried to escape, only to end up right back here anyway.

It seems like a cruel cosmic joke that my attempts at freedom only led me back here, with my brother’s future in danger, when I spent so much of our childhood trying to shield him from this life, from our father’s anger with him, from everything that could have harmed him.

I’ve failed him in a number of ways. I’m not going to fail him this last time.

I won’t let my little brother be killed—no matter what it costs me or what I have to do. I owe him that much.

That much is my fuckingresponsibility,as his older brother, if nothing else.

I should never have left. I should have stopped our father myself somehow. I should have—

I stop my thoughts in their tracks as the car pulls around to the back of the warehouse, gritting my teeth. Looking back does no good, and neither do regrets. I can change none of it now—the only difference I can make is to the future.That, I know I can do.

I’m going to make sure everything regarding the Kings is done differently, and no one—especially not Graham O’Sullivan, is going to stop me.

There’s other cars pulled up as well, both the ones with my men and others that I don’t recognize—vehicles that likely belong to my new allies. Jacob slides out first, his eyes narrowed and wary and his hand twitching towards the gun at his back, careful to look for any danger as Quint joins him.

“Coast’s clear,” Quint says gruffly, and Jacob nods to me, letting me know it’s safe to slip out of the car.

I never needed this much security in London, and we never looked over our shoulders this much. But back in London, I wasn’t the prodigal son looking to take back the kingdom he threw away with both hands. Iruledour corner of London, and while we encountered our share of violence, it was never this close or present.

This is supposed to be a homecoming—but it feels like anything but.

The warehouse smells of must and heated metal, but we’ll clean it up soon enough. It’s in an old brick building with three stories, empty except from some old furnishings and rolls of plastic that the men will get around to throwing out at some point—except for the plastic sheeting, which might come in handy. I’d rather not think about that, though.

I’ve never been against getting my hands a little dirty and bloody, but torture isn’t something I enjoy. I leave that to Quint and Charlie—especially Quint, who has quite the knack for it.

“The others’re coming up,” Jacob says gruffly, coming up the stairs two at a time behind us to the second floor of the building. It’s set up industrial loft-style, a good open space for meetings, though there’s nowhere to sit just yet. “Couple’ve Russians and an Italian who looks like he thinks his shit doesn’t stink.”

That’s likely Luca Romano.Along with Viktor Andreyev and his right hand.I haven’t seen or spoken to the other mob bosses who have shifted their alliances from Liam to me since I left years ago, but today will be the day.

It’ll also be the day they all realize I plan to do thingsmyway. Not Graham’s.

We assemble upstairs—me, Graham, my men from London and the handful of Dublin men who came along to represent the support of our home chapter. None of the actual Dublin Kings are here of course, just their lackeys, but it’s enough to have the show of support.

Viktor Andreyev and his right hand Levin Volkov are the first to come up the stairs, and I lean over to murmur their names in Jacob’s ear as they approach. Viktor strides directly to me, holding his hand out to shake mine.

“It’s been a while, Connor McGregor,” he says with a tense smile. “I’m glad Graham was able to convince you to come home. It’s my opinion that it should have been you all along.”

“And I’m glad that you’ve changed business models,” I say just as tightly, gripping his hand just this side of too hard. “Or else I would have been hard-pressed to take you on as an ally.”

Viktor goes to withdraw his hand from mine, but I don’t let go quite yet, despite the instant tension in Levin Volkov’s stance. “I haven’t forgotten that it was you who asked for, and put, a bullet in my father’s brain either,” I murmur low enough for just the two of us to hear.

“He betrayed me,” Viktor says in the same low voice. “I don’t take kindly to traitors, within or without.”

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