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Sean Fitzpatrick only lives fifteen minutes from Connor and his mother. It’s a sprawling family home with a wide expanse of lawn, and it’s the place I called home from when I was fifteen until I was eighteen and moved into the apartment Lauren is holed up in now.
My parents’ house here in West Roxbury lies empty, waiting for me. But I don’t want to walk those empty rooms alone. I’m not ready to live there, but I don’t want anyone else there either, so it’s lain empty for the last fifteen years. Sean organizes a cleaner to go in once a month to dust and shit, but other than that, it stays locked up tight.
Connor and Seamus slide out of the SUV, and I hurry around to shadow Seamus inside, my eyes darting around. This is a nice neighborhood, but it’s also the house of the head of the Irish Mafia, so you can never be too careful.
Mickey O’Shea from Doyle’s crew is guarding the door. There’s a rumor he has taken up with Doyle’s daughter, so he must be on the up and up. He returns my nod, radioing inside that we’re here.
Darragh Connelly, Sean’s right hand, opens the door and ushers the three of us through to the den, where Sean is waiting, seated at his ornate wooden desk. As soon as we step into the room, I tense. Sean only meets Seamus in this room if things are fucking serious. Normally they catch up in the den with glasses of whiskey.
Sean gestures for us to sit, and so we do, Seamus and Connor lounging comfortably in their chairs while I’m taut as a fucking bowstring, my hands stuffed into the pockets of my jeans so no one can see my clenched fists.
Sean beams at me. “Paddy, I’ve heard ye’re killing it in the ring, son. Really upped yer game.”
I nod sharply, and Seamus snickers. “He’s got a new prepping technique. It really helps channel his rage.”
I flip him off, and Sean smiles indulgently, cutting the small talk and becoming serious.
“Gianni Manchetti has contacted me,” he tells us, his eyes burning into mine. Jesus fuck. This is definitely about Lauren.
Gianni Manchetti is head of the Bianchi Crime Family, the Italian mafia in Boston. He and Sean have had a solid alliance for the last seven years.
“They want the lass, Paddy.”
They can want her all they like. They’re never fucking touching her. I stare impassively back at Sean until Seamus and Connor start shifting uncomfortably.
“And this is my problem?” I ask at last. Sean’s eyes narrow at me.
“Gianni seems to think the word on the street is that the Carmichael lass is under Paddy Flynn’s protection.” Sean’s voice is even, controlled, and furious.
“And so she is,” I agree easily. No one is fucking touching her. They’ll answer to me if they try. I swallow a bloodthirsty grin at the thought.
Sean glares at me. “Well, that’s a problem for Gianni, which means it’s a problem for me. And if it’s a problem for me, Paddy, it’s a problem for ye.”
“Why do they want the lass?” Seamus interjects
Sean glances over at his son. “They had a deal with Josh Carmichael. They had an agreement that he would throw a fight. The Italians bet high on the match. Carmichael refused to take the fall and knocked the Italian’s lad clean out. Cost them a fecking mint. They want the lass to recoup some of their losses.”
“Lauren has no money. She can’t repay them anything. She spent her last dollar the night she came to me for help.”
Sean fidgets uneasily, and behind him, Darragh focuses his eyes on the ground. Seamus and Connor straighten in their seats as an uncomfortable silence settles over the room.
Sean clears his throat, drawing all eyes to him. “The Italians intend to have the lass work off the debt.”
There’s absolute stillness in the room, like no one is even breathing. That’s never fucking happening. I can’t believe Sean would even consider it. We don’t force women into prostitution, and if he’s going to side with people who will, maybe it’s time the Irish re-thought their leadership structure.
It’s taking everything I have not to surge out of my seat, stride around the desk, and choke the life out of the man who has been my father figure for fifteen years.
“You’d order Paddy to hand over a woman to be forced into prostitution against her will?” Seamus’s voice is deathly quiet and ice cold. It would appear he agrees with my assessment of his father’s plan.
Connor is staring at his uncle with a look of horrified fascination on his face, while Seamus looks disgusted. My own face is a blank mask. I don’t even trust myself to blink right now.
“We can’t risk this alliance,” Sean says quietly. “We used all our capital with the Italians when we went up against the Romanians, and we can’t afford to protect this lass.”
It’s a sneaky, lowball move to remind Seamus that Sean doesn’t want to upset Gianni because we had to call on Gianni more than we would have liked to clean house after Seamus’s wife was kidnapped and shot by her own father. And Sean knows just how low it is.
“I’m not asking Paddy to hand anyone over. I’m asking him to release the lass from his protection and let the cards fall where they will.”
Seamus looks furious with his father, but I force an easy smile.
