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“Back yard,” I grunt before I set my napkin down and finish my drink. “And let’s be quiet about it.”
12
CILLIAN
“Cillian.”
Dominic Farrell is a big man—nearly as big as Kratos, and that’s saying a lot. Bearded and broad-shouldered, with the cauliflower ears of a man who came up through the ranks cracking skulls and spilling blood. I’ve known him since his uncle Kerry was in charge of the Kildare vassal family. Now, it’s Dominic who sits at the head of the Farrell table.
I nod at him in the darkness of the brownstone’s manicured back garden, slipping a cigarette between my lips and lighting it with a flick of fire.
“What can I do for you, Dom?”
“Look, I hate to disturb you while you’re having dinner with the family—”
“It’s fine. Speak.”
His brow troubles. “Seen the news?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
He clears his throat, glancing unhappily at Castle as he pulls out his phone. “This hit the press about an hour ago. It’s all over the fucking internet already.”
He brings up his phone, open to a news website, and plays the sound file embedded on the page.
Instantly, my mood darkens. Considerably.
Well, shit.
“Look, I’ll get you Seamus O’Conor. A deal is a deal. But what’s the Bureau prepared to do for me?”
Fuck. Major fuckingfuckity-fuck-fuck.
It’s a recording of Declan making his deal with the FBI. And it just gets worse from there.
Mercifully, whoever leaked this audio has had the good grace to edit out my half-brother’s name, any mention of the Kildare family name, and Agent Shane Dorsey’s name. Given that Dorsey, the guy who brokered the O’Conor deal, is no longer a mere Agent but is now Regional New York City Director of Operations, not to mention my highly-ranked “friend” within the Bureau, that’s a nice break for both of us.
But that’s where the proverbial luck of the Irish runs the fuck out.
Because while the recording doesn’t explicitly say the man talking is Declan, it’sabundantly clearto anyone who ever met him that it is.
This is bad.
This isreallyfucking bad.
When the recording runs its course, a grim-faced Dominic puts the phone away, plunging the three of us into darkness except for the glow of my cigarette. Slowly, I exhale, my eyes piercing Dom’s.
“I can assume you’re here because this isn’t exactly going over well with the vassal families.”
He makes a face. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Cill. But no. Not at all.”
“How bad are we talking?”
His jaw grinds. “Look, you know the Farrells are loyal. We’re not going anywhere.”
“I appreciate that.”
I mean, it’spartlyDominic doing me a favor, because heisfucking loyal. But it’s also just smart business. This recording and the whole issue with my brother’s FBI deal might be making things shaky. But Dominic is smart enough to know that he’sfarbetter off sticking with me and having the might of the Kildare family at his back.
