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Just like any other night at work.
Finn
My first time sitting at the head of the Irish Kings’ table goes just about exactly how I expected it would.
Cian O’Malley, one of the oldest members, glares at me from the moment I take the seat. “Just not done,” he mutters, quiet enough to sound like he’s grumbling to himself but loud enough for everyone around the table to hear it anyway, including me. “Not even Kings’ bloodline, and sitting in the high seat. Should have been one of us.”
That sort of attitude, of course, is exactly why Theo putmehere while he enjoys his home in Dublin with his wife on an extended sabbatical, andnotone of the men currently sitting around the table. He’d said as much to me when he’d told me about the responsibility he was handing over. Giving it to one of these men posed too much risk—namely that they wouldn’t want to give it back when Theo eventually returns to Chicago, or they would try to install one of their heirs instead while he’s gone. While the Kings are far from a democracy, of all the major crime organizations in the city, they’re the ones most prone to a coup. What happened recently in Boston proved that all over again, and it’s too fresh in everyone’s minds for Theo to feel all that comfortable letting any of the more power-hungry members have a taste of the high seat.
He knows me well enough to know I have no such designs. Cian, however, among others, doesn’t seem to have that same assurance.
“And how are we to know, lad, that you’ll give back the chair when Theo returns?” Geoffery McCallan, sitting a few seats down, voices that concern. “Not easy to give up power, once you’ve a taste for it.”
“I didn’twantto sit here in the first place,” I tell him evenly. “It’s a favor to Theo, who I respect and have worked for since I was old enough to be considered a man. I’m here to prove myself loyal and capable once again, and refusing to hand back the seat would be neither of those things.”
“Hmph.” Geoffery narrows his eyes at me, leaning back as I fiddle with the video call that will allow Theo to be a part of the meeting from Dublin—the first part, anyway, so he can make the same assurances I’ve been making since I sat down.
Cian is the first to speak when he flickers onto the screen. “You need to come back, lad,” he says without preamble, to which Theo frowns. Cian is sixty-five if he’s a day, and those two-and-change decades that he has on Theo make him think he’s allowed to refer to the younger man so casually, despite the difference in position. “Finn here is a capable man, but he’s no King. There’s a way things are done, and this isn’t it.”
“I’m capable of making changes to how things are done,” Theo says, pleasantly enough. He’s sitting behind his desk in the manor house outside of Dublin, and I have a moment’s envy, thinking of the house nestled away in the country. I don’t prefer the quiet of the countryside to the city the way Theo does, but right now, I’d take it, just to not be a part of this meeting. “I have things to do in Dublin, and Finn is more than capable of handling things in my absence.”
“When are ye coming back?” This is from Brian O’Halloran, further down, his accent the thickest of any here. He, too, splits his time between Chicago and Dublin—but he doesn’t occupy the high seat, so there’s no need to replace him when he’s gone. In a few years, his son will be old enough to take Brian’s place while he’s in Dublin.
Theo gets a pinched look between his eyes. “When I decide it’s necessary.”
“And if we say it’s necessary now?” Cian asks, a tone to his voice that I personally don’t care for, and from the expression on Theo’s face, he doesn’t either.
“Then I would remind you who is in charge,” Theo says evenly. “By my proxy, that’s Finn right now. So you will give him the same respect you extend to me.”
Noone at the table is overly pleased by that. Not even me, really—I’m not sure I’m as capable as Theo is making me out to be, and I’m more than a little worried about failing him.
There’ve been plenty of times when I’ve needed to prove to Theo that I can do the job he’s entrusted me with. I’ve never been so concerned as to whether I actually can or not, as I am right now.
I wasn’t meant to lead—especially not a group of power-hungry, overly-arrogant men like this, all of whom are atleasttwenty or more years older than me, most of them far more than that. At thirty-one, I’m practically a child in the eyes of some of these men.
All I can do is my best, though. And as Theo logs off of the call and I turn my attention to the Kings’ table, that’s what I’m determined to do.
—
By the time I meet the boys out at the local pub for a drink, I’m sorely in need of one. My two closest friends, Allan and Flynn, are both waiting there for me when I arrive, at a round table near the back of the Lady Luck, a local bar that’s not quite a dive but comes close enough to feel like it. There are pool tables and darts, the usual mounted televisions showing sports, a half-circle bar, a smattering of tables, and a jukebox that sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. All of us could afford to go somewhere better, but it’s a nostalgic callback to the days when we couldn’t, and we’ve all been coming here long enough that it feels homey.
I get a draft from the bar, a local beer, and join them. I can hear Allan from feet away, telling a story about a recent night at work—he bartends at an upscale place close to the river, where there’s a steady flood of people with too much money and not enough places to spend it. Flynn, who works as a bouncer, has an equal number of interesting stories, particularly since he works at one of the Vasilev strip clubs.
There’s an understanding that I don’t talk about my work, for the most part. Every now and then, I can let something slip—something that would happen working security for anyone, not just the most powerful crime lord in Chicago—more often than not, it’s better to keep my mouth shut. Theo trusts me implicitly, and I would never want to do something that would change that.
“Finn!” Flynn waves me over, an expression on his face that tells me he’s been waiting for me to show up to share something. “Pull up a stool, man. You’re gonna want to hear this.”
“Johns getting out of line again?” I smirk, taking a sip of my beer. Flynn works at the Paradise Palms, a strip club that’s known for having girls with a “secret menu” that can be purchased from once you’re in the highly exclusive and highly expensive champagne room. It’s one step down from the Ashen Rose, a place thatisa sex dungeon and doesn’t pretend to be anything else. Paradise has the front of being a dancer’s only joint, but everyone knows differently.
“I got a pass.” Flynn grins at us like it’s fucking Christmas, and he personally talked to Santa. “And I can bring two guests.”
I frown at him. “A pass? What the hell are you talking about, man?”
“Apass.” He looks at us like we’re complete idiots, although Allan doesn’t seem to have picked up on what’s going on yet, either. “To the Ashen Rose.”
“What the fuck?” Allan frowns. “You can’t afford to get in there. None of us could, not if we saved every goddamn dime we ever made.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Flynn shakes his head. “Every now and then, the owner—that Bratva guy—he’ll give out a pass for someone to get in for a night with a couple guests. There’s a whole background check and a bunch of other bullshit, but he gave the boss at the Paradise one to give out to an employee. AndIgot it. Some employee of the month bullshit. I passed the check—because, of course, I fucking did. I’m the only guy there who has a squeaky-clean record—and sooo—” his grin spreads across his face. “I’m gonna getin.”
