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“We’re already goin’ up against one Irish mob. Why would we kill off one measly Italian?”
Cillian rocks his head back and forth. “They’re gonna look for a reason, Pa. Any reason to knock us out, and we don’t have—”
“I said the conversation is over.”
My brother’s fingers curl into tight balls of frustration before he strides from the room, each step warning me that he’ll get his second chance with me before slamming the door shut behind him and disrespecting Papa’s house.
A glass of dark liquid shows up in front of me then, a silent offering to calm my nerves. “Drink up, lass. Ye’re gonna tell me who that man was, and we’re gonna do it with civil tongues.” I take the whiskey Papa offers and slowly raise my chin, only to find him dragging a chair in front of mine.
He slowly sits. Years of gunshot wounds and running around wild with an Irish mob back in the motherland took their toll on him.
By merely looking at him, you’d think he’s a kind man—that the drink he just offered me was out of the kindness of his heart.
However, I know better.
I’ve only been a prisoner of his since I was little. The promises of great things were being pawned off to some other family to help him.
His.
Not mine.
I may have been born into the Kincaid clan, but my father has made it clear that Cillian is the chosen one. That he will help his mob rise to power and take down the rest.
I’m disposal.
I’m supposed to be a virgin, too. Something Enzo would’ve soon found wasn’t true because I’ve done my own rebelling in the past just to spit my father for all his greedy acquisitions and how his love never meets me in any way.
“What did you see?”
Bringing the liquor to my lips, I take the few seconds that I have and contemplate telling him the truth.
I don’t know how this killer would know if I told Papa or not. I don’t plan on leaving the house anytime soon, and it’d be impossible for him to get in here. Our home is set up like a fortress, and Papa has armed men everywhere.
However, if Papa decides to speak of this incident with the Bianchis, he may.
“He was tall.” Papa quietly stares at me, waiting for something more than his height. His long red beard is unkempt, as though he’s been running his fingers through it since discovering the news. “Enzo seemed to know him.”
“Did he say a name?” I mindlessly shake my head and hope that I’m not doing the right thing before taking a welcoming sip of the whiskey. “What else did Enzo do?”
“He was angry,” I manage to say, meeting Papa’s clear green eyes. “He called him boy and what he was doing there.”
“Have you seen the man before?”
“No, Papa. He just shot him…once in the leg or knee. And then…” My lips tremble as a sob begins to work its way up to my throat. I can still hear the thud of Enzo’s body falling to the ground. “In the head.”
“Where?” My brows clench a little bit. My focus latching on to the wrinkles underneath his eyes and how much stress has taken the youth out of his features. “Where was the man standing?”
“In front. In front of him.”
Papa runs his almost ghostly white fingers that are peppered with red freckles along the side of his face. “Did this man speak?”
“No, Papa.”
“Lass, I need more details than what I think yer tellin’ me. If we’re unable to find out which man did this, the Bianchis might be lookin’ at us.”
“Why?” I solicit through a frown. “I didn’t shoot him.”
“Didn’t matter if ye did or not,” he grinds out. “Pairin’ up wit the Italians wasn’t sumthin’ I wanted to do anyway. However, it was needed. I’m lookin’ to take down the O’Clerys once and fer all, and I need more manpower.”
