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Oh, no.
“Papa, aren’t the O’Clerys dangerous?”
Papa scowls at me. “What ye know about the O’Clerys and what they are?”
“I…” I try not to fidget in my chair off my father’s unsettling glare. “I’ve heard some of the men talkin’ about them once before. They said they might be skeezy pieces of crap, but at least they can shoot.”
Papa rolls his eyes. “They’re barbarians. They’ve killed some of me loan sharks. They’ve stolen businesses. They’re nothin’ but a bunch of gombeens blokes with no morals.”
I love Papa, despite his many faults, but I can’t say he’s much different. If the O’Clerys are shady, he’s within the same wheelhouse.
“It happened so fast,” I vouch. “It was as though he knew what he was doing before he arrived.”
Papa nods. “And he said nothin’?”
I shake my head. “No. Maybe he did it so I couldn’t tell anyone anything.”
“But ye could if ye’d tell me what he looked like.”
I glance down at my drink as though trying to conjure those details for myself. So, I give him the exact opposite of what he’s looking for. I’ve been on my own for as long as I can remember. Mama died when I turned six, and I learned at a very young age that it was me, myself, and I.
However, I rely on Papa’s protection.
“I think he had blonde hair,” I quip. “Dark blonde. He was tall…and skinny.”
“And special features? A limp? Scars?”
“He was against the light. It just made his features darker. Like he knew it would.”
“A paid killer,” Papa muses, looking down at something on the floor. “I’m sure the Bianchis have enemies of their own.”
“Everyone has enemies.”
“That they do, lass.”
Reaching for the side table next to my chair, I discard my whiskey. “Can I go now, Pa? I’m tired.”
He eyes me for a minute before nodding. “Go ahead. Ye think of anything else, ye let me know.”
“Yes, Papa.” I rise from my chair and kiss the top of his head before leaving out the way Cillian did.
I want to sleep the rest of this awful day away.
And his face out of my head forever.
3
FINN
I watchmy brothers and father clink glasses together, completing a toast to the movement of their plan.
The one I just carried out for them tonight when I murdered Enzo Bianchi and fucked his family’s little alliance with the Kincaids.
The Bianchis should’ve chosen better. Working with our enemy should’ve been a clear indication that we weren’t going to receive it well.
It wasn’t surprising how basic it was. God forbid that Patrick Kincaid get his hands dirty and wipe us out with his own hands. I semi-wish that he’d send that useless son of his to do the job so I can carve him up with a dull knife.
Cillian is some wannabe gangbanger that will one day suffer by my hands because I’m tired of his mouth. He’s the Kincaid heir.
