Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“With Declan?” I frown, not sure where this is going. Casey’s marginally involved in clan business, though I’ve always suspected she knows more than she lets on. “Not for a few weeks. He told me to show up.”
“Right, right, okay.” She lets out a breath. “Typical Declan. I swear, it’s like he forgets…” She trails off.
“Forgets what?”
“Mom! Come on!”
“Sorry, it’s nothing. Don’t worry, alright? It won’t be bad.” She squeezes my arm. “Good luck.”
“Hold on, Casey, what’s—“ But she’s already walking off. I watch her go, confused.
Am I about to get my skull blown off?
I walk toward Declan’s study, mentally going over all the business I’ve done since the last time we spoke. There’s nothing remotely bad or important going on.
My operation has very close ties with the Whelans. They installed me into power back when my cousin was killed during a war in those days. Now I’m something like an extension of their outfit, though with full independent control of my day-to-day dealings.
There’s no bad blood between us. Me and Declan get along fine.
So why did Casey seem worried?
I knock on the office door and let myself inside. It’s the same as always. Declan prefers a conservative space: rich wood, lots of leather, muted grays and blacks. Books on bookshelves, files in filing folders, and a fireplace filled with ash. Everything’s impeccably aligned, dusted, and polished to a shine. The Whelan boss sits behind a big mahogany executive desk hunched over a laptop, tapping the end of a pen against his square chin. He’s got more gray in his black hair, though it’s still thick and luxurious. His bright green eyes meet mine and the pen stops tapping.
“Connor, glad you made it. Come inside, shut the door.”
“How are things, Declan?” Normally, I’d grab a drink, but I decide to settle into a chair across from him instead. Nerves jangle in my guts. Casey’s got me on fucking edge, but there’s nothing wrong. Can’t be.
“Ah, you know. Shit rises up to me, I shove the shit back down, the whole show continues.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. Declan’s mid-fifties, twenty years older than his wife. She’s closer to my age than to his.
“Sounds like my job.”
“That’s because we aren’t so different.” He closes his laptop lid and gets up. “You want a drink?”
“Always.”
He pours two, which sets me on edge. Normally, I’m the one sipping his good booze. Declan cut back a few years ago. Told me once that his kids made him want to be clear and to live well into his nineties. Always sounded like sentimental bullshit to me.
“Cheers,” I say as he takes the chair beside me. Another big red flag. Declan’s a good boss, but I wouldn’t say we’re friends. He likes to keep his professional relationships professional, and I’ve always appreciated that about him.
“I need to ask you a personal question. Don’t take it the wrong way.” He raps a ring against the glass. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”
Angie. Fuck. He knows about Angie. But how the hell would he, and why would it matter if he did? I’m not breaking any rules by fucking her. Except maybe some HR compliance bullshit.
“Nobody.” I cover my discomfort by drinking. It’s my usual tactic.
“That’s good. Makes this easier.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the window behind his desk. “Look, Connor, you know how our families operate. The clans are still obstinately old school. We’re modernizing, but slowly, and only when it comes to actual business. Everything else is still handshakes, blood bonds, and marriages.”
A chill runs down my spine. “I’ve kept out of clan politics for a while now.”
“That’s smart. You’ve grown a lot. We’re all proud of what you’ve made of the Maguire clan.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
He nods, but he’s not smiling. “But it’s why I have to ask this of you. Connor, you’ve gotten big enough that the other families have noticed.”
“Not sure what you’re even asking here.”
“There are some alliances in our world that need blood. Not a death, but a life, or at least the promise of one. Vows and oaths are a good start. But family is bigger than words.”
I tighten my grip on the glass. The single large cube clatters against the sides. “Come out and say it.”
Declan sits back. His spine straightens and he meets my gaze. This is the boss of the Whelan clan, one of the most powerful individuals in the eastern United States. Most of New York City is his playground, and most of the other crime outfits pay him homage.
“I’m creating an alliance between my organization and the Gallagher family, and I need you to cement it.”
I open my mouth in surprise. The Gallagher family is one of the oldest Irish crime clans left. They’re independent and have never shown any interest in becoming a vassal of the Whelans or anyone else. There’s still money and power wrapped up in their name.