Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
They finished their conversation, and Roman smiled at her. He was a good-looking son of a bitch, and if I didn’t know how deeply in love he was with his wife, I’d be pissed off he was talking to Una. But I knew his heart and fidelity were deeply affixed to “his Effie,” as I heard him call her, so I tamped down my jealousy.
Still, I was pleased when he nodded and left. I switched to an outside view and watched as he climbed into his car and drove off.
I shut off the monitors and called Niall.
“We have a problem.”
“I figured as much when the great Roman Costas paid you a visit.”
“We need to figure this out.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
I hung up, staring out the window and to the busy city beyond it. My mind went over the current problem facing me, flipping through ideas of how to solve it with the fewest ramifications.
No matter what solution I came up with, someone was going to lose.
And I had no idea who.
CHAPTER TWO
FINN
Niall strode in, his face serious. He sat in the chair Roman had vacated, stopping to pour himself a cup of coffee. I swore he lived off caffeine.
I gave him a moment to enjoy his dark brew, thinking of our shared past.
Niall was my cousin. We were the same age, born a month apart thirty-eight years ago. Our mothers were sisters, and when mine died, his mother stepped up, trying desperately to fill in and offer me a little love and compassion that was lacking in my homelife.
My father was a low-level crime lord. His way of showing affection was using his fists and criticism. I was his favorite punching bag until I turned fifteen and, thanks to a sudden growth spurt, outweighed him by three stone and towered over his frame by a good six inches. The last time he hit me, I hit back—sending him to the floor in a mass of pain.
He never touched me again. I moved in to Niall’s place, and Roisin made sure I was fed and cared for. When I turned seventeen, I left Ireland and came to Canada. I stayed with a distant relation who was part of the syndicate, and he got me into the ranks. I rose up the ladder quickly, my size and leadership taking me far. Two years later, when Roisin was ill, I returned to Ireland, made sure she had the best care and, when she recovered, brought Niall back with me. She had asked me to do so, wanting him out of Ireland and away from the dangerous criminal life there. She knew I was involved in the syndicate here but felt at least I could protect him. I agreed with her and knew he would be an asset with his street smarts and business intellect.
Together, we forged a path of power and wealth, and I became one of the heads of the syndicate.
When my father died, I sent word back to Ireland to cremate him and do what they wanted with the ashes. I had no desire to return and pretend to mourn. From what I heard, he was buried in a grave somewhere in the small town where I grew up.
I didn’t care.
Niall’s throat clearing made me look up. I met his brown eyes that regarded me steadily. He was darkness, his hair and eyes matching, his skin constantly tanned. Thick and muscled, hard and unyielding. My hair was ginger, and I was taller by an inch—a fact I never allowed him to forget—and my eyes were blue. I was broad and muscled, our builds much the same. I tended toward ruddy, disliking the sun that he loved to sit in. It only made me redder. He kept his hair short, while I preferred mine longer, usually pulled back away from my face. We both liked scruff, mine often growing into a beard until I got tired of it and shaved. Side by side, I was told we looked like we were related, although neither of us could see it. The only physical traits I thought we shared were our height and build.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Thinking.”
“What’s going on? And who is the cause?”
“Brian Murphy.”
“Feck. What now?” he asked, his brogue coming out strong as it always did when he was upset.
I told him what Roman had divulged. He slammed his hand on the desk. “Dammit. He is always the troublemaker.”
I scrubbed my face. “I know.”
“So, twenty-five thousand? What the hell is he thinking? The interest alone I’m sure that sleaze is charging him will ensure the debt is never paid off.” Again, he slammed his hand on the desk. “Stupid fecker.”
“I have no idea.”
“We can’t allow this to stand.”
“No.”
“What are you going to do? Cut him loose and let Lopez have him?”
“I can’t do that,” I said quietly. “You know it.”