Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
But he was having a hell of a time getting excited about it—getting excited about anything—now.
His father sat behind his massive desk, and Cillian couldn’t help thinking he looked small. Seamus O’Malley had always been larger than life, but the events of the last few months had affected him just as much as they had every other member of their family. There were new lines on his face, and his shoulders bowed as if carrying the weight of the world. For the first time in living memory, he looked old. Not that anyone had the balls to point it out.
Seamus steepled his hands. “Enough is enough.”
Ah. They weren’t here to talk to him about stepping up to be the bookkeeper. This was about Devlin. Cillian sat back and stretched his legs out, crossing them at his ankles. They could do this now, but he wasn’t about to make it easy on them. I’m not the only one who’s walking wounded, but I’m the easiest to focus on. Maybe it was better this way. If their father was determined to nail his ass to the wall, it gave his little sisters a chance to find their feet. Not Carrigan, though. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Don’t play stupid.” This came from Aiden. He actually took a step forward, his fists clenching, before their father held up a hand to stall him.
“We’ve all mourned Devlin—”
For fuck’s sake. Cillian straightened. “Really? Because it seems to have been business as usual. Real nostalgic.” No one was saying what they were thinking—that it would have been better if he had been the one to take the bullet.
The shock of the thought nearly took his breath away. It was a truth that he’d been dancing around for months, and there was something cathartic in finally letting himself think it. It should have been me.
Devlin was the one with the world at his feet. Cillian was just going through the motions, dicking around as much as possible. Even with his destined role as accountant, he was expendable.
And they all knew it.
Aiden crossed his arms over his chest. “And getting shit-housed drunk every night of the week is honoring our brother? Please. Don’t play the martyr to cover up that you’re doing what you’ve always done—skipping out on family business when we need you the most.”
“If I need to drink to deal with shit, then I’m going to goddamn well drink.” If they thought that’s what he was doing, he wasn’t going to set them straight. Alcohol had become the enemy the same way the Hallorans were the enemy. He’d been so fucking weak his entire life, had always chosen the easiest path. He was done with that shit now.
“Enough.” Seamus didn’t raise his voice, but he might as well have roared by how the single word cut through the room. He waited, but neither Aiden nor Cillian made a sound. Apparently satisfied, their father sat back. “We all mourn Devlin in our own ways. You, of all people, should know that, Cillian. Cut down your drinking and take one of our men with you when you go. I refuse to lose another son to carelessness.”
God forbid another one of your beloved assets slips away. The thought wasn’t fair, but Cillian couldn’t give two fucks. Maybe their father loved them. Maybe he didn’t. But if he did, then he had a hell of a way of showing it.
But Seamus was letting him get off easy this time, and he damn well knew it. “I’ll take an escort.” For now. He pushed to his feet. “If we’re done here—”
“Sit.”
His legs went out from beneath him before he made a conscious decision to obey.
“Bartholomew is retiring. You will begin training with him next week. Once he’s satisfied you know what’s necessary, you will take over his position.”
Next week. He’d known it was coming up fast, but he’d had no idea how fast. Fuck. It wasn’t that Cillian didn’t like the idea of keeping the family’s books. Ever since he’d shown an aptitude for numbers and the morals required for creative accounting, it was assumed he’d step into that role when the time came. Hell, a part of him had even looked forward to it. He might never run the O’Malleys—and, seriously, that wasn’t a position he aspired to—but with their finances within his control, he’d have the keys to the kingdom, so to speak. Every cent that filtered through their businesses—both legit and illegal—went through the bookkeeper.
But then Devlin died, and Teague was married off and helping to run things on the Sheridan side now. And Carrigan…
Every time he thought about the lost and terrified look on her face when she told him she was going to have to marry a stranger, it made him want to hit something. If that Dmitri guy was any indication, the sharks were already circling, scenting blood in the water. He couldn’t imagine his strong-willed sister married to someone like that. But she didn’t have a choice any more than the rest of them did.