Page 13 of When Kings Rise

“A hit has been placed on Brien’s head,” I say.

The mother’s wild eyes seek her son out as the priest returns.

But I’m focused on Kane. “Why would that be?” I ask him. I know why, but I want to hear it from his miserable lips.

“A gambling debt, I can assume,” he says.

The wife starts to rise, appalled at her husband.

“Sit down,” I warn her. She slowly does, but not before checking to make sure her son is still there.

The priest stands and watches me, not with fear but disgust.

“I’m the hitman,” I say, so they understand the gravity of the situation.

“You will not harm that boy in the house of God.” Isaac, the priest, grips his rosary beads like they would save the boy. If I wanted Brien dead, he would be dead.

“I won’t, Father, that’s why I’m sitting here telling you this.”

I glance at Kane. “I don’t think a son should pay for his father’s incompetence,” I say through gritted teeth. Every father figure I had never showed a shred of goodness.

Maybe this is why I got this job. To save someone from a future like mine.

“Brien needs to be sent to relatives in the United States,” I say, and the mother covers her mouth, tears pouring onto her hand. Her husband reaches out to comfort her, but she moves away and glares at him.

Good.

“You will have a closed-casket funeral,” I inform the priest who sits across from us like the weight of my words are resting on his frail shoulders.

I will try, and hide it the best I can from the authorities. I know this is a huge risk, but I won’t take the life of a child. I can’t say no to Victor, so this is the only way. I have my own people with the police, but Victor doesn’t let anyone know all of the members of the Hand of Kings. One of the authorities could be one of Victor’s men, another risk I’ll have to take.

“Your sister lives in Texas,” The father says.

The wife glares at him again but looks at me. “Can’t you renegotiate? We have money,” she says and then pauses. “You spent it all, didn’t you?” The accusation causes her husband’s face to darken.

“This is no place to air our dirty laundry.”

Her hand connects with her husband’s face. “You brought this down on your son's head.”

“This is the only way it can be,” I say.

The priest nods. “I can organize a closed casket. He glances at Brien, who is oblivious to how his life is about to change.

I never have sympathy in these matters, but the mother’s devastation is bringing out my softer side. I want to offer her comfort, but I don’t have much to give.

“You must wait at least a year before following your son to the United States.” The mother’s sobs grow, but she nods.

The priest looks upon them with shock and sympathy, but he is also scared, and I need to lean into their fear so they do exactly what I say.

“If you don’t do as I say, someone else will come to kill Brien, and trust me, they will do it.”

I rise from my seat and stare down at Kane. “Walk me to the door,” I tell him.

He’s afraid, his tail between his legs as he numbly walks toward the main doors. Once we reach the small porch, I stop and look at the man who has done this to his son.

My fist connects with his face. His nose cracks under the weight of the punch, and he cries out, but I cover his mouth with my hand.

“Swallow that fucking pain, you piece of shit. If I hear of you gambling one more cent, I’ll come and kill you myself.” Blood from his nose soaks my hand. “I won’t make it quick. Trust me.” His eyes widen, and I release him, leaving the church.

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