Page 10 of When Kings Rise

We both remain silent. Diarmuid starts to slow the car down at an abandoned house in the Stepaside area. He comes to a complete halt. He leans closer to me, but his attention is out the window, as he points to a rusty old mailbox. “Will you retrieve the parcel from that mailbox?” He’s parked along the sidewalk on my side.

I unclip my belt, happy to get out and take in some fresh air. The mailbox doesn’t look like it’s been used, so I don’t expect to find anything in it. But a manila envelope held tightly shut by packing twine sits in the center. I turn to find Diarmuid watching me, and I raise the envelope to show him I got it and climb back into the car. When I hand it to him, I’m expecting him to open it, but he places it in the console between us.

We are silent again, but he’s driving in the direction of my home, thank God.

“How do you feel, Niamh, about becoming an accessory?”

His words startle me, and I look from the passing scenery to Diarmuid. “Accessory to what?”

Diarmuid glances down at the envelope before his gray eyes land on me for a moment, sending a shiver racing down my spine. He refocuses on the road as he speaks. “Victor Madigan is the unholy priest of Dublin, my bride. In the envelope is the name and location of a person I have been commanded to kill, and that, my dear, is why we had to attend church.” He pauses. “You’re just here to look pretty.”

Chapter Five

Diarmuid

Hands of the King Edict Three

The order will perform its duties to humanity, regardless of the laws of nations and average men. Kings are above all other men.

I CAN’T SETTLE myself. It’s an odd feeling for me. So, it sends a thrill through me that I must be on the lookout for a threat. And there is a threat. I’ve never been the mouse in a cat chase, always the cat instead, so the role intrigues me.

As I pull into the public garage, I see Lorcan’s and Ronan’s high-powered cars. They’re parked six cars apart, and I pull into a distant spot, ensuring we’ve all hidden our vehicles among the older models. We’d be far more noticeable if we parked side by side.

Stepping out of the fluorescent-lit garage, I look left and right before I start to walk.

A woman across the road walks her dog; she glances at me but quickly looks away while dipping her head. I don’t sense danger from her, but she appears to feel it from me. That is wise.

It’s a great instinct to have. We all have it; just most people fob it off as paranoia. I never ignore any gut feeling. I’ll kill on instinct, and it never fails me.

I’ve been bred to kill; it wasn’t exactly my first choice. But Victor saw a killer when I was a kid and made me into one. The training I received was some of the most intense and definitely not any kind of UN-sanctioned training in existence. What Victor made me do from a young age had turned me into the killing machine he needed, and I did it without question.

But I wanted more. I wanted to rule. I could be a King. But I couldn’t say no to Victor—no one could.

I enter the “Church.” A fitting name for the bar where I know my brothers await my arrival.

It’s not the only property in the building. It acts as a multipurpose structure. A gold plaque beside the elevator lists the businesses here and which floor they are on. A doctor’s office and hair salon are on the second floor. The first floor is occupied by a pet store, and the third floor is a tax agent. I’m going to none of them.

The key that I scoop out of my pocket presses into my palm as I hit the silver button on the elevator in the entry hall. Stepping in, I wait until the door closes before inserting my key into the elevator panel. The elevator shows the main floor, a few upper floors, and a basement level. The elevator goes two stories underground, one story farther than it is supposed to go. I turn the key fully, and the elevator starts to move.

We had modified the panel so that only our families’ keys will take us to the final level of the building.

The elevator doors open to reveal a white brick wall with a single door in the center. I pull my key out of the elevator panel and place it securely in my pocket before I produce another key that slots into the door in front of me. The door opens to a semi-lit underground bar. There is a main room and several more private areas branching off. This is the throbbing heart of the O’Sullivans’ enterprises. We were all sent into different ventures for the sake of the family, but everything comes back to the Church. Business deals, buying one-night companions, meeting political rivals—everything happens at the most exclusive bar in the country: The Church.

“Hello, Brother.” Lorcan greets me with a wide smile that I don’t return, but this doesn’t faze him. Lorcan is the face of our political empire, and smiling and appearing friendly is part of his job that he never shakes off. He’s almost animated in his greeting. It’s always good for a mafia enterprise to have people entrenched in whatever political party we need to control, and Lorcan has been molded to perfection for the role.

Behind the smile is a man as equally dangerous as I am. Lorcan leads the way to a back table that has been partitioned off for privacy.

Ronan is already seated at the table. I knew he would be here, but the sight of my younger brother sends my fingers curling into fists; I grin at him, remembering how it felt to slam them into his face. Ronan picks up his drink and raises it at me as I take my seat. The fight we had was deeper than the excuse we gave everyone.

We said it was over a woman, but we never squabble about women; we never have to. They are always there at our disposal.

No. It was over who would rule.

Whispers that Ronan would be the leader of the O’Sullivan family didn’t sit right with me as he is the youngest. The right passes first to Lorcan, who doesn’t mind as he may lead Ireland one day, then to Wolf, who, in my opinion, doesn’t deserve to lead a pack of wild dogs, nevermind people, and then to myself, who has been placed in a box by the Hand of the King, one that I want to get out of, but it’s not looking great for me.

Lorcan sits across from me, and the waiter arrives to take our orders. Lorcan orders vodka straight, and I opt for a coffee. Both brothers look at me curiously, but I don’t explain why I’m not drinking alcohol. I have a job after this, one that will require me to be clear-headed.

“Everything is looking great for us.” Ronan kicks off the meeting. He is responsible for gaining legal sources of income for the family, with part of it going to the “Hand of the Kings,” of course.

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