Page 49 of Iron Blade

“I understand.” That was all he needed to say.

I let out a relieved sigh.

The bell above the door chimed, as a loud group of men in bad black suits walked in, their loud voices drowning out the soft Irish music in the speakers. They took a corner booth across the way, and the waiter went to get their drink order.

As Rowan passed us by, I lifted my finger for another round. Rowan nodded, then gave a significant look at the newcomers. I followed his gaze.

“Will you look at that, Dairo?” I said bringing a cigarette to my lips.

Dairo’s eyes turned toward the Armani-clad men at the bar. Their preposterous belts, and their terrible, overly gelled hair cuts. They were Mafia, through and through.

“Are we about to have a spot of trouble?” he asked with a small smile.

I could feel a bar fight coming on. My blood thrummed in my veins, and I smiled, eager to get my knuckles bruised.

Those bastards had an annoying habit of trying to test the waters, to see if they could walk into Irish territory and cause trouble without any retaliation. It was a little bit of aggression, just to see how we’d react.

I put out my cigarette, swirling it around in the glass ashtray.

“Best we let them start it,” I said with a small laugh.

Rowan deposited our drinks before he headed to the Italian table. To his credit, Rowan kept his head held high, even though this game was becoming old hat for him.

If I didn't step in, then any of the other men drinking here tonight would. I considered myself lucky to be the man to deliver a message to Eugenio Durante in the form of bruised egos and broken hands.

As Rowan deposited their order, he walked away without a word, but the head Mafia man snapped his fingers. Rowan ignored him.

“Hey! Stronzo!” one of the men said, snapping his fingers. “Get back here. I wasn’t done with you!”

His light Italian accent wasn’t lost on anyone. Italian. In Irish territory. And drunk.

I could smell the blood in the water.

Sweet, sweet blood…

Dairo stretched his neck one way, then the other, before he grabbed his fingers, pulling them back to stretch them too, then clenching a fist.

“I dare you, Eoghan,” Dairo said with a little laugh. “I dare you to tell them what’s what.”

I bristled, wanting to grab one of the Italian men by the collar and stomp him on the curb.

“Hey, you Irish fuck!” The Italian man said with a laugh and another snap of his fingers. “Get back here.”

That was it. I couldn't let that slide. Not that I was going to let anything slide, since I was raring for a good fight. My father might be able to beat me with impunity - but these bastards had no such privilege.

“Oh, I am ready to act the maggot,” I chuckled, getting up from the table, buttoning my blazer as I went.

I walked over to the table with a lifted brow.

“Is there a problem, here?” I asked, looking at the men one by one.

One of them laughed, his tongue darting out like a serpent as he said, “Yes, I’m sick of all the Lucky Charms sons of bitches owning this place without paying their dues.”

“Dues to who? To your little protection Racket?” I said, looking down at them with a sneer. “I think you should leave.”

I let my accent get thicker than molasses. An Irish bar in Irish territory did not need men like him in it.

“I’m a paying customer, and that motherfucker better serve me.” The fattest of the trio stood, coming to me as if he wanted to get chest to chest.

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