Page 54 of Mob Saint

“I don’t care if the fecked-up stuff he says is once a year. That’s too many times.”

I sigh. “I’d rather give you a blow job, but we never discussed what’s going to happen when we get there. That was the entire point of you coming up to my place.”

“It’s what we thought was the point. If they try to separate us, will you have somewhere to go where no one can bother you? Or will there be some of his guys around?”

“I don’t know. Since it’s going to be nearly two by the time we get there, there probably will be some of his men coming in and out. They’ll be his inner echelon, though. He doesn’t like his lackeys or the low-level guys going to his house.”

“Would any of the bonesmen say shite to you?”

“No. They’re all really nice to me. They remember Aaron, and they feel badly for me about what happened. If they’re around, they usually try to keep Gareth’s docksmen from bugging me. I can’t think of any button men who have given me shit.”

Docksmen, bonesmen, button men. I don’t know who came up with these names and when. For some dumbass reason, someone generations back thought nautical sounding names would be good for the very loose mob structure. Dillan and Gareth are Skippers or Captains. Godfather, jefe, and pakhan all sound a shit ton better than either of those. Most heads of mob families or clans just go by boss.

The warlord is pretty much the mob’s equivalent to an underboss. That’s Uncle Vince. Keith is his caddy. That’s an extra stupid name for a chief advisor. I get what caddies do, and it’s more than just carry golf clubs. But it sounds ridiculous when the Italians call their guys consigliere.

Below them are the docksmen. They handle logistical shit for the illegal businesses and are usually collectors. There are clean and dirty ones. The clean ones are low-key and just do some laundering and maybe even directing some drug trafficking, but usually they handle the legal enterprises. The dirty ones head up operations for the bigger transactions and operations.

Every clan or family has a fixer. That’s my dad. Shocking that my dad, who has a pretty senior fucking job, can’t get Gareth to leave me alone. But my dad works for Gareth, not the other way around. Gareth also keeps his mouth shut when my dad’s around. Dad’s almost as big as Seamus. I’ve seen photos of my dad, and when he was younger, he was as big as Seamus. He’s in his late fifties now so not as bulky. But his reputation precedes him. No one wants my dad to make a house call.

And the rank and file are called button men or bonesmen. They’re higher than a lackey who does shitty odd jobs here and there. The button men have been initiated and are full members. They carry out most of the day-to-day operations when it comes to fencing, illegal gambling, theft, shake downs, and that sorta stuff. Aaron probably would have risen through the ranks because of my dad’s position and on his own merit. But he was only in long enough to be a button man.

“Should I expect Vince and Keith to be there? What about your dad?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think my dad’ll be there, but I can text him and ask.”

“That’s probably a good idea. While I might want to surprise Gareth, Keith, and Vince, I don’t think it’d make a good impression at the start of our relationship if I arrive as the muscle when I’d be facing off against your dad.”

That makes my blood run cold. I stare up at Seamus, frozen.

“Little one?”

“Are any of those scars from my dad?” I saw and felt them, and there are plenty.

“No. And I haven’t given your dad any of his.”

Both men have healed wounds that clearly come from knives and bullets. Seamus has a few nasty ones, and there are several faint white lines from lesser knife cuts.

“Have you fought my dad?”

Seamus looks at me for a moment before he nods. I don’t expect to see shame, but I do. I recognize that expression far too well.

“Did you know your dad had a broken nose and two fractured ribs about five years ago?”

“Yeah. I thought some guy didn’t want to pay up and thought he could take on my dad.”

“I did take him on, and I won. Darren wanted us to pay for some product that never arrived. He swore it did. We swore it didn’t. Turns out we were right, but we didn’t get to prove it until after your dad and I got into a fight.”

“What happened?”

“He said something about Colleen.”

My brow furrows. The name is familiar. Then it comes to me. My mouth drops open, my eyebrows shoot up, and my eyes almost fall out of my head. Holy fucking shit.

“That must have been right around when it happened.”

“It was. It was like four months later, and he suggested we were weak because we couldn’t protect her. He suggested she got what she deserved for being in such a weak family. Tiera, your dad is only alive because I got to him before Dillan. I broke his ribs, and when I broke his nose, it knocked him out. If my cousin had gotten a hold of him—” He shakes his head. “There wouldn’t have even been a funeral.”

Fucking hell in a hand basket. Colleen was Dillan’s younger sister. From what I remember, they were super, super close. Like they were the twins in the family. Colleen was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the shooter confused her for someone else. She died because Seamus’s mom’s cousin put a hit on his mom and aunts to ensure his control when he took over as boss. I guess that wasn’t the line of succession that was supposed to happen. Dillan was supposed to take over when Donovan died.

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