Page 36 of His Possession

Rory felt the eyes on him, assessing, weighing, but he didn’t falter. He had spent his life navigating circles like these, mastering the art of control and dominance. He moved with purpose, every step measured, as he approached the head of the table. Beside him, Cormac was a steady presence, his gaze sharp as ever.

The chair creaked as Rory sat, leaning back slightly, his hands resting on the table. “Gentlemen,” he began, his voice calm but laced with authority. “Thank you for meeting on such short notice. I know how rare it is to bring all of you together.”

A man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick Bostonian accent nodded. “Rare and risky, McMahon. What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait for a more discreet venue?”

Rory’s lips curved into a faint smile that held no warmth. “The kind of urgency that concerns all of us. The O’Neill believed that meeting on neutral ground might put you more at ease. Michael O’Connell and Tadhg Kelleher are no longer a problem just in Galway. Both have crossed lines that threaten the balance we’ve all worked so hard to maintain.”

The room fell silent, the importance of his words sinking in. Rory let the pause stretch, meeting the gaze of each man in turn. It was a calculated move, one that established his control of the conversation. When no one spoke, he continued.

“My men intercepted a shipment bound for New York last week,” Rory said, sliding a folder across the table. “Inside were enough weapons to start a minor war. O’Connell has been using Kelleher’s docks to export and smuggle arms and other goods into your territories. They’re not just moving product—they’re positioning themselves to challenge us all.”

Luca opened the folder, his sharp eyes scanning the photos and documents inside. The others leaned in, their interest piqued. Rory watched them closely, noting the subtle shifts in their posture, the way their expressions hardened as the evidence mounted.

“You’ve come prepared,” said one man sitting at the table, his voice carrying the gravitas of his decades in the game. “But evidence is one thing. Convincing us to act is another.”

Rory inclined his head. “That’s why I’ve brought more than documents. You’ll hear it directly from someone who knows the depths of O’Connell’s treachery.”

The door opened, and Alexander O’Connell stepped in. He set his jaw, squared his shoulders, but a flicker of unease showed in his eyes as he took in the room. The dangerous men at the table stared at him, their scrutiny intense, but Alexander didn’t falter as he approached the table.

“This is Maeve’s brother,” Rory said, his voice steady. “A man who’s had the misfortune of seeing firsthand what his father is capable of. He’s here because he chose a different path. One that doesn’t end in bloodshed for the sake of pride.”

Alexander’s throat worked as he swallowed, and then he began to speak. “My father is unwell,” he said, his voice strained but firm. “His grip on reality has been slipping for years. What started as a thirst for power has become something darker, something far more destructive. He’s not just dangerous to his enemies. He’s a threat to anyone who doesn’t fall in line—including his own family.”

The room was silent, the weight of his confession settling over them. Rory watched the reactions closely. There was skepticism, yes, but also a flicker of understanding. These men had seen their share of unhinged leaders, of kingpins who couldn’t recognize when their reign had ended.

Alexander continued, his voice gaining strength. “I’m not proud of my family’s legacy. But I’m here because I want to be part of changing it. My father won’t stop until he burns everything to the ground, and if you don’t act now, he’ll take all of us with him.”

One man leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he regarded Alexander. “And you’re willing to testify to that? To stand against your own blood?”

Alexander’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”

The room buzzed with quiet murmurs; the men exchanging glances and whispered words. Rory let them talk, his own expression unreadable as he waited for the momentum to shift. When the man spoke again, his tone was cautious, but edged with grudging respect.

“You’re asking us to go against tradition,” he said. “To turn on one of our own.”

Rory leaned forward, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “I’m asking you to do what’s right for the future. Tradition doesn’t mean clinging to dead alliances or letting a madman burn the world down around our ears. Progress means adapting, and that’s what I’m offering—a chance to move forward, to strengthen our position instead of letting it crumble.”

“And what happens if we back you?” asked one man. “If we take out O’Connell and at least the younger Kelleher? What’s your endgame?”

“Balance,” Rory said simply. “We remove the threats, divide the spoils, and establish a new equilibrium. One where Galway thrives as a hub, and Boston benefits from the stability. The O’Neill is not interested in overreach or empire-building. We want what’s best for all of us.”

The room was silent again, but this time, the energy felt different. Calculated. The old guard wasn’t quick to make decisions, but Rory could see the wheels turning, the calculus shifting in his favor.

Finally, they nodded slowly. “You’ve made your case, McMahon. And I’ll admit, it’s compelling,” said one.

“It’s bold. But bold keeps our businesses alive,” said another. “And the O’Neill has always played square with us.”

The others murmured their assent, their collective power tipping the scales. Rory felt a flicker of satisfaction, but kept his expression neutral. This was just one step, and there was still a war to win.

“Then we’re agreed,” Rory said, his voice steady. “We move forward together.”

The meeting adjourned with handshakes and terse farewells; the representatives filed out with their entourages in tow. Rory watched them go, his mind already turning to the next moves.When the room was empty except for Cormac and Alexander, he finally allowed himself a breath.

“You played that well,” Cormac said, his tone approving. “Con himself couldn’t have done better. But they’ll be watching closely. If you slip, they’ll turn on you.”

“They won’t get the chance,” Rory said, his voice cold. “O’Connell and Tadhg won’t live to see the opportunity.”

“What about the senior Kelleher?” asked Alexander.

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