Page 9 of Revenge

Shaking my head in disbelief I omitted a groan of exasperation. I didn’t have time for this shit. I was trying to play nice with the Italians and to do that, I needed Ava back in London ASAP.

I was Kai Kinlan the son of Gerard Kinlan, thepreviousbig chief of the Kinlan Cartel. Now I ran the show.

My father went to prison two years ago, and a past agreement with an Italian Cartel had become strained; especially when they were informed of my father’s death in prison last year. A faked death, I may add, after my father had been diagnosed with cancer. Only a few trusted people knew that Gerard was now spending the rest of his days (however many that may be) in a safe house outside the city. Either way, my point being; that my father was out of the picture.

The leader of the Italian Cartel thought I was too young to front my father’s organisation and adhere to the terms of their prior partnership. I had spent the last twelve monthsattemptingto prove them wrong.

Dante Messina, their don, thought me a flighty, playboy with no understanding of traditional family values. Family wasextremelyimportant to Italian men, it equalled stability and gave a man something to lose.

A man withnothingto losecouldn’tbe threatened—and a man whocouldn’tbe threatened—wasindestructible.

Mafia organisations did not like to conduct business with other criminal enterprises with no apparent Achilles heel.

That Achilles heel came in the shape of a family.

In a nutshell, if I wanted to continue to do business with Messina, I would have to change my image from said, flighty playboy to a settled-down Kai.Notthe pipe and slippers shite, but a contented man with a better half who he could sprog-up and expand his family.

Did I want that? To take on a wife to satisfy some jumped-up fat fucking Italian crime boss? Hell, no, but for the time being, I needed his business.

So, I had to beseento be putting down roots; roots made a man more trustworthy; I had been told.

And that is where Ava came in. She owed me a debt and would pay it by playing a role.

Batting off thoughts of the bigger picture, I turned back towards Hamish and quirked a brow, “Where was Sean whilst you were in battle?Jerkingoff?” I highlighted ‘in battle’ through fingered quotation marks.

Hamish shuffled in his seat before casting a nervous glance at his colleagues. They all maintained the poker faces I paid them for. “No, he was waiting in the car—so we could make a quick getaway,” the dipshit explained. Aquick getaway? Where were we, a movie set?

The leather of my chair creaked as I pushed to my feet andslammeda fist against the surface of my desk. All the shit thererattledand everyone present flinched,apartfrom Nico. He had been dealing with my temper since we’d met at school when we were twelve. He’d called me aDirty Thieving Mickand I’d knocked him out with one punch. Since then, it had been a match made in hell (not heaven—you’ll soon see where I am going with that).

Placing my hands palm down on the flat surface, I leaned forward, “So, you allowed, one little girl to fuck you up. Is thatallyou have to say for yourself?”

Hamish swallowed and peeled his collar away from his neck. I could see the moisture on his skin, the sweaty bastard. Thank God he wasn’tmymistake; I didn’t recruit him, I inherited him from my father.

The only reason I still tolerated the tool and had given him a seat atmytable was down to his old man; Hamish’s dad was a judge and as bent as they come. He assisted me in keeping the fuzz at Scotland Yard off my back.

The fucker was stillramblingon, “She isn’t a little girl anymore, boss.” The constipated expression on his face was like a neon sign screaming ‘I fucked up,pleasedon’t kill me!

Pushing off the desk, I straightened and dragged my fingers through my hair, “I could snap her in two with one fucking hand,” I snarled in contempt, getting angrier that I didn’t have my not-so-delightful stepsister in front of me—allowing me to unleash hell; the whole pent-up two years of it, after the little witch had shot me and left me for dead.

“The girl is tough; she did some ninja shit with her legs,” Hamish blurted.

Balling my hands into fists by my sides, I started to lose the fucking will. Nico was amused but put his hand on Hamish’s arm to suggest he shut up.

Hamish shook it off and carried on, “You don’t understand. She’s had training. She knows how to defend herself. Fuck me, she put myowngun to my head like afuckingpro. Her hand was steadier than an experienced hitman. Even more so than Cillian’s,” Hamish rattled off, name-dropping my head assassin and one of my most valuable assets. His comment was severely debatable.

I placed a hand on my hip, unable to rein in how incredibly narked I was, “Your gun? Which means she wasn’t carrying herself,” I pointed out with a sneer, throwing myself back into the leather chair behind me. “What would have been an unarmed defenceless female, brought you to your fucking knees within seconds. You pathetic piece of shit.” He was such a disappointment, so much so that my brain had started to ache. My trigger finger also itched; oh dear.

Hamish pushed forward with his meaty face layered with beads of moisture. His burst of bravado about Ava’s talents waning, “But shewascarrying, that’s just it. She had a weapon down the back of her jeans. It was like she took minejustto show me she could. She was fucking with me, boss. She isn’t the simple target you think she is.”

And—I’d. Had. Enough.

“Lars, take this pussy out of here,” I snapped at one of my Lieutenants before glaring back at Hamish, “You’re lucky I need your father, otherwise, I would be redecorating my office with fragments from your fucking skull right now.”

Taking a deep breath, I then added, “Talking of skulls, you’re on clean-up duty so sort the basement out. I’ve been told there’s still some of Michael Langston’s brain matter on the vinyl.”

Langston was my ex-accountant who had tried skimming some off the top. If you made a mistake in my outfit, you only made it once. I’d beat the crap out of the prick evenafterhe had squealed,justfor fun. What could I say, that was the norm for people like me. It was all about letting off steam. Most men involved in the mob had questionable coping strategies.

As Lars and Hamish went to leave my office, I called out as they got to the door, “Oh, and Hamish.”

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