Page 7 of The Irish Redemption

I blink furiously, and my world blurs with unshed tears, forcing myself to listen to every single one of my mother’s heart-wrenching sobs.

Brenden Gifford, my older brother and Irish Captain of the Gifford Mob, is dead, murdered in cold blood in some disgusting motel that he never should have been anywhere near.

His death not only brings agony to my family, but it jolts me from the position of Underboss to Captain.

I am in charge now.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” I choke out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

Our world is far from safe and not even close to perfect, but out of all the cunts and traitors who flood the Mafia ranks each day, my brother was one of the good ones. He had a strong head on his shoulders and sought peace over war whenever the situation arose. Through his careful negotiations and level-headed perspective, he became the first Irishman to negotiate a business treaty with the Italians, who were famous for trusting no one but their own blood.

In five years, both Irish and Italian Families flourished under the weapons trade deal, which boosted our standing with every Irish family who trusted us to keep them safe.

All of that happened because of my brother.

And now he’s dead in the morgue.

“Ma.” I try to reach her as her sobs finally die down.

“Cormac.” Despite the thickness of grief clogging her voice, her sharp words cut through me with aching familiarity. “You find them, you understand me? You find the fucker that did this to ourBrenden and you make him pay. You hearing me, Son? You make him pay!”

“I will, Ma,” I swear tightly. “I will. Saoirse is coming to see you?—”

“No.” She cuts me off while sniffling. “You need her with you. You need the family with you. I’ll be fine.”

“Ma—”

“I’ll be fine, Cormac. You find the bastard that killed my baby.” She hangs up, and a smothering silence falls. The air grows so thick that I have to unbutton my waistcoat and the top two buttons of my shirt, then lower the window just so I can take an easy breath.

No one speaks.

Brenden is dead. I am Captain now. And his murderer walks these streets thinking they are safe. But I will not stop, I will not breathe until I have that fucker beneath my boot, and they will know nothing but agony for the rest of their days.

And this woman is key to finding them. At least, the cops think so.

After a few deep breaths of night air, I glance at Hank who watches me with unspoken sympathy. He’s been my bodyguard for over ten years and in this family, he’s as much a brother as Brenden was. Which means he shares in my pain, to an extent.

“How is she?” Hank asks quietly.

“Heartbroken,” I reply tightly. “She wants the killer found immediately.”

“As do we all.” Hank’s head tilts to the left, and he tosses me the purse he had taken from the woman. “Her name is Evelyn Morris. Twenty-four years old. Lives about six blocks away under the off-ramp. Her phone is a bit fucked, though. She dropped it when Dale grabbed her.”

As he talks, I rummage through her purse. She has twenty bucks, a couple of loose coins, and an old library card that’s so faded I can’teven make out the name of the library. The last item is a card with a detective’s name scrawled across it in gold ink. Anger pulses through me like a flickering flame, and I flip the card around, showing it to Hank.

“I want to know who the fuck this is and if we pay them. I need to know what they know, or whatever the fuck they think they know.”

Was it random? Was Brenden caught unawares by some fucker who didn’t know who they were dealing with? Or was it gang-related?

The answer will determine whether dawn breaks on war.

I watch the unconscious woman slowly come too. She jolts her shoulders first and then registers that her hands are bound and inaccessible. Then comes the panic. Her head snaps up, sending her black hair back in a wave, and she begins to hyperventilate. Like a caged cat, she pulls at her bindings, rocking back and forth while wildly scanning the dark room.

I wait until tears flood her brown eyes, and then I turn on the small lamp on the desk beside me.

“Evelyn.”

She screams immediately, throwing her head back, and her eyes grow so wide it’s a wonder they don’t pop right out of their sockets.

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