Page 20 of My Irish Mafia King

“I don’t know how that ring got there!” Frank wails. “As for the Family, this is nothing to do with you. You had your chance to be involved. To have a say. That was overtenyears ago. If you had any smarts, you’d pretend you never saw a damn thing and go on with your life.”

“Does Owen know what you’re doing?” I demand.

“Owen isn’t the Don.Iam.”

“You and your fucking pride. Everybody knows Owen is the one who actually runs things, uncle. If that wasn’t the case, I would’ve picked up the crown a long time ago. The trafficking stops. Now.”

Frank grits his teeth. “Is that a threat?”

“My father would be fucking ashamed of you. So would Grandad. You’re nothing compared to them.” I turn away and storm down the steps, then grab Shane from the backseat and toss him to the ground. “It stops, uncle,” I growl. “Or I’ll make it stop.”

Getting into the driver’s seat, I leave the estate, knowing I might’ve gone too far when I put my hands on him. Or is it naïve to think that I might still avoid a war? Is that just wishful thinking?

I drive through the city toward Owen’s much more modest home. His elderly wife greets me with a warm smile on her face. “Killian, what a lovely surprise...”

“Hello, Mrs. Doyle,” I say. “Is your husband home?”

“He’s in his study. Go straight through.”

Owen rises slowly, wincing in pain as he leans on his cane and walks toward me. Every movement is a reminder of his age, of how precarious the state of the Family is. When I shake his hand, I feel like I could break him by accident.

“Has Frank called you?” I say.

“No... should he have?”

“Let’s sit.” We sit on opposite sides of a small table with a chessboard on it. I look him squarely in the eye, judging by his reaction. “I know about the trafficking.”

Owen sighs. “So the rumors are true.”

“Rumors? You’re his consigliere. Yourunthis Family.”

Owen steeples his fingers. “You see, Killian, it’s sentiments like those which have caused Frank to make a name for himself. Hisownname. During the last year or so, he’s grown tired of people explicitly claiming that I’m the one who really pulls the strings. A rift has opened, the men loyal to me growing more loyal... and the same with his men.”

“Are you saying there’s going to be a war?”

“I’ve done everything I can to placate your uncle,” Owen says. “When he told me he wanted to pursue his own business ventures without my involvement, I didn’t stand in his way. When I heard rumors thatthesewere his ventures... I tried to withhold judgment.”

“Shane Delaney told me they’ve been holding trafficking victims for months. For the Cartel, Russians, or for whoever will pay the most. It’s fucked, Owen.”

Owen winces when I swear, but I’m not concerned with being civil. I left my civility on the glass-covered, bloody floor of Lucy’s apartment.

“I don’t disagree,” Owen says. “But Frankisthe Don. When he agrees with me pulling the strings, the strings, I will pull... If he outright challenges me, however, there is only so much I can do without provoking a war. Which we all want to avoid.”

“What about my father?” I snarl. “Did you know what about?”

Owen looks out the window. “Your uncle drinks a lot. He says things which might merely be comments, his sick idea of a joke... or hints at the truth. I honestly don’t know.”

“It’s time you took a stand on this,” I tell him. “No more politics. No more riding the fence. You come out against trafficking. I refuse to allow this to happen. Even if it means war.”

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Owen asks. “I know how stubbornly you have refused participation in the Family. If you start a war, you will have to finish it... and what do you imagine comes after?”

“Perhaps it’s time you led from the front instead of the shadows, Owen,” I tell him.

He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth. “I’m eighty-six years old.”

“That isn’t ano.”

“Perhaps it’s not, but the facts are the facts. I know things are tense with your uncle, but let me try to speak with him. I may get him to back down.”

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