Page 4 of My Irish Mafia King

“I don’t know who you are,” I continue, hating the shudder in my voice. “I don’t even know what organization you work for, exactly. Just ‘the local mob.’ For all I know, you’re just a man who threatened my mom and scared her into paying you.”

He pushes away from the wall and picks up a rolling pin. “These things are always heavier than you expect, aren’t they?” He hits it into his meaty palm.

I swallow, always caving, but then force myself to say, “Could you please give me some information about who you work for? Then maybe I could speak to them about a more reasonable payment plan.”

“You don’t need to worry your not-so-pretty little head about any of that,” he replies, slapping the pin into his hand again. “Let’s say I work for no one. That it’s just me. Do you think that changes things? Do you think that will stop me from doing what I need to do if you stop the payments coming? Or, let’s imagine you get clever, take me out somehow… which could never happen, but for the sake of argument. What do you think happens then?”

He walks right up to me, bringing the stink of whiskey and cigarettes. “My buddies would swoop in here like vultures on a corpse. It’d be even worse for you. Believe it or not, I’m one of the good guys. Enough talk. Where’s my envelope?”

I’ve got no choice. I want to scream in his face, slap him. But in the end, like usual, I grab the envelope from my desk drawer and hand it to him.

“Good girl,” he grunts. “See you soon.”

When he’s gone, tears prick my eyes. I feel like a lost little kid, a storm raging, waiting for my savior to rescue me. But I’m not a child anymore. I’ve got to handle this myself.

Two

KILLIAN

After interviewing potential managers, I take a corner booth with my mother and my sister, Ellie. Both of them are elegant women, Mom wearing pearls around her neck and in her ears, her silver hair woven into a pattern. Ellie is a bright-eyed young woman with her hair in a bun, her sleeves rolled up because she’s recently been in the kitchen, learning from my chefs as she follows her passion to enter the culinary arts.

“I know what you’re going to ask me,” Mom says as we sit down.“Do we have to go to this damn party?”

Ellie laughs. “Mom, that was a seriously great impression. You got the perfect combination of grumpiness and whininess.”

I chuckle, ruffling my sister’s hair. “Your constant teasing never gets old.”

She smooths her hair down, pouting at me. “You’re wrong anyway, Mom. He’s thinking about hislucky charm. Can’t you tell? He’s been away in the clouds all morning.”

I grind my teeth, trying to force a smile to my face, to play it off casually. But Ellie has hit the truth squarely in the jaw.

“You could invite her to the party,” Ellie says a moment later.

“You want me to invite a civilian to a mob party?” I grunt. “No, Ellie. I wouldn’t do that. Those morning talks with Lucy need to stay as far away from the mob as they can. Hell,Iwant to stay away from the mob.”

“You know we have to make an appearance,” Mom mutters. “Your uncle would take it as a slight if you didn’t show up.”

“Uncle Frank doesn’t even run the damn organization,” I say, sighing heavily. “Thank God for Owen.”

Owen has been with the Family since my grandfather’s time. After my grandfather’s passing, he became consigliere to my father, and then to my uncle when my father passed. If Owen hadn’t been so level-headed and prevented the Family from imploding or devolving into war, I would have had to become Don. I’ve never wanted that. I’ve never wanted the darkness it forces into a man’s soul.

“Yes, thank God for Owen,” Mom replies. “He’s been a rock. After your grandfather’s heart attack, and then…” Her voice goes croaky. “Your father’s car accident… Who knows what Frank would’ve done to the Family by now if we didn’t have Owen steering us? But that doesn’t change the fact that we have to go. People expect to see the Callahan prince. Otherwise, whispers start… and you know where whispers lead.”

“War,” I say, looking around the restaurant. “Sometimes, when we’re working on a new project or having a drink after a busy day, I can almost forget we’re part of this crap.”

“Like it or not, this is part of us,” Mom says. “I’ve been in this life since I was younger than Ellie.”

“You’re not part of it anymore,” I growl. “And Ellie’s never going to be part of it.”

“Owen won’t live forever,” Mom mutters.

I curl my hand into a fist, thinking of Lucy, but that’s not saying much. I’ve been thinking of her a lot today. After she playfully punched me, I wanted to tease her about it, maybe brush her unruly red hair from her forehead, tuck it behind her ear… do the things normal men do with women they’re attracted to. But I can’t indulge myself.

“He’s an old man,” Mom goes on. “He’s been in the game a long time. When he’s gone, do you think you can trust Frank?”

I massage my forehead. “I thought we were talking about the party. Or going to discuss travel arrangements or talk about tuxedos versus suits. Not…this.”

“I’m sorry,” Mom says. “You’re right. These are concerns for another day. I was thinking of arriving with Frank and Owen in their limo. I know, I know,” she goes on, probably seeing how distasteful the idea is to me. “You want to spend as little time with them as possible, especially your Uncle Frank, but people need to see unity.”

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