Page 15 of Conall's Reign

The room fell silent, the weight of my words settling over us. Finally, Maxim nodded. “Then we move. O’Rourke gets the intel, and we will hit the docks within the week.”

Angelo and Ilias voiced their agreement, yet the unspoken understanding between Maxim and me remained. This war wasn’t just about power or territory but about survival—for our families and legacies.

“Do you have any more intel on people joining Vanello’s side?” I asked. Allies were crucial in street wars, and everyone understood that. We already had the Olivetos on our side, which would be significant. Vanello made a bold move, but it didn’t pan out.

“I believe Scarpato appears to be aligning with Vanello. I’m still searching for more signs, but that’s my impression.” Ilias leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. “Dino Scarpato is good friends with one of the Vanello enforcers. They’re close.”

“Well, let’s keep an eye on that. The Scarpatos have been quiet for a while.” I glanced at the territory map, pondering what they might gain from aligning with Vanello. “Their business has been pretty stagnant. Maybe they’re trying to get in the game.”

“I’m just not sure yet.” Ilias tapped the pen against the table as he rocked down to two legs. He was a restless fucker, always having trouble staying still.

“And the Olivetos? Is Cosmio still onboard?”

Cosmio Oliveto had recently done us a significant favor by delivering the body of one of our enemies in a test of loyalty — minus a few parts. While he posed just as much of a threat to Cosimo as he did to us, it went a long way toward winning our favor. Cosimo said he was willing to ally with us to take on Vallone. It’d mean more manpower for us if he joined us. It was a win-win.

“He is,” Ilias confirmed. “He carries a lot of baggage against Vallone.” He pushed his chair back and rocked, making my teeth grind.

“Why’s that?” Maxim asked. “You knew something the other day when Cosimo dropped off Caruso’s body. What is it?” He fixated on Ilias, locking him with a cold stare, but Ilias just grinned back as if he didn’t give a shit.

“Don’t be sore, Max, just because my contacts are better than yours.”

“Share with the group, you spanner.” I rubbed my hand over my face.

“Cosimo hated his pops too, for one thing. He has no desire to see Vallone win for that reason. The real kicker is that Cosimo wonders if Vallone killed his brother Fausto. He thinks it was a hit.”

“Really?” This was news to me, and I could see from Ilias’s self-satisfied smirk that he knew it was news to all of us.

“Is it true?” Angelo asked. “Did someone in the Vallone organization orchestrate the hit? Because we could use that.” Angelo’s interest had perked up. He loved a bit of gossip.

“Nah. Fausto was a scumbag. He was found in a burned-out car. There’s no evidence of who did it, but it doesn’t hurt us if Cosimo believes it was Vallone.” Ilias shrugged. “Better that way.”

As the meeting adjourned, I stayed seated, allowing the others to file out. Maxim lingered, his hand resting briefly on my shoulder.

“You have more lives than a damn cat, Conall. I’m glad you’re healing up. Are you still planning to take that next step with Francesca?”

I smirked despite the pain. “Don’t worry. I’ll uphold my part of the bargain. Regardless of the situation with Vallone, there’s no backing out now that the blood oath is no longer a secret.”

He nodded solemnly. “That’s true,brat. The only way to go is forward now.”

Once everyone left, I exhaled slowly, my hand grazing the bandages beneath my shirt. The bullet wound reminded me of how close I had come to losing everything—and how much more I could lose if we didn’t succeed.

?

The sun hunglow in the sky by the time I arrived at O’Rourke’s place. His safe house, nestled in a forgotten corner of Brooklyn, was as unassuming as the man himself. It had a weathered door with peeling paint and a mailbox so rusted that it looked like it might disintegrate at a touch. However, inside, it told a different story—pristine, efficient, and filled with the tools of our trade. I could appreciate that. Efficiency.

O’Rourke wasn’t cheap, but he excelled at gathering intel. He also possessed an intriguing moral compass that I couldn’t find fault with. He turned down contracts and often refused jobs from individuals he disliked.

“Conall,” O’Rourke greeted me as I stepped inside, his Irish brogue as familiar as the aroma of the coffee he always had brewing. He stood in the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel, his sharp green eyes observing my every movement. “You look like hell.”

I smirked, removed my coat, and hung it over the back of a chair, ignoring the tug in my abdomen. “Nice to see you too, O’Rourke.”

He gestured for me to sit, sliding a mug of coffee across the table. I didn’t bother to touch it. “So, what’s the job this time? You have that look that says I’m about to regret answering the door.”

“It’s big. The Vanello docks.”

O’Rourke whistled softly, leaning against the counter. “You’re not just aiming high. You’re reaching for the bloody moon.”

“We don’t have a choice,” I said, meeting his gaze. “If we’re going to win this war, we need to choke their supply chain. That means taking the docks, and it means we need you.”

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