Page 14 of Conall's Reign

Ilias: I could manage a drink. It’s probably past the old fuckers bedtime.

Me: I’ll drink you under the table any day of the week.

Ilias: You’re welcome to try.

Maxim: One hour

Angelo: Fine

I checkedmy watch and slid my phone into my pocket. They loved to give me a hard time, but our friendship meant everything to me. This made me feel a little guilty about the stunt I was about to pull—but not guilty enough to change my mind.

CHAPTER SEVEN

conall

PRESENT DAY - EIGHT MONTHS LATER

The blood oathhadn’t unfolded exactly as I intended. It gnawed at me, the lingering imperfections and the loose ends I couldn’t tie off. The fundamentals had gone smoothly—manipulating the name draw had been almost too easy—but the deviations from my envisioned outcome wouldn’t stop needling me. I replayed the process in my mind countless times, dissecting every step and every possible variation to ensure I had accounted for every angle.

The others hadn’t agreed to put the blood oath into effect, but as I reminded them, there was no way out of it. Angelo and Ilias protested, their hesitation grating on my nerves like an itch I couldn’t scratch. Maxim, however, behaved exactly as I anticipated. He stepped forward first, his decision shielding me from suspicion. That had been a critical factor in my calculations. What I hadn’t accounted for—what had thrown my internal balance askew—was that Maxim and my sister had fallen in love. A variable I hadn’t considered. An outcome I hadn’t planned for. It satisfied me in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

Complications had arisen. Certain parties—those we hadn’t anticipated—had learned of the blood oath. This realization made my pulse quicken every time I thought about it. I hated the unknowns. The Vanellos were among those dissatisfied with their exclusion from our fathers’ alliance. Old man Vanello had been pushed out of the supply lines decades ago, yet he persisted. Like a cockroach scuttling in the shadows, he refused to be stamped out. The thought of his operations continuing unchecked made my hands clench. It was unacceptable. Maxim, Angelo, Ilias, and I had been fighting ever since.

The fighting had also earned me a bullet in the gut—a consequence that could have been avoided had everything fallen into place as it should have. I had gone over the sequence of events a hundred times since, searching for the misstep.

I settled into the leather chair at the head of the table in my Vinegar Hill mansion’s conference room, trying to mask the pain that flared with each movement. The room was brightly lit, showcasing a large mahogany table designed to accommodate a full squad of men. Maxim was already there, his expression chiseled from granite. Angelo leaned back in his chair, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, while Ilias—always the strategist—scanned a map of our contested territories displayed across the table.

Maxim’s gaze flicked toward me as I settled in. “You should be resting.”

“Rest doesn’t win wars.” The words were immediate and precise. The ache in my abdomen was secondary to the urge to fix what had gone wrong. If I focused hard enough, if I analyzed every misstep, I could avoid the next one.

Cora had texted me when the shooting began. She and Maxim were leaving my building after a meeting just as a Vanello hit squad ambushed them. Maxim and his soldiers were holding their own, but they would have been overrun if we hadn’t come out to help. I barely registered the pain at first, focusing solely on getting her and Maxim to safety. That night left me injured, but it had strengthened my resolve.

“We need to talk about the docks,” Ilias said, tapping the map. “If we can cut off their supply chain, we force them to overextend. They’ll bleed themselves dry.”

Angelo exhaled a plume of smoke, his dark eyes narrowing. “That’s far easier said than done. Their docks are fortified. We’ll need inside intel or a damn miracle to make it happen.”

“Then we’ll create our own miracle,” Maxim said, his voice low yet resolute. He locked eyes with me. “Conall, can we trust your man O’Rourke to obtain what we need?”

I nodded. “O’Rourke has been with me for over a decade. He’ll gather the intel, but we need to move quickly. If the Vanellos catch wind of this, they’ll reinforce their security.”

“Speed is crucial,” Ilias nodded, folding his arms. “But we cannot afford any sloppiness. One misstep, and we risk losing more than just a shipping route.”

“We’ve already lost enough,” Angelo muttered, glancing at me. His meaning wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. The ambush outside my mansion had been a deliberate maneuver by the Vanellos, and my injury was evidence of how close they had come to succeeding.

Maxim’s jaw tightened. “They won’t have another opportunity like that.”

I leaned forward, ignoring the protest from my wound. “They won’t need another chance if we don’t act decisively. We take the docks. We cut off their lifeline. Then we force their hand.”

Angelo stubbed out his cigar and nodded slowly. “Alright, Conall. What’s your plan?”

I outlined my strategy, and each step was calculated to exploit Vanellos’ weaknesses. O’Rourke would gather the intel we needed on their guard rotations and shipment schedules. Once we had the information, we would strike under the cover of darkness, targeting their weakest points first to sow chaos before taking the docks entirely. It would take multiple strikes, but it would be effective.

“It’s bold,” Ilias said, his keen eyes scanning the map once more. “But it could work. We’ll need to coordinate perfectly.”

Maxim’s gaze remained fixed on me. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

I met his gaze. “I don’t have a choice. None of us do. If we falter now, the Vanellos will perceive it as a weakness. And weakness in this business is a death sentence.”

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