Page 1 of Wicked Duty
Prologue
Callum
Tucked away in a corner study of the Gallagher estate, I stifle a yawn.
Wall-to-ceiling bookshelves, priceless paintings and art works, and oversize high-end leather furniture surround me. Meanwhile, I’ve chosen to sit in the one piece of furniture, a plush chaise lounge, that barely fits my frame. In the couch next to it, Darren Kelly—one of my oldest friends—sits with his new wife, Veronika.
Darren, who grew up in this mafia palace, tracks everything in the room with his intense blue eyes. He’s behaved this way since we were kids.
His left hand tangles with his difficult-to-read partner’s. Her pale blond hair, usually tucked into a tight bun at the back of her neck, gives her an uptight appearance. And there’s always some mysterious storm brewing behind her gray eyes. That pristine poker face rarely reveals anything. Still, behind that perfect posture, I note the subtle tension in her lean muscles.
She hides any worries by masking her expression, but my gut insists she’s nervous. And my gut rarely lies.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand why today must be important to her.
Directly across from me, in the massive wingback to Veronika’s left, sits one of the most dangerous men on US soil. He puffs on a cigar in pensive silence, intimidating the very air in the room.
The one and only Shane Gallagher.
Old Bulletproof, as he’s known in organized crime circles.
Everything here belongs to this man. Shit, as long as we’re within the property line,webelong to him too.
His metallic silver eyes, sharp as live steel, slice with a single glance. His stubbled face conveys a combination of impatience and disinterest.
After completing my initial assessment of the room’s inhabitants, I allow my gaze to wander. Around me, polished wood panels gleam. Books line every shelf, low to high. An elegant spiral staircase curves up and around to a second level. Sculptures line the mantle of a marble fireplace, and a larger-than-life painting of a Dublin cityscape from the nineteenth century completes the over-the-top architecture.
An old-world floor globe stands to my right. From this distance, Ireland resembles a splatter of baby food more than my birth country. I’d rather be there right now than stuck in this room.
After all, itisAugust. About this time every year, I make a special trip back.
Just to visit…
A man’s voice interrupts my ruminations. “I apologize for the delay.”
Striding along the upstairs banister toward the spiral staircase, with a matte black laptop secured under one arm, is the man I suspect we’re waiting on.
“No problem, Ror. It’s not like any of us have better things to do than sit around until you show your ugly mug.”
Veronika elbows Darren in the ribs, effectively shutting him up.
The newcomer ignores Darren’s taunt. “Trinity called to ask me how to get rid of a computer virus. I lost track of time.”
I mouth the name at Darren, who leans close and whispers. “Finn’s half-sister.”
“Rory.” Shane shifts, prompting Darren to resume his upright position. “Any news?”
“Something’s definitely going on in LA. I’ve got feelers out but nothing solid to report.” Rory runs a hand through his messy brown waves while bypassing our little group for a mahogany lectern in the corner. “I’ll update you as soon as I know more.”
“Callum.” Darren nods at me. “This is Rory O’Connor. He runs all the Kings’ technology operations.”
Ah. The IT guy.
I mask a twinge of irritation. So the four of us have been sitting here for over twenty minutes, cooling our heels and twiddling our thumbs, while waiting for…a computer geek?
I only came today because Darren, the adopted son of Donal Gallagher and a member of the Irish Kings’ ruling family, requested my presence. Aside from belonging to one of the most powerful mafia organizations in New York City, he’s also a friend.
Darren “retired” from the mob world, so to speak, and opened shop as the director of a security firm. Or, I guess it’s more accurate to say Darren and his wife founded this security firm together. He’s the tactical, explosive part of the duo, while Veronika is the calm former ballerina turned hacker.
