Page 46 of Broken Blood Ties

“Mr. O’Donnell.”

A voice slithers to my ears the moment I enter O’Brien’s, and I inwardly groan. What the hell is he doing here at seven in the morning?

“What do ye want, Marco?” The pub is quiet, and only a few of my men are here stationed as security. Sitting on a barstool in front of the bar, I can see the top of Marco’s head through the chairs flipped over on the tables.

“When the leader of the Yakuza is shot dead by his son looking to take over the organization, you better believe I’m going to show up. Came a week ago but Cormac said you were out of town.”

I nod, moving through the tables and making my way to the back hall toward my office. Without invitation, Marco follows me.

“You went to see Luka, didn’t you?” he continues, footsteps treading closer behind me.

I roll my eyes, keying in the code on the pad near my office door. When it opens, I inhale the stagnant air. After a little over a week of not being here, the smell is unique to say the least.

I click on the light and move to my desk, while Marco hovers in the doorway.

“Riku wants to call the shots in the ring.” I offer this tidbit of information to Marco. You see, this business is a dance, one I have zero intention to misstep.

Marco doesn’t have the numbers to be of use to me, hence my trip to New York. While the Bratva and Irish aren’t formally aligned, there isn’t a world where Luka Morozov doesn’t help me.

Several years ago, when a particular nasty secret society ravaged New York, I was there for the Bratvaandthe Cosa Nostra. Luka owes me a favor.

“You see Salvatore?” Marco asks with an air of nonchalance, but I know better. The clasping of his hands as he rubs them together, the way he clears his throat just after he says his name—Marco’s former boss still has a hold over him.

Part of me wonders what Marco wouldn’t do to be in Salvatore Buscetta’s good graces. I always wondered if the faction that broke off opposed to the alliance with the Bratva would regret it. The strained muscles in Marco’s face make me think he does.

“Aye,” I finally answer. His gaze flits around my office, annoying the piss out of me.

“So … we still fighting Wednesday? Even after Yuki and Riku?”

“Aye. Nothing changes. It’s me ring. Riku doesn’t get to dictate things. I’ve made sure of it.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got two men in the ring. I want to know Riku hasn’t gotten to you.”

I grunt. “Get the hell outta me office.”

He chuckles and turns to leave as Cormac enters my office. I can’t catch a break. I have a week’s worth of work to catch up on. Actual work, for the ten plus restaurants that I own and need to make a substantial profit on.

“What’s he want?” Cormac sits in the chair across from where I’m at my desk, poring over paperwork.

“He’s like a dog with no master. The Italian’s numbers are dwindling by the week. They won’t have a presence here unless they go crawling back to the Cosa Nostra.”

“Good luck with that,” Cormac says, twirling his signet ring around his thumb.

I grunt, looking back down at the overly expensive top-shelf liquor Lizzy and Oliver have been ordering.

When Cormac doesn’t get up to leave, I raise my head to look at him. He’s staring at me. Examining me.

“What?”

“Are ye and the teacher?—”

I slam my fist on the desk. “Get out!”

He smirks and shrugs his shoulders before bolting from the room.

Chest heaving, I stand, kicking my chair so it rolls to hit the nearly dead plant. I can’t deal with this. Why is this the question on everyone’s minds? We have bigger things to worry about.Ihave bigger things to worry about than some preschool teacher who wouldn’t last an hour in my world.

She’s my daughter’s teacher. She’s too young, too innocent. Too good. I could never have her.