Page 13 of Enemy of Ours #1

I know deep down inside it has to do with Iris.

It’s the only thing that makes sense to me at the moment.

The Irish can be brutal and don’t have the same motto as my familia.

Family is everything and comes first above all.

The Irish prioritize who’s in charge over family ties; they will kill anyone who doesn’t follow the church’s orders.

It’s basically laying down the law and executing anyone who doesn’t agree with your agenda.

I can understand their perspective, but we Italians believe that our Don will guide us on the right path and that we won’t resort to violence without a justifiable reason.

Well, at least some of us. Like me. I’m not just going to shoot you because you have a different opinion from me, but you better fucking follow orders when I give them.

Give me a reason why my advice and leadership are a bad idea; I’ll mull it over and actually think about your perspective.

That’s what makes a good Don. Believing in the familia and not taking orders from a higher command—well, except God, but he’s not talking to our priest about who we should kill.

I quickly cross my chest, sending a little prayer up to the big guy above that Iris is going to be okay, that nothing has happened to her.

Everything inside me is telling me it’s too late, though.

I decide to take the fastest car I have in the garage because I’m not fucking around, and she’s a beast. I had her transported from Italy and have always enjoyed her quiet speed.

It calls for it now. I’ll be at O’Connor’s in no time, riding in my Bugatti Chiron Super Sport three hundred plus.

No cops will try to stop me either because my Bugatti is black and gold; no one else in the city has this model.

She’s one of a kind, and I plan on using that to my advantage.

“Gemma, you’re with me. I might need you to shoot out the window in case we are in a car chase, but don’t dent my baby.” I warn her, rolling my eyes as she strokes the hood of my car with a wicked smile before slipping into the passenger seat.

Fucking hell.

“I’ll take the Bentley Flying Spur. It’s the only fucking car in this garage with four doors.” Enzo grabs the keys off the board with all the car keys by the garage door and runs over to the Bentley, muttering under his breath about what a spoiled car baby I am.

I really do love my cars. It’s a wonderful hobby, and I’m sticking to that.

“You wreck it, you better be prepared to spend the next eight months in a wheelchair after I blow out your kneecaps,” I warn before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing the button to open all nine garage doors.

“He’s not wrong. Who the hell has twelve cars? You need a new hobby, Don,” Gemma mumbles sarcastically, checking her gun chamber again.

She hates sitting still; it drives her up the wall. It’s another reason we let her take over as our hitwoman. She is constantly moving towards the next target. She’ll do good today if shit hits the fan.

“Or maybe you already do… A new obsession for a certain redhead female. Hm? I’m almost proud, but I kind of think you’re crazy because you’ve been turning into a stalker.

Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been having the men keep tabs on her, and the left side of your desk drawer that you think is locked has pictures of her going about her day.

S.T.A.L.K.E.R.” Gemma drawls out in a sing-along voice that has me tempted to unlock her door and shove her out of the moving vehicle.

Must not kill my blood relative… unless she gives me a reason to, like betrayal.

I take a calming, deep breath and ignore her as I pass through a red light, pretending that the car horns blowing don’t exist. As I like to say, my town and my rules.

But fuck if Gemma isn’t wrong. I’ve had Vinny following Iris since day one.

I know I’m obsessed, but I can’t seem to help myself.

She’s enchanted me with her light laugh and her long, shiny red hair that I want to grip in my fist to control her movements before devouring those pouty pink lips.

Her moss green eyes hold me captive with their sheer intelligence.

I have become a stalker. Something I never thought would happen, but here we are.

Shaking my head to focus on the road, I start to approach the Brooklyn Bridge leading into New York City and leave upstate New York behind at a reckless speed.

Other cars on the bridge move out of my way as I flash my headlights and press on the pedal, making the engine roar, hitting one hundred miles an hour.

Any other time, I’d be enjoying this and grinning like a fool going this fast, but not today.

“This fucker better be home, conducting business as usual with Iris somewhere on the property painting,” I grumble under my breath, exhaling loudly through my nose as I take a sharp right turn, the tires spinning before I jerk the steering wheel straight and gun it down Fifth Avenue, heading towards the Upper East Side without running into any problems like the cops.

“We got your back, Don. No matter what happens,” Gemma reassures me, drumming her sharp red nails on the dashboard impatiently as O’Connor’s townhouse comes into view.

The car skids to a stop. With the engine still running, I climb out and pull my gun out of my holster. I take off running towards the front steps leading to the door that is hanging off its hinges. It looks like someone forced their way in; there's a boot-shaped imprint by the doorknob.

I assess the area, seeing no one on the street and Enzo thirty seconds out as the Bentley turns onto the road. My gaze immediately turns back toward the doors and the blood seeping out from the bottom of the other side.

“Eyes and ears,” I mutter quietly to Gemma.

Her hand taps my shoulder in acknowledgment before I slowly nudge the door open with my foot.

The first thing I notice is the body, point-blank shot into the forehead, the surprised expression still on the poor bastard's face.

The body belongs to one of O'Connor's men.

The second body is found through the double door entry leading into the foyer, his body half on the marble flooring and half on the stairs. Dead.

“I’ll take the upstairs. Five minutes,” Gemma whispers in my ear and takes off up the staircase on silent feet as I head in the opposite direction toward the kitchen.

My heart pounds as I peek around each corner, gun trained high in front of me for an easy kill shot.

A smear of blood is streaked across the checkered kitchen flooring, and as I round the island, it’s another one of his men dead, this time shot in the back.

He never saw it coming. Whoever killed these men must have had a silent revolver because there's still a half-eaten sandwich on the counter.

I move faster, stepping over the body and keeping my finger steady on the trigger.

Glancing out the window, I see a canvas propped up in the garden, but paint is spilled all over the grass as if there was a struggle.

“Boss, you need to see this.” Enzo fills the kitchen doorway, his gun put away as he gives me a grim look.

I feel like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room.

I follow him in a daze, my arm dropping to my side with my gun loosely in my hand.

I can’t care at this point. What if she’s…

No. I can’t think like that. She has to be alive.

I just fucking found her again, and it would be so cruel for her to leave me.

Gemma shakes her head as she meets us at the bottom of the stairs and puts her gun away.

We move as one into the living room with Enzo leading the way without uttering a word, leaving me guessing what I’m about to walk into.

He leads us directly into the dining room, then leans against the wall with his arms crossed while scowling at the slumped figure sitting in the chair at the head of the table.

I freeze in the doorway, hardly blinking as I watch Danny O’Connor raise a tumbler of whiskey.

It shakes in his hand as he swallows it back in one gulp with a hiss between his teeth.

He’s clutching his side, blood seeping out between his fingers as he refills his glass again.

"You know, when I first heard her, the moment she came screaming into this world, I knew my Rose would have my heart forever," Danny speaks into his whiskey glass, his blurry eyes briefly meeting mine before dropping back to watch his amber liquid swirl in his tumbler.

That brief glance he gave me was filled with guilt.

My fists squeeze tightly at my sides as I step farther into the room, not taking my eyes off him as I speak for the first time since arriving here.

“Where is she?” I growl out between my teeth, resisting the urge to just shoot him.

“I figured it out the very moment you met my Rose. I saw it with my own two eyes. You fell so hard that I’m not sure you’ve ever gotten back up, and it seems likely that you will always lie down, gazing up at her as if she’s a goddess.

” He grumbles, wincing as he shifts in his chair, and finally looks up to meet my gaze.

“But you’re too late, my boy. The church has her now.

There is no saving my Rose. The next time you see her, you’ll be standing over her coffin instead of worshiping at her feet.

” As he finishes, a single tear rolls down his cheek into his thick red beard.

I’m across the room before his next tear can escape the corner of his other eye, my fist gathered in his shirt. I pull him up out of his seat until his gaze is level with mine.

“Where. Is. She.” My tone comes out threatening, the darkest it’s ever been.

His eyes widen, his face scrunching in pain as he gasps while staring into my almost black eyes. I’m not fucking around; I’ll gut him like a fish and leave him at his fish market to be found. He's right where he belongs, a man devoid of courage and integrity.

“She’s at the church. Our priest took her, on orders from the bishop, back home from Scotland. This is my penance for making deals with the Italians.” He spits out his words, glaring up at me with glazed eyes as if he believes this is all my fault.

That hasn’t even crossed my mind, and I dismiss it, admittedly.

“You’re a fool, old man. From this day forward, she isn’t yours to take care of, and you’ll remember this moment each time you look in the mirror, you fucking coward.

You don’t deserve her, handing her over on a silver platter.

I’d rather die protecting her.” I shove him back in disgust, sneering at his drunken stupor and nodding at my second in command to get the men ready to meet us at the church.

Enzo nods in response and leaves the room with his phone to his ear. Gemma approaches Danny and spits at his feet before following our cousin out to the car.

“What are you going to do?” He grunts out in pain, a complete fucking mess as blood pools under his chair, but I don’t give a shit if he bleeds out.

“You lost my respect, O’Connor. I think I’ll be making her my wife a lot sooner than planned.

You had your chance to get in my good graces by taking care of your daughter, but you failed.

You better hope she’s still alive, or I’ll torture you for days and make sure you stay alive while you slowly bleed out.

” He gapes up at me in shock and tries to stand, but he’s too fucking drunk and collapses back, breathing heavily.

“You have no right—” he starts, but I cut him off before he can finish.

“I have every right. She’s no longer your daughter. She will become my wife tonight. Goodbye, old man.” I straighten my suit jacket, cracking my neck as I turn around, ignoring his anguish-filled howls echoing through the house, and stride outside toward my future.

“I’m on my way, Kitten,” I say to myself, promising I’ll save her and make her mine in every way.