Page 39 of Killaney Blood

At the meeting today, Callum stood at the head of the table, Dad's spot, his face carved from stone as he stared me down. Our father is still sick, which means Callum is acting Don until further notice, but the transition's been happening for months now. Today felt different.

"Dec, I don’t mean to come at you like this, but how are your routes getting hit. How did we lose four million in product and a ship that cost twice that?"

Keira sat beside me, her fingers tapping nervously against her coffee mug, red hair pulled back tight in a ponytail.

She's always at my side during meetings. It's the twin thing, she always says, but really it's the fact that we were allowed to bond, while our older brother was forced to lead.

I told my brother what he didn't want to hear, that I'm working on it. Thankfully, the Bonventis and Kastaris gave us a pass. History buys leniency. We helped Enzo Bonventi bury someone, and Keira and I helped Calli with that situation a few months ago. But one more mistake and it won't matter. They'll want their money.

Either way, it seems like everyone is handling things, doing their parts. And me? I'm bleeding money and hiding evidence.

I still haven't told them about the feather spray-painted onto the hull of our burning ship, or the one found in Knox's mouth in an alley. They only know about the one on the driver Callum told us about.

Fuck.

I lean forward and grip the steering wheel hard, my hands shaking. The feather is eating at me. I should have told Callum, should have connected the dots for him. But something held me back. Pride, maybe. Or the fear if I say it out loud, the whole thing will start unraveling.

I hate being the second son. The spare. The one who gets the scraps of responsibility while Callum carries the family name on his shoulders.

I never really wanted the throne. Not if it meant burying my brother, but sometimes, sometimes I want what he has because I think I could do it better.

Shit, I don't know.

But we're family, so I play my part. The wealthy playboy with the fast cars and even faster women. The underground king. The enforcer with the bloody knuckles who makes problems disappear, pushes pharmaceuticals for the family, all while keeping my smile that hides how fucking exhausted I am.

As my dad says, the reckless son with just enough restraint to be useful.

I crack my neck and slide out of the car.

The warehouse door opens before I reach it. Shane nods once as I step inside. Three men are waiting. Blindfolded. Gagged, with their hands zip-tied behind their backs.

The men who fucked up royally, and now they're going to pay for it.

I check my watch. 8:17 PM.

Cutting it close.

"These the ones?" I ask Shane, my voice firm.

Shane nods. "Anders was on watch when the sabotage happened. Simon was running security and says he stepped away for a smoke when our visitors arrived. And Tommy there—" he kicks the third man who grunts, "he was supposed to be looking over the cargo but claims food poisoning caused him to be in the back throwing up over the side, so he didn't see anyone."

I walk in a slow circle around them, thoughts running through my head.

"You know what this cost us?" I ask, but no one answers. They can't. Their mouths are full of cloth.

I pull my Glock and rest the barrel on the shoulder of the one on the left. He flinches.

"You three fucked up. And you know what happens when you fuck up? I lose money. When I lose money, I get angry. When I get angry..." I pause and press the barrel of the gun hard into the side of a man's head, "people get hurt."

Just as I am about to pull the trigger, I stop myself and step back. Executing them would be too easy.

I fire three shots in rapid succession, one into each man's right knee. They shake and scream through the cloth, and one of them collapses fully to the ground.

"See," I say as I look down and see one of the men has pissed himself.

"Jesus," I say, pointing at it with my gun, looking back at Shane and a few others of my men.

Shane laughs. He's seen worse. We both have.