Page 27 of Ruthless Secrets (Alpha Mafia Daddies #6)

Chapter Twenty-Two

MARCO

In a matter of seconds, I’ve ruined any progress I’ve made with Clara.

As I head up the stairs behind Jax, I feel sick to my stomach.

A lot has shifted in the last few hours, not just between Clara and I, but with Alfonzo too. The pieces are moving across the board quicker than I predicted, and I just have to hope that I can keep up.

I know I should have at least told Clara that I was with Andre, but it would have led to more questions that I don’t want to answer.

Right now, all she should be focusing on is Zoe and letting me take care of the rest. I don’t want her to worry when she doesn’t have to, though it seems she’s going to do that anyway.

It’s bad enough that after I got off the phone with my brother last night, I had to drive into the city to meet with him, Levi, Jax, and Enzo to discuss our next move.

We talked for hours, going around and around in circles about how to approach this threat of Alfonzo and Tommaso, with no other solution other than to approach Cillian Moore.

If that wasn’t enough to put me in a bad mood, Andre decided that because I came up with the idea, I’m the one who has the pleasure of meeting with him.

It’s not going to be easy to convince Cillian to join us, which only adds to my stress.

He’s a notoriously difficult man at the best of times, but I’m hoping I can use his hatred of Alfonzo and Tommaso to my advantage because I don’t have a plan B.

After calling up all of the bars that Cillian owns across the city, I finally manage to track him down and arrange to meet him at The Bloody Harp over in Hell’s Kitchen.

It’s a dive of a place, but I don’t risk suggesting an alternative spot. If I want to get him on our side, I’m going to have to put my ego aside and let him call the shots for the time being.

It’s safe to say I have a lot riding on this meeting, and seeing Clara this morning only made it worse.

I’m doing this to keep her and Zoe safe, and I can’t afford to make any mistakes.

I was planning on being back from my meeting with Andre before Clara woke up but by the time we had gone over what I was going to say to Cillian, it was almost seven a.m.

I knew she would be upset that I left without any explanation, and I curse myself for not bothering to leave her a note. I guess I’m still getting used to having someone waiting for me when I get home.

I don’t bother to confide in my brother about what’s been weighing heavy on my mind. Andre would tell me to just come clean to Clara, seeing as she knows who I am and what my family is involved with, and she is yet to run. But that doesn’t mean she won’t still .

After the way I treated her this morning, I think I might have already planted the seed in her head that she might be better off without me.

I’ve been trying my hardest to be the man she deserves, but something I do is bound to push her over the edge and she’s going to walk away without looking back, taking my daughter along with her.

I just have to make sure to give her a good enough reason to stay.

I lock myself in my room and busy myself with showering and changing to try and distract myself. But the scent of Clara’s perfume still clings to my skin from last night, and the sight of the rumpled sheets has my chest tightening.

Last night was perfect, and I want more than anything to recreate that every night with Clara for the rest of our lives.

Making her smile brings me such happiness that I didn’t even know I was capable of feeling. I just wish that I didn’t have to sacrifice her happiness in order to protect her.

The scalding hot shower does little to relieve the tension in my body.

I’m exhausted and irritable, which are two things I should definitely not be feeling as I meet with one of the most dangerous crime bosses in the city.

Once I’m dressed and freshly shaved, I make my way back downstairs and quickly head out the door before Clara has a chance to intercept me because I don’t think I could handle turning her away again.

The drive from Westchester to Cillian’s bar takes me almost an hour. Having so much time to ruminate over my thoughts leaves me in a foul mood, so by the time I’m pulling up outside Cillian’s bar, I’m in desperate need of a drink.

The Bloody Harp sits on a narrow, grimy street in Hell’s Kitchen.

It’s been there for decades, and the once green painted exterior now mostly peeled away to reveal the old red brick underneath.

Above the entrance there’s a rusted metal sign with a red-painted harp which looks like it might fall down at any moment.

The solid oak door is scarred with knife marks and what looks to be dried bloodstains near the bottom.

I wrap my still-bruised knuckles against the door and wait.

As per Cillian’s instructions I’ve come completely unarmed and alone, though he and I both know that means fuck all. Adam is proof of how much damage I can do with my bare hands.

As the sound of heavy footsteps approaches, I plaster an easy smile on my face and tuck my hands into my pockets in time for the door to open and one of Cillian’s cronies to appear.

He’s a good few inches shorter than I am but built like a boxer, with a crooked nose and several scars etched into his cheek.

His piercing blue eyes narrow as he takes me in. “Yes?”

I don’t let my smile falter. “I have an appointment with Cillian.”

“You alone?”

“Yes.”

The man glances behind me before stepping aside to let me in.

Instantly, I’m hit with the smell of stale cigarette smoke mixed with beer. I try not to wrinkle my nose as I’m led across the dimly lit floor toward the bar.

I glance around and notice a small stage in the corner with an upright piano collecting dust. Rows of red leather booths line the walls, though the material is cracked and stained.

The place is even more of a dive than I remember it being .

I eye the three men standing near the bar, pretending to nurse their pints. It’s clear the only reason they’re here is in case I decide to try something, not that I’m that stupid.

I glance at the bottles of liquor behind the bar and try to stifle a sigh. It seems Cillian keeps all the cheap shit out front and hides the good stuff away for himself.

A door off to the left opens, and I brace myself as Cillian Moore appears.

We’re similar in terms of height and build, though he has at least two decades on me from the deep lines etched into his face.

His Irish heritage is present in his graying auburn hair that is cropped short, and his pale weathered skin that is dotted with freckles. His navy three-piece suit looks out of place in a rundown bar like this.

A part of me is a little surprised that he’s actually shown up to this meeting, though I don’t let my face show it.

Cillian stalks toward me, a glass of whisky in hand. “Did ye come alone?”

“Yes.”

Cillian grunts before taking a seat at one of the round wooden tables between us.

“Sit.” He points to the chair opposite from him.

He looks to have collected a few more scars along his cheeks and neck since the last time I saw him.

“How have you been?” I unbutton my jacket and take the seat he offered.

“Cut the shite and tell me what ye want, De Luca,” Cillian’s accent is still thick despite decades of living in the city.

“A drink would be nice.” I eye the glass of whisky in Cillian’s hand.

I catch sight of the tarnished gold signet ring on his left pinky finger, no doubt engraved with the Moore family crest.

Cillian narrows his pale gray eyes at me .

“Why don’t ye get to the feckin’ point, then we’ll see about getting ye that drink.”

He’s seriously going to make me ask for his help while I’m completely sober?

I forgot what hard work this guy is.

“Tommaso Costa is sniffing around my family. It seems my father’s past is coming around to haunt my brother and me.”

“ Yer father always did seem to like being bit on the arse.”

I bristle at his words, wishing that I had a drink to take the edge off, but I manage to remain quiet.

“What did Costa do this time?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does if ye want my help, De Luca,” His voice is so cold that the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “I’m assuming that’s why ye ’re here?”

Fuck, I really need a drink.

“Yes.”

A smirk pulls at Cillian’s lips, but he doesn’t say anything else. He’s trying to make me squirm, and it’s fucking working.

“He’s joining forces with Alfonzo Rossi.”

“Oof. Ye ’re fucked.”

My jaw is starting to ache from clenching it so hard.

“He’s already tried to make a move against my family. While we could fight them on our own, we figure it would help to have the element of surprise on our side.”

“They wouldn’t expect ye to be foolish enough to come askin’ me for help, that’s for sure.”

“Hence why I’m here.”

Cillian’s dark auburn brows furrow as he looks at me.

Neither one of us speaks, and with each second that ticks by, I fear I might be losing my one chance at getting my family out of this mess.

When Cillian picks up his glass to down the rest of his whisky, I brace myself for whatever it is that’s about to come out of his mouth.

“All right.” He sets the empty glass down. “I’ll help ye , but don’t think for a second it’s out of kindness. This comes at a price.”

“Name it, and it’s yours.”

“You and yer brother? You owe me now. And trust me, De Luca, I always collect.”

I dip my chin. “I appreciate this, Cillian.”

I get up to leave.

“What’s the rush? Sit yer ass back down and have a drink with me. We’re allies now, aren’t we?”

“Thank you for the offer, but I have some other business to take care of.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

I consider pushing, but then I catch the look on Cillian’s face and sit right back down.

He whistles through his teeth, and a waitress instantly appears, wearing something that resembles lingerie.

I keep my eyes averted, not wanting to stick my foot in something that is none of my business. The sooner I get a drink in my hand, the sooner I can get out of here.

“Two whiskys, neat. And none of that cheap shite .” Cillian flashes her a wink before slapping her on the ass. It’s anything but affectionate, though the girl does a good job at hiding her repulsion with a smile.

“Of course, sir.”

As the waitress busies herself behind the bar, Cillian leans back in his seat and reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a cigar. His eyes never leave mine as he puts the cigar between his lips and lights it.

" Lemme give ye some advice and listen close.” He takes a long drag on his cigar, then exhales, enveloping both of us in a cloud of smoke. “I knew yer father, and I respected the way he ran things. He understood power.”

“That he did.”

The waitress appears and sets down two glasses of whisky. I pick mine up but wait to take a sip until Cillian does.

“So, tell me…why the hell are you and Andre pissin’ all over that?”

I have to fight the sudden urge to smash my glass over Cillian’s head. “We like to do things differently.”

“Guys like Alfonzo and Tommaso? They don’t respect words. They don’t respect deals. They respect fear . The only way to stop ‘em from walkin’ all over ye is to make ‘em terrified of what happens if they do.”

Cillian takes another long drag on his cigar as I down my drink.

“I appreciate your help, but I really have to get going.” I don’t want to spend another second in this man’s company if I don’t have to.

Cillian runs his index finger around the rim of his glass, his eyes fixed on me as I stand up to leave. "You’ll be hearin’ from me.”

I rebutton my jacket. “I look forward to it.”

As I walk out of The Bloody Harp, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to regret this deal.