Page 96 of The Fates We Tame

When I get to the front of the lot, the only brothers are King, Spark, Vex, and Clutch.

Cillian is there with three other men.

“Who are they?” I whisper to Vex.

“His second in command, Callum, is in the navy suit,” Vex replies quietly. “The redhead is Iris’s brother, Thomas. And the third is Callum’s younger brother. He’s more of an enforcer.”

“So, the rumors are true, then?” Cillian asks. He wears a black suit with a charcoal gray sweater beneath it. His shoes are polished to perfection. But his hands are rough, and there are scars on the knuckles, recent ones. The costume presents a polished gentleman, but the hands reveal the truth of a fighter who worked his way up the ranks. “That the front of ye building was blown up by the Sicilians?”

“Who knew the underground world was such a bunch of gossips?” King says.

Cillian looks over to Spark. “Son. You’re lucky I’m not putting a bullet in ye for putting my niece and that baby at risk.”

“I’m not your son,” Spark says stoically, but given our conversation in the medical room, I squeeze his shoulder. It can’t be easy hearing someone else accuse you of the very thing you fear you did.

“Sorry,” Cillian says with a steely glint in his eye. “Nephew-in-law.”

“No women were hurt,” I reply.

“Looking at the front of ye building, I would say that was more good luck than any plan on your part. I’ve got a proposition for ye. I hope you’ll hear me out.”

King steps back, allowing the four of them to enter the lot. Once we’re seated in the bar, King opens the floor. “Why are you here?”

“I want to know why the Sicilians think you are worth this kind of effort,” he says.

Spark shakes his head. “Club business, Cillian.”

Cillian eyes Spark. “Well, the enemy of mine enemy is my friend. And I’m feeling very familial today. So let me rephrase: The Sicilians are a fucking pain in my arse, trying to sweep theNew York docks out from beneath me. Yesterday, they weren’t there. My docks ran like clockwork. I need to know if their feud with you is a temporary thing, or something likely to take some heat off the docks for a while as they pursue the New Jersey side.”

I look to King, but he doesn’t even glance my way as he replies, “It’s a one-time thing. In fact, we aren’t retaliating, so they feel like we’re even, in the hope they fuck off back to New York.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Well, I came to ask for help. When your boy here”—he tips his head in Spark’s direction—“stole my niece?—”

“I didn’t steal your fucking niece. She’s a grown woman who made her choice. Don’t talk about her like she’s a phone I left lying around in my truck.”

Cillian puts his hand out like you would to settle an annoying child.

Spark’s hands turn into fists. “Fucking raise your hand like that to me in my own clubhouse, and I’ll be raising mine right into your face.”

“Settle,” Cillian instructs, but I see he’s saying it to Callum, who has eased his hand toward his holster. “I seem to recall you said you’d help us if we had problems at the docks. And I’m asking for that help now, because it’s lapsed as of late.”

“We’re on hiatus,” Clutch says. “Had too much heat, too much shit dealing with the Righteous Brotherhood. Had a brother in a coma.”

“A fucking hiatus,” Cillian says, laughing as if it was the funniest shit he ever heard. “If I’d known, I would have made a play for the Jersey side of the docks.”

“And we’d have handed you yourarse,” Vex says, mocking Cillian’s accent.

King bites back a smile. “If you’ve got a New York problem, it stays a New York problem. I’m not getting into a permanent fight with the Mafia or Cosa Nostra that will just drain our resources with little or no gain.”

Cillian leans back in his chair. “You’re scared of them.”

King crosses his arms. “Not in the slightest. But what do we gain out of going to war with them? They don’t want the Port Newark-Elizabeth Marine terminal, which is the only route we need kept open. So, they came here to shoot their mouth off a little. They did some damage to the building. We killed three of theirs, they injured a few of ours, but no one seriously. We could go after them in revenge. Plan a hit on Long Island or Little Italy or some shit to rough a few of them up. But what do we gain?”

Cillian slams the table. “You get your fucking pride. You keep your reputation as fearless. Accepting all this”—he gestures to the work at the front of the building—“makes you look weak.”