Page 39 of The Mobster’s Daughter (Massachusetts Mafia #2)

A ngus Hayes

Six Hou rs Earlier

A ngus’s footsteps echoed in the vast, cold, empty space of the hangar. His heart pounded so hard his chest ached. Or maybe that was the fear cons uming him.

He told himself that there was a chance he could talk his way out of this—that Grady might listen to reason.

“Walk,” Conor growled b ehind him.

Angus hadn’t realized he’d stopped. Every instinct screamed at him to run. Not that there was anywhere for him to go. The exits were likely cut off by Gr ady’s men.

He was alone. Cornered.

He clenched his fists and walked into the deep recesses of the hangar.

This wasn’t supposed to be how his life ended.

He was supposed to be somewhere far away with the money the Russians gave him.

He’d planned everything to the last detail—he’d take a midnight flight to the Caymans, withdraw his cash, and disappear.

His bags were packed, sitting on the floor by his front door.

His passport was in his jacket pocket, waiting for him to take it out and show it to someone in customs. He was hours fro m freedom.

Then Conor Sullivan showed up at his apartment just after dark and changed e verything.

Twenty feet in front of him, Grady stood still, silent, and scowling under the harsh, white lights in the middle of the hangar. Angus never saw him smile, not even after he got home safely and ended up living happily ever after with Sean O’Reilly’s daughter.

Angus froze again, tripping over his own feet as a shiver ran down his spine and his gut churned. His hand went to his throat, and he had to resist the urge to claw at it until he could catch hi s breath.

Grady’s eyes were unreadable, his face unrelentingly composed as he watched Angus walk toward him, tracking him like a predator studying his prey, his gaze hard, a ppraising.

This wasn’t a conversation; they hadn’t brought him here to talk. This was re tribution.

“Mr. McCarthy,” he murmured, his hollow voice barely cutting through the suffocating silence of the immense hangar. He stopped in front of the elde r mobster.

Grady tilted his head, one eyebrow raised. He glanced over Angus’s shoulder at the man standing b ehind him.

“Thank you, Conor,” Grady said. “Wait outsid e for me.”

Angus didn’t take his eyes off Grady as Conor’s footsteps receded, and a door closed somewhere off to his left. Sweat dripped down the middle of his back, and his hands were clammy. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth, then snapped it s hut again.

“Are you ready to explain yourself, Angus?” Grady asked. The sound was so low, so menacing, Angus’s blood ran cold.

He swallowed past the lump rising in his throat.

The sharp, metallic taste of fear filled his mouth.

Grady knew. He’d always known. Angus had suspected the family knew what he had done, but those seven words sealed his fate.

For the last six months, Grady had watched Angus, letting him sweat, dragging him along, keeping him hanging by a thread.

Toying with him, playing with him. Psychologica l warfare.

There was no point in lying, no reason to try to weasel his way out of any repercussions.

Every scenario Angus had rehearsed in his head, every justification for his actions, crumbled under Grady’s scrutiny.

The weight of what he’d done pressed on him, tightening like a noose around his neck.

If he confessed, admitted his mistake, maybe he could walk away from this.

“I’m sorry, Mr. McCarthy,” Angus said. “Please try to understand.” He tried to keep the tremor out of his voice as he spoke, but he knew he still sounded pathetic and whiny as he begged for his life.

Grady snorted and his scowl deepened. “Understand? Tell me what I’m supposed to un derstand.”

Angus shook his head. “I had to do it. Once the Russians had a hold of me, I couldn’t break free.

They … they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The money was good, more than I’d ever seen in a lifetime.

Especially if I stayed where I was, some guy behind a desk.

No respect, no future. Nothing but small-time stuff.

I was destined for mediocrity. I wanted more.

When the Russians offered to give it to me, I took it. You would have done the sa me thing.”

Grady shifted, his muscles tensing. Angus braced himself for a blow, but nothing came. When Grady tipped his head to the side, Angus heard the distinctive crack of his neck popping.

“I would never betray my family. You betrayed us for money ,” he spat. “Caitlin almost died because you wan ted cash?”

A flash of anger bubbled up. “What the hell do you know? You’re the best friend, the one who has been by Sean O’Reilly’s side his whole life.

And Declan is the anointed one, guaranteed to take over the business when his father-in-law is gone.

Me, I’m nothing. I deserved more. So, I went out and got it.

No one can blame me for that.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back.

Grady didn’t respond, didn’t blink. He let the silence stretch between them, drawing it out until Angus was suffocating under the weight of what he said. He tried to fill the void, words rushing out of him in an effort to bring Grady around to his side.

“I did everything O’Reilly asked of me. The stupid errands, the meaningless jobs, while you—” He gasped, desperate for air. “You got respect. I go t scraps.”

Grady took a measured step closer, his arms crossed over his chest, his face set in that infamous, perpet ual scowl.

“How?”

Angus shook his head. “What do you m ean, how?”

“How did you find us?” Grady snapped. “We switched the phones; we stayed off the grid. You didn’t know about the safe house. How did you find it? How did you know Caitlin was at Fin n’s club?”

“Jesus Christ,” Angus muttered. “You’re so fucking stupid. It was the GPS in your Bronco. I’ve tracked the family vehicles for years. All of them. Whenever the Bronco moved, I knew where it was. It was easy. All I had to do was call the Russians and tell them where to find you.”

“How much did they give you?”

Angus shrugged. “It was n’t much.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” He was so calm that he didn’t raise his voice. “ How much?”

Angus looked at the ground and stammered, “T-two million.”

“So, your loyalty has a price tag?” Gr ady asked.

“You don’t get it,” Angus grumbled. Anger mixed with fear surged through him, and tears filled his eyes. He was justified in what he did. He was. If he could make Grady see that, maybe he could walk away unscathed. “I finally mattered to someone. The Russians needed me. I earned their respect.”

“You think that was respect?” Grady shook his head. “You think they needed you? Bullshit. You were a pawn. They used you, and then they threw you away. Do you think if you called Sokolov right now, he’d save you? Come to your rescue? If you do, you’re de lusional.”

Angus groaned. “You’ re wrong.”

Grady laughed, a full-throated, deep laugh. “It was nothing more than a business transaction to the Russians. A paltry amount paid for information. They won’t even bat an eye when they find out you ’re dead.”

A bead of sweat trickled down Angus’s temple. His anger gave way to raw, desperate fear. Dead. Jesus Christ, he was going to die. He glanced behind him at the towering metal doors at the end of the hangar, doors that had been opened a few minutes ago. There was nowhere to go if he ran.

The scrape of a shoe on the floor drew his attention back to Grady. He had inched a few steps closer, so close to Angus he could smell hi s cologne.

Angus raised his hands and stumbled back a step, the words spilling out of him in a desperate rush. “Grady, please. I … I made a mistake. I see that now. Let me … let me fix it. Give me a chance to make thin gs right.”

“You’re right, you made a mistake,” the elder mobster said, so matter-of-factly, one would have thought he was reciting a grocery list. “You traded family loyalty for money. You sold us out because your pride was wounded.” The corner of his mouth twitched up in an evil smirk. “There is no going back from betrayal.”

It happened so quickly that Angus didn’t see it coming.

Grady swung, his fist connecting with Angus’s jaw, the crack of the punch reverberating through his whole body.

He dropped to his hands and knees, his ears ringing, his face aching.

When he looked up, Grady hit him again, splitting his lip.

Another punch and his eye closed. He fell over with a groan, his blood dripping on the floor.

His heart hammered in his chest, and his last remnant of courage dissipated as Grady put his hand inside his jacket and dre w his gun.

“Wait! Please, Grady, wait!” Angus struggled to sit up, scooting backward as he did. “I’ll do anything you ask.” He hated to beg, but he had no choice. “You don’t … you don’t have to do this. I was wrong. Let me prove my loyalty to you. I swear I won’t mess up again.”

Grady’s expression didn’t change. He stared at Angus, his eyes as cold as steel as he spoke. “It’s too late.”

“I’m sorry,” Angus whispered.

“Sorry doesn’t fix the betrayal.” His finger tightened on the trigger. “You earned this, Angus. And now, you’ll get what’s comin g to you.”

The gunshot ripped the empty hangar, a brutal, deafening sound that echoed off the walls.

The pain hit the center of his chest, a white-hot, searing shock of intense agony spreading through him as Angus toppled over.

His last thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of regret, sorrow, and bitterness.

The world around him dimmed, the air sucked into a vacuum of silence.

The last thing he saw was Grady turning and walking away without a backward glance, leaving him to die on the floor of the emp ty hangar.

The End