Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
“Family, loyalty, honor, and blood. Tis the only thing that’s true.”
Niall allows me one final moment and then bows his head.
“Come and take a walk with me.”
The cemetery is somber, cloyed with death and the accompanying grief. The grass beneath our shoes, littered with the dying of the Autumn leaves. I myself have no room in my heart for grief. My peace with death was made long ago. A man does not enter this life with expectations of immortality. Carrick would be honored to give his life for the syndicate. As would I.
It will not do to dwell on it now. Later, there will be time for such things. For now, I dutifully follow Niall up the stone steps of St. Marcellina’s. The solid oak doors open without protest. Wooden pews line the aisle, the air laced with the scent of wine and repentance. At the end of the aisle, I kneel and recite a prayer for the departed.
I do not fancy myself a good man. Like any Catholic, the guilt of my sins often weighs heavy on my conscience. Little does it change who I am. As a small boy of eight my mammy told me I should not be like my father. So it stands to reason I’ve wanted this life ever since. My path was chosen, and I would do it again. Our outfit is ruled by loyalty and honor. Family. The thing I respect most. We don’t deal in society’s scheme of respectable business, but we still have morals. If an act of evil is to stain my soul, it will be for one of my own. We look out for each other. Protect each other. If hell is the price to pay for my sins on earth, then so be it.
This family is the only one I have left now.
After a while, Niall sits beside me and retrieves a flask from his suit jacket. There is no bother with formalities or religion on his part. The man gave up on God long ago. It was only out of respect for Carrick that he prayed today.
He holds the flask towards me, and I take a nip of the good stuff. Niall always has the good stuff. The alter becomes our focal point as silence remains. It’s a quality I appreciate in him. As a leader, Niall’s stoic nature instills more fear than any loud mouthed half-wit ever will.
He reaches into his pocket, and my grand-da’s Saint Anthony medal dangles from his leather glove.
“He’d have wanted ye to have this, son.”
Tracing the etched gold beneath my fingers, an ache I never knew grows inside of me. He could have chosen any Saint, but this is the one he settled on. Carrick never feared death, but rather losing his soul.
“I know ye’re hurting, Lachlan,” Niall says. “Ye didn’t have near enough time with him.”
“No. I didn’t.”
Fifteen years wasn’t enough time to know a man like my grand-da. I don’t reckon it could be accomplished in fifty, stilted as our relationship was. A quiet man, he was. Strong and proud, but always quiet. Never knew much of being a father figure. Didn’t fancy himself one when I turned up on his doorstep at sixteen. He took me in anyway.
Didn’t bother me much, really. My grand-da was from a different generation. One that believed in keeping the lineage strong and true. I was only too happy to follow in his footsteps. At the age of sixteen, I was inducted into the MacKenna Syndicate. Proudest day of my life to swear that blood oath. He never said so, but Carrick was proud too.
He started out the old ways. Armored trucks and bank jobs. Drugs and gambling. Those things, he knew. The only ways he knew. He brought me into the fold, but it was the man who sits beside me now who made me what I am. He’s been my mentor over the last decade. Took on the role Carrick couldn’t. Together, we’ve moved the outfit into modern times. Every step of the way, Carrick fought it. The syndicate as it stands today, this is not my grand-da’s mafia. Niall believed cleaning up our act was the only way to thrive. Eventually, Carrick came around.
Doesn’t matter now. He’s gone. The Saint Anthony medallion burns against my palm. My bloodline is dead. We’re closer than ever to an alliance with the Russians, but one of our own is lost. It doesn’t seem a fair sacrifice.
Things will change now. Already it lingers between Niall and I. This weight of responsibility. The burden of proving my loyalty to the man beside me and affirming my dedication to the syndicate. Carrick’s shoes won’t be easy to fill, but you won’t find one more eager than me to pay his dues. Niall won’t give it easily. Sean will challenge me for the role. By birth, he has more rights to be Niall’s successor than I ever will. But I want it. The taste lingers on my lips with how badly I want it.
“Do ye believe ye’re ready for what comes next?” Niall asks.
“Aye.”
Blood will be shed. Heads will roll. And there will be wedding bells in the future.
That’s the only part I struggle to get onboard with. But I will if Niall chooses me. There isn’t a thing I won’t do for the syndicate. To seal this alliance and do right by Carrick. I will take my Russian bride, along with my rightful place as Niall’s second in command.
Nothing and no one will stand in the way of that.
“I’d like to run point on this,” I tell Niall.
Dark eyes find mine, glinting with respect. From his hair to his features, everything about Niall is dark. Men cower and exult in his presence. He is hard. But fair, too. This is how I know he will agree to my request.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
Silence falls between us as he gives some thought to the matter.
“Ye can go tomorrow.”
“Tonight,” I insist.
His eyes appraise me, weighing my motivations.