Declan nodded grimly. “Our shipment was stolenagain.”
“I thought we put extra men at the docks to prevent that,” Brogan said, his voice little more than a rough growl.
“We did,” Owen confirmed, a throbbing headache forming at his temples. “There was a fight, and we lost two men.”
“Fuck,” Brogan spat, shaking his head. “We get any of them?”
Owen shook his head. “No, but we know who’s responsible for this.”
“The Italians,” Connor said through gritted teeth. “No one else would have the balls to move against us.”
“Mancini’s an arrogant bastard, but does he really think that we’ll let him get away with this?”
Owen scoffed. “We all know he’s wanted more control of the city for a long time.”
“Yeah, we outnumber them. How does he think he’ll get away with this?”
No one spoke for a moment, but Owen could practically see the wheels turning in Brogan’s mind. He narrowed his eyes on the man.
“Tell me where your mind is,” he demanded.
“Rocco Mancini has been hungry for more power in this city the entire time he’s been Don of the Italian mafia,” Brogan said. “But he never dared to move against your father.”
Owen understood what Broganwasn’tsaying.
He wasn’t his father. The man was violent, known to be ruthless in a way that Owen was not. The organization was thriving under his leadership bringing in more money than ever before and people respected him without necessarily fearing for their lives every single day. They were happier and loyal to Owen.
But some people thought of him as weak.
“You think Mancini is getting bolder because he doesn’t think I’ll stop him?”
“I think he underestimates you,” Brogan said.
Yes, they understood each other very well. Brogan knew that he would do what was necessary to keep the Irish in control of the city. No matter what.
“There’s another shipment of product coming in next week,” Owen told them. “This time, I’ll be there personally. If I have to deal with the issue myself, that’s what I’m going to do.”
The meeting broke up soon after that, and Owen left the rest of the paperwork in his desk to be dealt with tomorrow. Declan, Connor, and Brogan left out the back, but Owen strolled through the dining area, his sharp eyes taking in all the activity in the restaurant. The place was more than half full, not bad for late in the evening mid-week. As Owen approached the bar, intending to have another drink before leaving, he couldn’t help noticing the bartender shoving some cash into his pocket.
That wasn’t unusual if it was a tip, but Owen had a feeling that the guy was up to no good. He didn’t approach the bar, wanting to observe the bartender without being noticed. Most people here had a pretty good idea of who he was and what he did. Even without his father’s particularly violent tendencies, he was a feared man. If the bartender was skimming off the top, like Owen suspected, there was no way he’d do it if he realized Owen was watching.
The restaurant was busy enough that the bartender didn’t notice him as he took a seat at a table nearby, giving him just the right vantage point to watch what was happening behind the bar. It didn’t take long for him to see the bartender pocketing more cash. This time, Owen saw the man crumple up a ticket and toss it in the trash instead of entering the drinks into the POS system.
The son of a bitch was stealing from the restaurant.
Owen was tempted to tear him a new asshole right there, but he didn’t want any of the customers to see him threaten the guy. It wouldn’t be good for business. But the employees seeing it wasn’t a bad idea at all.
Looking around, he spotted Stevie, the general manager. Stevie ran this place and her wife ran a club that Owen owned on the south side. They kept two of his most successful legit operations in good standing, and he trusted them both even though they weren’t directly involved in the organization.
A simple jerk of his head brought Stevie to him, and he quickly explained the situation. Anger flashed in her brown eyes.
“Damn it,” she hissed, her eyes darting to the bartender. “That’s Gene, and I’ve had a bad feeling about him for a while, but I haven’t been able to catch him doing anything wrong.”
“Have him come to the kitchen,” Owen said, standing and walking in that direction.
The kitchen was a hub of activity. With a team of cooks working to knock out food orders and servers going in and out. The kitchen manager looked at Owen curiously as he stood in the Alley - the narrow space in front of the heat lamps where waitresses picked up their food - but he didn’t say anything.
When Stevie led the bartender into the kitchen, he had a calm, unconcerned smirk on his face. It wasn’t until he stopped Owen glowering at him that a glimmer of fear flashed in his eyes. His steps faltered, but the Alley wasn’t a big space. Owen was able to close the distance between them in three long strides. At over six feet tall, he towered over the bartender. Owen didn’t go out of his way to get to know most of the employees at his legitimate businesses, but they all knew him.
