Connor had to deliver a message to a young punk this afternoon, letting him know that dealing in Irish territory was a good way to end up with a broken leg. While he knew punk wouldn’t try it again, it was a sign of more trouble to come. This fight with the Italians made them look weak.
Connor’s turbulent thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. When he pulled it out, he was surprised to see the name Bull on the screen. That was his contact involved in the local motorcycle club. They weren’t due to meet for two days, so a phone call out of the blue couldn’t be a good thing.
“Hello?” He answered, getting off his bar stool. It was about time to leave anyway. If he kept drinking he’d feel like shit tomorrow, and he had too much to do to be dealing with a hangover.
“Connor? We have a problem.”
Bull’s gruff voice was serious and Connor let out a sigh as he pushed through the exit and into the cool night air. The smells of the city reached his nose. The scent of exhaust fumes from the cars and buses. The heavy aroma of garlic and spices coming from the Indian restaurant across the street. The thick perfume of women lined up outside the club, waiting to get in.
“What’s up?” he asked Bull as he strode past the line of people waiting impatiently and headed for the parking lot.
“The delivery is going to be late.”
The man was the kind that always got straight to the point. Connor appreciated that.
Still, this wasn’t good. The MC supplied them with their weapons. Some they sold, some they used themselves. In the middle of a mafia war, the last thing they needed was a delay in delivery.
“Why?” he asked, digging around in his pocket for his car keys as he approached his black sedan.
“There’s been some trouble with a new gang in the neighborhood. We’ve needed all hands on deck to deal with it. But Ink and Clay left tonight to go pick up the goods.”
Connor couldn’t help smirking at the biker nicknames. They always had a story, and the guys were so committed to them that they never told him their real names. Not that it really mattered.
“Fine,” he said. “Call me when you’re ready to meet. About this gang…do you guys need a hand?”
“Nah. we got it under control.”
Thank fuck.
He and the others in the mafia had enough to worry about without getting involved in another conflict. The last thing any of them needed right now was more trouble coming their way.
3
ALESSIA
Her hands shook as she pulled into the parking lot of Walsh’s Irish Eatery. She shouldn’t even be in this part of the city. She was deep into Irish territory, and this restaurant?
It was supposedly the base of operations for the head of the Irish mafia. Her father’s enemy, Owen Walsh.
He was also the only person she could think to turn to for help.
Parking her car, she took a deep breath and peeked inside of her purse, where she’d stuffed her little pistol before she left the house. She’d never even fired the thing, but it made her feel better to know that she was going into enemy territory armed.
Never mind the fact that she was definitely going to be outnumbered by men that actually know how to use their weapons.
Alessia gritted her teeth and opened the car door. She’d come this far, and she couldn’t back out now. This was too important.
It was one in the afternoon, and the restaurant was in the middle of a lunch rush. The inside was full of people, but they were able to get her a table that had just been cleared by a busboy. Looking around, she hoped that the large number of people here would work to her advantage. Surely, the men she’d come to talk to wouldn’t openly attack her with so many witnesses around.
She just needed a chance to talk to them, to explain why she was here. There were lives at stake, and she was making a leap of faith. She hoped that the rumors about Owen were true, that he was a better man than her fatherandthat he’d care enough to help women in need.
It was a lot to hope for.
“Hi,” the waitress said with a bright smile as she approached the table. Her gray eyes were full of genuine warmth and her blonde hair was pulled back in a braid. “Welcome to Walsh’s Irish Eatery. I’m Ruby, and I’ll be your waitress.”
Alessia found herself returning the woman’s smile. “Hi. I’ll admit that I’m not very familiar with Irish food. What would you recommend?”
Ruby’s smile got impossibly brighter as she rattled off her favorite items on the menu, a list that was way too long to keep track of. In the end, Alessia just ordered the last dish she mentioned, the shepherd’s pie. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to eat much anyway. Her stomach was churning with nervous anxiety.
