“Many say that as the heir, you should have already married in preparation for this.”
I let loose a low growl, reaching for the glass on the desk.
“There’s been talk among the other clan leaders that you’re not ready.”
“Bollocks!” Conor bellows loudly from where he’s still pacing by the door.
I stop my own pacing, turning slowly to face Seamus, and he holds up his hands in defense, as if declaring innocence.
“Hey, hey don’t shoot the messenger. All I’m saying is, getting married and having a baby will show them you’re serious and want to settle down into this new role.Andit’s the perfect opportunity to strengthen ties. The Quinn girl, for example, would be an excellent choice, and a union that would strengthen the Boston Devil’s ties back to Ireland.”
“Ah, leave the boy alone, Seamus,” Conor chides, looking appraisingly at me. “Aside from this recent business with the Italians, he’s been doing a fine job, ain’t you “boy?”
I sigh, irritation running through me at being called ‘boy.’ And I run a hand down my face at the emergence of a familiar argument. It’s not the first time Keira Quinn and I have been pushed together, and while I have no intention of marrying her, I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t at least pretend to think it over.
“I’ll consider it. But for the moment, I think we have more pressing concerns.”
My eyes travel to Seamus. “The Montreal shipment’s gone,” I say flatly. “Two containers. Vanished. Someone’s lining their pockets with our cargo.”
Concern etches at the corner of Seamus’ eyes and he leans forward in his seat. “First I’m hearing of it.”
“Was Alex on that run?” Conor’s mouth twitches up before he hides it with his glass.
Both Liam and I glare at him. “No, he wasn’t. Like I said, I have him guarding Reagan while we sort out all this business with the Russians and Italians.”
Conor mutters a few choice curses under his breath, pacing the back of the room like a caged lion.
“But did Alexknowabout the run?” Seamus asks, his tone careful.
“Everyone in my inner circle knew—and the guys we had on both the run and the warehouse,” I admit, and Conor slams his glass down on the table before flexing his fists. Not known for his subtlety.
“You need to send a message. Line up every last one of them and take ‘em all out,” Conor seethes. “You want loyalty? You remind ‘em what happens when they cross you.”
If I did that, I would have even more to answer for from the clan chiefs.
Seamus looks at Conor as if he’s gone mad. “Are you daft? Are youtryingto get the boy killed?”
Conor blows out a breath, continuing to pace the office like a barely contained storm.
“Someone’s gotta pay. That’s all there is to it.” Seamus turns to face me. “If you let this slide, the men will talk, and the Callahans and Murphys will see you as weak and all hell will break loose.”
Liam rises after quickly checking his watch. “We gotta go,” he says to Conor, striding for the door. “Shipment’s coming in.”
Conor grumbles, following him out, but not before adding his two cents, “Think about what I said, Koen. You’re playing with fire here.” He leaves shaking his head.
I blow out a breath, draining the rest of my whiskey, silence falling over the office until my eyes find Seamus, still sitting in the leather chair across from me.
“Conor Reilly ain’t known for his thinking. You know that, don’t you? Could be costly if you trust him blindly.” Seamus shrugs, sipping from his glass.
I grunt in response, too much on my brain to read too much into it.
“But Reilly’s right about one thing, we need to find the man—or men—responsible for sabotaging our runs. Which clan was in charge of the Montreal run?”
My jaw tenses. “The Reillys,” I admit.
There’s a subtle sharpness in Seamus' eyes when they meet mine. “Perhaps put theReillyson another run next week, something not terribly valuable, just to see. You know your father had Conor on the shite work ever since your mother left, and ever since he’s been gone, Conor’s been in here every other day, making a fuss about this or that, vying for more responsibility, more control.”
My eyes narrow at the implications. “What are you saying?”
