Their father took in a long breath. His chest rose as he inhaled, expanding his large figure as he raised a hand to his face—a collection of the muffin’s crust pinched in his fingers.
He chewed on the bite thoughtfully. On the other side of the round table, Liam lowered his muffin waiting for an answer.
“We would talk about the Walsh family, son,” he began, reaching for his mug of coffee on the table, sliding his large hand through the ceramic handle, “because they’ve moved into our territory.”
“What does that matter?” Daniel asked as he bit into his muffin. “Let them. We still run this part of town. We have nothing to be scared of.”
Liam arched his brows at his brother, looking to his father, his eyes glinting.
Rory watched Daniel with an unreadable expression, but responded calmly, “They’re not to be underestimated, Daniel. They might not have that many ties in our neck of the woods, but they’re smart and well-established in other areas. Correct me if I’m wrong here, but no one at this table is really naïve enough to think that a family as powerful as the Walshes couldn’t move in here with just a wave of their silver spoon-cradling hands, right?”
The brothers chewed thoughtfully on their muffins as Kilian swiveled his head to meet his father’s gaze. “Why are they interested in moving out here? Aren’t they based out of Cork?”
His father nodded, an appreciation for his son spreading over his features as he responded “It’s true,” he leaned back into the booth. “The Walsh family is quite successful in Cork, making more than enough of a living through both smuggling of imported luxuries, and boxing.”
“Boxing?” Daniel asked, his lip pulling up with disgust. He’d always looked down on the rougher side of the business, but ended up having an unmatched skill at taking out the kneecaps of their enemies. “I never would’ve thought those prisses would get into something like that.”
“It’s not the regular boxing you’re familiar with,” his father corrected him as he raised his mug to his face to take a sip of his hot coffee. The redness of his face had mostly faded away now that he’d been sitting with his sons, but Kilian noticed that he was still remedying his shortness of breath. He wondered if either of his brothers noticed. He lifted the muffin to his face, taking a bite of the pastry.
“They specialize in underground fighting rings. We’re talking questionable and cruel fighting tactics, a set of looser rules that bring in richer gamblers and, in turn, higher bets.” He shook his head, chewing on his bottom lip out of jealousy. “If they move in here with those fights, they could snatch all of our connections with the simple promise of front row tickets,” his father said bitterly, his mouth twisting in frustration.
The boys were silent as their father glared down into his coffee. Before any of them could move to reassure him, he spoke. He pressed his hand against the table in a chopping motion. “If we’re going to start this with the Walsh family, I want each of you to know who we’re really going up against. Peter Walsh got his big break in the 80s with fighting, earning a healthy amount by appearing in many pay-per-view events across the country, and throughout Europe. I don’t know much about his children, but I’ve heard his son trained to be one hell of a fighter, too.” Stirring up a deep-seated panic in Kilian, Rory’s eyes landed on him as if for the first time. Something about the distant concern on his face told Kilian that his father’s eyes were more focused on the intense bruising on his face. “Apparently, his daughter can fight as well.”
A furious blush rose to Kilian’s cheeks as both of his brothers’ heads whipped around to look at him. Liam’s face was pulled into a wide, amused grin. Daniel folded his arms over himself—giving his brother his signature, smug expression.
“I wasn’t trying, was I? She caught me by surprise.”
“Still,” Liam laughed, “She got you good.”
Kilian didn’t speak. It was true, after all—he’d underestimated his opponent. He knew he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
His father cut off the brotherly bickering before it started up again, only having to lift his hand from the table.
Daniel was the first to break the silence again. “Is it really a big deal if the Walshes are here? Couldn’t we all just keep to ourselves? What’s the point in wasting time and resources with them?”
Their father shook his head, “You’re wrong.” He spoke with a finality that garnered the attention of everyone at the table. “The Walshes can never be trusted, not again.”
“Again?” Daniel questioned.
His father was quiet for a long moment. “Two generations ago, the Walsh family betrayed us. They stole a family heirloom that can never be replaced.”
Daniel looked to each of his brothers, searching their faces for understanding. “Which one?” He turned to look at his father again.
“The only one that ever mattered,” their father spoke, “the book.”
4
Kilian stalkedinto the police department at 3:45pm that afternoon.
He had arrived to work over an hour late that morning, but considering the double shifts he had been pulling, the late-night call to Murphy’s pub, and then handling Ron MacPherson, well, they could get over it.
Kilian yanked open the glass doors and let them fall silently behind him. The precinct was as busy as ever, full of pencil pushers at desks, low level criminals in chairs waiting to be taken in for petty crimes that weren’t really worth getting arrested over.
“Detective Kelly,” called a small woman from behind the counter, “I need that report for Ronald MacPherson.”
“You’ll have it,” Kilian said, barely bothering to spare her a second glance.
“I needed it the moment you decided to book my nephew,” she called as he disappeared around the corner.
