"Get to the point, Frank."
"Always so impatient." I can hear the smile in his voice. "Just like your father. Edward never could wait for anything either."
My father. The man Frank helped destroy. The man whose empire Frank tried to steal.
The man whom Alex killed because of Frank's machinations.
"I also heard about Alex leaving," Frank continues when I don't respond. "Such a shame. He had real potential. But I suppose murder does weigh heavily on the soul, doesn't it?"
"If you're calling to fuck with me…"
"I'm calling to help you, William." His tone shifts. Goes serious. "You're in over your head. Russians circling. Enemies on all sides. A family barely held together with duct tape and hope. You need guidance. You need someone who understands the business side of things."
"I don't need shit from you."
"No?" There's that dangerous edge again. "Then how do you explain what happened tonight? How did those Russians know exactly when and where to strike? How did they get past your security? Who told them about the meeting?"
The questions I've been asking myself. The ones that keep circling, circling, circling.
"Someone on the inside," Frank says softly. "Someone close to you. Someone you trust."
"And you know who."
"I know many things, William. I've been watching. Waiting. Building my own network while you all thought I was dead." A pause. "I have information about the Russians that might be very useful to you."
Of course he does.
"What's your price?" Because men like Frank don't offer help out of the goodness of their hearts.
"A meeting. Just the two of us. No brothers. No security. Just you and me, having a civilized conversation about the future of our family."
Our family. Like he has any right to claim that.
"Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't." Frank's laugh is genuine this time. "But you also can't afford not to. The Russians are planning something big, William. Something that will destroy not just the Murphys, but the O'Rourkes too. Your new bride's family. Do you really want their blood on your hands as well?"
I think of Aoife sitting in my kitchen, covered in her father's blood. The way she looked at me when I walked away.
"When?" The word comes out before I can stop it.
"I'll be in touch with details. Soon." Frank's voice softens. "And William? Congratulations on the sobriety. Six months is impressive. Though from the sound of your voice, I'd say you've fallen off that particular wagon tonight."
How does he…
"I have eyes everywhere, nephew. Remember that."
The line goes dead.
I sit there, phone in hand, staring at nothing. Frank is alive. Frank is watching. Frank has information about the Russians. And Frank knows exactly how desperate I am.
Frank wants a meeting. Just the two of us. No witnesses. No backup. Walking straight into whatever he has planned.
Every rational part of my brain screams that this is a trap. That Frank Murphy is a snake who will strike the moment I let my guard down. That he's played this game longer than I've been alive, and he's better at it than I'll ever be.
But the cocaine-fueled part? The desperate part that watched Aoife's father get shot and knows more attacks are coming? The part that needs answers more than it needs safety?
That part of me thinks maybe Frank is exactly what we need.
