Walking away means burning everything I’ve ever known to the ground. But there’s no other way to survive this. I have to strike the match, let it drop, and run as fast as I can.
32
BRONX
The enforcer the Murphy family sent to represent them looks exactly like the lowlife scumbag I expected. He’s got a deep scar through his left eyebrow, calloused, tattooed hands, and enough piercings in his face alone to fry a metal detector.
“Two million euros,” he says in a thick accent, sliding a folder across the table in the back room of one of the restaurants where we hold meetings and negotiations. “That’s what Declan Blake owes. It’s non-negotiable.”
“And if we pay it?” Kingston asks.
“Connor and Tierney Blake are off limits.”
I lean back, studying this bastard who had my wife kidnapped. “What about future debts? What’s to stop Declan from running up another tab?”
“That’s between you and Blake. We get our money, we go back to Dublin.”
“What guarantees do we have?” Kingston says. “That you won’t come back for more in six months?”
The Murphy fuck sits back in his chair and laughs. “You think we want a war with the Viacavas over some washed-up Dublin criminal? Blake’s more trouble than he’s worth. We get paid, we’re done with the whole fucking family.”
I think about Tierney lying in that hospital bed after having been stabbed by one of this guy’s men, betrayed and broken because of her father’s debts and lies. “How do we know you’ll honor the deal?”
“Because Murphy’s word is good. Always has been.” He leans forward. “But if you don’t pay, we’ll hunt down Connor Blake and put a bullet in his skull. Then we’ll come for the girl.”
My hands clench into fists under the table. “You threaten my wife again, and this conversation ends with your fucking blood and brains on the floor.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “This is what you married into. Now you have two choices. Pay the debt, and everyone stays safe. Don’t pay...”
He shrugs and takes a long gulp of his beer. Then he slaps a piece of paper on the table.
“Those are the account details. That’s where the money needs to be sent. You’ve got twenty-four hours. Once the payment comes in, Murphy will consider the debt paid and we go back to Dublin.”
When the Murphy prick finally leaves, Kingston and I head to our parents’ house to debrief Dad.
He’s in his office reading the newspaper because he hates technology and would rather feel the pages between his fingers than stare at a screen.
“How’d it go?” he askswhen we walk into the office.
“They want two million euros for Blake’s debt,” Kingston says. “We pay and Connor and Tierney are safe.”
“And if we don’t?”
“They die.” Kingston rubs the back of his neck. “And then the ball’s in our court. We’d have to act. It will look like weakness to the other families if we let it go. We’re tied to the Blakes by marriage now.”
“They’re serious,” I say. “They just want to get paid and get out. Blake’s caused them more trouble than he’s worth.”
“Two million to avoid a war with Irish criminals over someone else’s debt.” Dad tosses the newspaper onto his desk. “Not ideal.”
“But necessary,” Kingston says. “These aren’t street thugs. They’re organized, connected. Aside from the optics with the other families, a war with them would cost more than two million in the long run.”
Dad’s quiet for a long moment. Then he nods. “Pay it. Get them out of our city.”
“What about Blake?” I ask.
“Declan Blake is banned from New York. He ever sets foot here, he’s a dead man.”
Simple. Final. That’s how Dad operates.
