Page 3 of Guilty as Sin

I shoulder my way into the pub and stalk past the bar. Some drunk wobbles out of his seat, ready to stumble into me. I grab the back of his neck so hard he cries out, then he sees who I am and shuts up. I shove the eejit back onto his stool.

Everyone else gets out of my way.

In the hallway to the back room, Seamus stands guard for the evening. He gives me a respectful nod, and I go in without knocking.

Da sits at the head of the table. He’s the ideal O’Sullivan leader, powerful and stern. Behind him hangs our family’s tricolor, his da’s flag from the old country. Mam sits on his right, and my older brother, Liam, stands to the side. His arms are crossed as he scowls toward the man who’s sitting on Da’s left like a guest.

The stranger’s face is a bloodied mess. Two black eyes, a split lip, and a large cut above his eyebrow.

Our younger brother Finn hovers over him, looking ready to add more bruises to his recently mashed cheek.

“Brady,” Mam greets me in her soft lilt. “Meet Connor Muloney.” She gestures to the not-so-honored guest. I raise my eyebrows at the name of the biggest crime family in Boston, our rivals from halfway across the country. With their international seaport, they have significantly greater access to smuggling routes than we do. Crucial in our line of work. It means greater access to money and power.

“You’re far from home,” I say.

“Far from home and acting the maggot,” Finn adds, because Finn always has something to add. He flicks Connor Muloney on the ear. The man winces.

No. The kid, I realize.

Beneath all his bruises and swelling, he’s no older than his mid-twenties. At least a decade younger than me. His hair was probably brown this morning, but now it’s mostly black with sweat. His swollen eyes look blue, pale like the kind dogs sometimes have. But it’s hard to tell.

“He tried to make a deal with the Vanleusens,” Da says. “Wants to help Seven expand his territory into our turf.”

I clench my fists at the bastard’s name. The Vanleusens’ crime activity had been dormant for generations. Then this Mortimer Vanleusen the Seventh got it into his head he wanted to be more than some overstuffed posh boy. He didn’t want to sit back on his trust fund like his father and grandfather before him.

He wanted to play gangster.

So Mortimer Vanleusen the Seventh became known as Seven in the underground world. And for the past several years, he’s been aggressively rebuilding his family’s criminal empire. He’s got money. Connections. Influence. And most dangerous of all, outright contempt for the moral code that underwrites our mafia way of life. He thinks he can play our game without rules.

If this shit stain sitting next to Da tried to make a deal with Seven, then he’s our enemy.

“Why the fuck is he still alive?” I demand.

“He’s a Muloney,” Mam says calmly. She leaves out the obvious. We can’t risk open war with the family that runs Boston. They’re too powerful. We’ve already got our own war to fight against Seven right here at home.

To take on both the Vanleusens and the Muloneys would wipe us out.

And that’s exactly why this kid is in our city.

“So the Muloneys are seeking an alliance with the Vanleusens,” I say. Fuck, is all I can think. Muloneys plus Vanleusens equals us fucked.

The Muloney boy shakes his head violently. Blood flings from his nose.

“He claims not,” Mam says. “And the Muloneys claim he was acting on his own.”

“And you believe them?” I scoff.

“He got caught,” Da says. As if it’s a full explanation. He turns to the Muloney boy. “How’d you end up in the clink, lad?”

“Got picked up.” The kid hangs his head. He’s ashamed. Rightfully so. Getting picked up is sloppy.

Sometimes it means you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Most of the time it means you trusted the wrong person.

“Who’d you see before you got picked up?” Da folds his hands on the table. A deliberate show of patience. “We already know you made contact with the Vanleusens. Which one of ’em did you meet with, then?”

“A man named Kenniman. Andrew, I think,” the kid says. Finn bursts out laughing.