Jaded Soul: A Standalone Irish Mafia Romance Page 7

  About what might still be happening.

  “I… I don’t know…” Another thought pierces through my panic. “Do you think Pa’s still in danger?”

  “Has he paid them back?” Tristan asks rhetorically.

  “Tristan, he’s an old man. He’s in the hospital now. He has no way to defend himself,” I argue, shoving myself off the counter. “What if they try to kill him in the hospital?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Tristan says with a shrug.

  There’s not even a glimmer of humanity in his cold eyes. Instead, there’s calculation.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I whisper honestly. “What do I do?”

  “You need to ask for help,” he tells me.

  I feel my heart sink.

  “I have no one.” I say that because I’m not prepared to acknowledge that he’s the only person I can ask.

  “No one?” Tristan asks, raising one dark eyebrow. “What am I, then?”

  What is he?

  He’d been a rookie-in-training when Pa left the police force. That was sixteen years ago. Now, he’s a thirty-five-year old man who looks at me as though I’m about to be his next meal.

  “You’re… a friend,” I say cautiously.

  “A friend?” he says in mock offense. “Is that all I am to you?”

  I have to try very hard to stop myself from cringing. “You’re a friend of the family,” I elaborate. “Pa thinks of you as family.”

  He snorts. “Your father looks at me as a convenient connection,” Tristan dismisses. “He knows I have influence, and he knows he needs all the help he can get. So he keeps me around under the guise of friendship.”

  I’m shocked by his honesty, but I’m also nervous of it.

  If, after all this time, Tristan is having an honest conversation with me, there’s bound to be a catch.

  “That’s not true,” I lie. “He cares for you.”

  “But do you care for me, Saoirse?” he asks.

  No.

  “Yes.”

  He smiles. “That wasn’t very convincing.”

  I can feel new panic start to surface. I realize I’ve never actually been alone with Tristan before. Not like this. There was always someone else in the house.

  “I don’t really know you,” I point out.

  “Do you want to know why I stuck around all these years, Saoirse?” he asks. “Do you want to know why I allowed myself to be used by your father, even when I knew he was a useless lout who would never be of any use to society?”

  The panic turns to fear.

  It claws at my throat and swallows up all the courage I thought I possessed.

  “Because of you, Saoirse,” he tells me. “Even as a child, I noticed you. You were neglected, oftentimes ignored. But I saw you.”

  The words sound beautiful.

  So why do they leave me with an imminent feeling of dread?

  Why do I feel like his interest, his so-called concern for me is sinister?

  “I saw the quiet, thoughtful kid and I knew I had to stick around. To protect you.”

  “I don’t need protection,” I rasp through dry lips.

  “Clearly, you do,” Tristan tuts. “You just said it: you have no one else. If you did, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Tristan…”

  He stands up and I break off.

  He’s still several feet away from me, but I feel claustrophobic already.

  “How old are you now?” he asks.

  I almost gag on the answer. “Eighteen.”

  “Eighteen,” he says with a pleased nod. “You’re finally a woman.”

  He takes a step towards me. I freeze.

  “Tristan, please,” I beg. “I need to see my father.”

  A flash of annoyance passes across his cold grey eyes. “Here I am, pouring my heart out to you, and all you can think of is your father?”

  He makes it sound like my preoccupation is rude.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, because his excessive calm right now hints at a darker side. A volatile temper that I’m not equipped to deal with right now. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “I told you I’d take care of him, didn’t I?” Tristan says, taking another step towards me. “And I’ll never break my promises, Saoirse. Not to you.”

  My back hits the kitchen wall and I press myself against it.

  Please… no. Don’t come any closer.

  But I know saying those words out loud will cost me.

  Worse still, they might cost my father.

  “You trust me, don’t you, Saoirse?” he whispers.

  His hand reaches out and pushes back a stray curl of hair. He tucks it back behind my ear slowly. It reminds me of Brody Murtagh.

  He touched me with the same sense of ownership that Tristan does.

  They’re men who believe they have the right to take whatever they want.

  “Yes,” I lie.

  I don’t think he cares about sincerity.

  He wants only one answer from me, and because I’m powerless, I have no choice but to give it to him.

  It makes me want to gag on the word, but I do it anyway.

  Do it for Pa.

  “You are so beautiful,” he croons. He pulls his hand back slowly. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  I’m relieved that he’s no longer touching me, but his body is now only inches from mine. The relief lasts only a few short seconds before the dread sinks back in.

  “I’m only eighteen,” I protest. “I’m hardly a woman yet.”

  He smiles, and I don’t know why, but I can’t help but compare his smile with Cillian O’Sullivan’s.

  The difference is night and day.

  Cillian smiles with his eyes. And when he does, there’s no agenda behind them.

  But not with Tristan. There’s all sorts of evil intention lurking beneath his snake-like smile.

  “Oh, I beg to differ,” Tristan says. “But I can understand why you might not feel like a woman.”

  He reaches out again, ignoring me when I lean away from him.

  This time, his fingers brush along my lower lip. He plucks my lip between two fingers and presses down hard enough that it’s painful.

  “It’ll take a real man to make you feel like a woman.”

  Nausea bubbles up inside me like poison. I twist away from him and walk out of his reach.

  “I don’t want to ‘feel like a woman,’” I say. “I want to see my father.”

  And beyond that, I want to get out of this city.

  I want to make a new life for myself.

  Far away from the machinations of men.

  Tristan sighs. “Alright, my dear,” he says. “Let’s go.”

  “Now?” I ask, hoping against hope he isn’t kidding.

  “Of course. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “I… Yes. Yes, it is.”

  He smiles again. “See?” he says. “I plan on giving you everything you want. More importantly, I plan on giving you everything you need.”

  I don’t stop to think about what that means. About what the difference between those two things might be.

  I just turn and head back towards the front door.

  But even when I’m out of his sight, I can still feel his eyes on me.

  Watching.

  Always watching.

  6

  Cillian

  The O’sullivan Manor

  Ma and Da never fight.

  Not in the history of their thirty-year marriage have I heard them argue with each other.

  Or maybe they’ve just always fought in the shadows. Swathed in silence.

  And I’m finally old enough to see through the bullshit.

  Tonight, though, is different.

  Their voices seep through the walls. Raised. Tense. Lashing back and forth in fury.

  “Master Cillian.”

  I turn to find Quinn regarding me with his cool, expressionless gaze.

  “What’s going on?�
�� I ask.

  “I can’t begin to tell you, Master Cillian,” he says suavely. “I am nothing more than a humble employee.”

  I give him a skeptical smirk. “Let’s not play that game, old boy,” I say. “Nothing happens in this place without you knowing about it.”

  “I’m flattered that you think so, but—”

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Perhaps you should speak to your parents yourself, sir,” Quinn suggests.

  Fucker.

  He knows I’m not about to barge in there and interrupt their argument.

  What does he think I am: an idiot?

  I realize a second later that that’s probably exactly what he thinks.

  I don’t exactly have a reputation for being the most serious of Ronan’s sons.

  “I’ll catch them another time,” I remark, walking around Quinn. “Don’t wanna break up the party, y’know?”

  Quinn doesn’t so much as crack a smile.

  I scour the mansion before realizing that Sean is nowhere to be found. I’ve just tucked Kian into bed for the night. Little coot had demanded five different bedtime stories before he finally drifted off to sleep.

  I go back upstairs and head straight to Sean’s room. It’s the largest and grandest of any of the O’Sullivan children—no doubt another subtle sign about the weight of the expectations on his shoulders.

  Light peeks out from underneath the door, so I push it open and walk inside.

  I take one step in and stop short.

  “What the hell?”

  Sean’s standing at the foot of his bed. Directly in front of him is an open suitcase chock full of clothes. I spy his favorite jeans, neatly folded on top of the pile.

  “Cillian…” Sean’s tone is soft. Laced with pain.

  “Sudden work trip?” I ask innocently.

  “It’s not a work trip.”

  I frown, unease creeping up my spine.

  “What’s going on?” I press. “Does this have something to do with why Ma and Da are fighting?”

  Sean sighs.

  “I wish I had more time,” he says. “Time to explain things properly. Time to say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye?” I say in confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about, mate?”

  Sean squares his shoulders and turns to face me.

  There’s resignation in his eyes.

  It scares the fuck out of me.

  “I’m leaving, little brother.”

  I laugh. “Leaving? Where? Got a hot date?”

  “I’ll figure it out when I get to the airport,” he says seriously.

  “I’m waiting for the punchline.”

  “You forget, little brother,” Sean says sadly. “You’re the one with the sense of humor.”

  I can practically feel the blood drain out of my face.

  “You’re serious about this?” I ask. “You’re really leaving?”

  “Yes.”

  He doesn’t so much as blink when he replies. It feels so fucking huge, so fucking weighty for so small a word.

  “Sean,” I say. “Why?”

  “Why?” he repeats. “Cillian, you know why.”

  Do I?

  Do I know why he’s leaving?

  My mind tries to search back through the years, but I keep hitting dead ends. So I settle instead on the walk back to the mansion this afternoon.

  I saw the desperation in his eyes. I’d noticed the look. The one that told me he was trapped.

  Trapped by circumstance. By guilt. By the overwhelming intensity of the role that was thrust onto him years ago when he was just a thought. Just an idea. Not even born yet.

  I’d seen it when he’d told me how many people he had killed over the years.

  But I’d ignored it all.

  I’d explained it away. Laughed it off.

  “Is this about what happened with Padraig?” I ask. “It was an accident, Sean. It happens.”

  “Yes and no,” Sean says. “It is about that. And at the same time, it’s about so much more.”

  “It’s part of the job.”

  “Exactly!” he crows fiercely, his eyes blazing with an intensity that I haven’t seen from him in years. “Exactly. It’s all part of the job. Death, violence, pain—they will always be part of the job.”

  He fixes me with a mournful gaze.

  “I don’t want to do it anymore,” he whispers. “I don’t want to be a part of it.”

  For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m at a loss for words.

  “Da’s not just gonna let you walk away,” I say finally.

  Sean shakes his head. “You think he’s gonna force me to stay?” he asks. “You think he’s going to make me be don?”

  I think about that for a second.

  Sean’s right. The responsibility of don is too great to force on someone who refuses to accept it. There’s too much at stake for someone who’s no good.

  But that’s just it—Sean is good at it.

  “You’re a natural at all this shit,” I tell him. “This is what you were meant to do.”

  “I’m not a natural,” he says, rearing back as though I’ve just insulted him. “I’ve just endured over the years. I’ve tried to be the kind of son that Da and Ma could be proud of. But it’s taken too much out of me. I don’t have much left to give.”

  I search his face.

  “How have I not seen this before?” I ask, mostly to myself.

  But Sean answers anyway.

  “Because you’re eighteen, Cillian,” he says, with a small knowing smile. “You were busy being a kid, a teenager. You were busy living.”

  “Is this about Orla?” I ask suddenly. “She left you because she couldn’t deal with this lifestyle.”

  Sean hesitates for a moment.

  “It’s not specifically about Orla,” he says. “It’s more about what she represented. A normal life. An uncomplicated lifestyle. A sense of the ordinary. That’s what she wanted, but she couldn’t have that with me.”

  “And that’s what you want now.”

  “Maybe it is,” Sean muses. “I haven’t figured out what I want yet. But the point is, I know what I don’t want.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “What the fuck is so great about being ordinary?” I demand. “It’s fucking boring.”

  Sean puts his hand on my shoulder. I have to resist the urge not to shake him off.

  “Maybe that’s what I want to be,” Sean says. “I’m not like you.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since she died,” he says in a low voice.

  My chest tightens. Sean never talks about her.

  Maybe that’s why I’ve allowed myself to forget the toll her death has taken on the entire family.

  “You were a child,” Sean says. “But I remember. I remember everything.”

  “Sean…”

  “I don’t want to spend my life fighting,” he says, cutting me off. “I don’t want to command men. I don’t want to be responsible for their lives.”

  “What about us?” I ask selfishly. “You’re just gonna leave us?”

  “Kian and you are gonna be fine.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “I know you,” Sean points out. “Under all that jokey bullshit, you’re more like Da than I am.”

  I rear back like he slapped me. “Seriously, you’re gonna insult me before running out on the family?”

  He smiles. “I’m not running out on anyone. I’m leaving. For the first time, I get to decide what I want for myself.”

  My expression falls back into seriousness. “You know that’s not how it works in this family,” I remind him. “We rely on each other. Our lives are all interconnected.”

  “I won’t make a good don, Cillian,” he says. “I don’t have what it takes.”

  “You’ve done it so far.”

  “And it’s killing me slowly. Just because I hide it well doesn’t mean I don’t feel the pressure.”

  “I can
help you—”

  “No,” Sean says. “I realized something in the study while Da was yelling at me. I’ve been disappointing him for years. I see it in his eyes every time he looks at me. And what does Da do when he’s disappointed in someone?”

  I pause. “I don’t…”

  “He gets rid of them,” Sean says. “He doesn’t tolerate incompetence. He never has. The man is unyielding.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that if I weren’t his son, he’d have dismissed me a long time ago. He’s holding out hope because he’s my father.”

  “So what are you saying?” I press. “You’re doing this for him?”

  “I’m stepping aside,” Sean says. “I’m handing over the reins.”

  I stop short, realization dawning slowly.

  With Sean stepping down, the mantle of heir falls on the next in line.

  Me.

  Sean smiles slowly. “You’ve always been a little slow, haven’t you?”

  “I can’t be the don,” I say immediately.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t… I was never meant to be.”

  “You’ll learn on the job,” Sean tells me. “You’re more suited to the role than I ever was.”

  “How the fuck do you figure that?”

  “It doesn’t touch you like it does with me,” Sean says. “It doesn’t linger with you like it does with me. You’ll be able to do the job, and you’ll do it well. I wouldn’t be leaving now if I didn’t think you could do this.”

  “Fuck,” I breathe, running my hands through my hair.

  This is really happening.

  “There’s nothing I can say to convince you to stay?” I ask desperately.

  “No.”

  “You don’t have to leave,” I say quickly. “You can still be here with us. It doesn’t mean you to have to take over one day.”

  Sean cocks his head to the side. “If you’re gonna be the next don, you can’t afford to be so naïve.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Sean smiles.

  It strikes me suddenly that I’ve never seen him smile so much in one conversation. I study his face carefully, noticing the subtle changes that have transformed him in the last few hours.

  He looks lighter.

  That’s the only way I can describe it.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” I say honestly.