“I’m sure you can.”
We shook hands and he walked me to the door of his office. I felt nervous though I had no real reason to be.
“One more thing,” he said.
“What do you need?”
“About that little issue we discussed last week.”
I blinked at him and frowned. It wasn’t just some tiny little issue; it was actually an incredibly huge deal.
“What about it, sir?”
“Have you thought some more about it?”
“I have, but—“
“Good. I had my lawyers draw up some paperwork.”
“I’ll take a look at it.”
He grabbed my shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing, you know. This is going to help you in the long run. And I’d be proud to call you my son.”
“It’s a big step,” was all I could think of to say.
He laughed loudly. “That’s an understatement, boy. Well, get out of here, the lawyers will bring the paperwork around sometime this week.”
I nodded. “Thank you, sir. I mean, for everything.”
He nodded. “Of course. I’ll see you and Brenna later.”
I nodded, turned away, and pushed open the door. My mind was practically reeling again with the full-on assault of information I had just withstood.
In an organization like the Irish Mob, family still meant something. There was a long tradition of bosses passing down their territory to their sons or, if they didn’t have sons or their sons were idiots, adopting someone from outside the family and passing it down to him. There had been some disputes over the years, but for the most part it actually worked pretty well. Nobody questioned who would take over a certain area, and the children of Mob bosses could be groomed from a young age to take power seamlessly.
I wasn’t O’Brian’s son, but he had taken me in when I needed it the most, and he had made sure I got the best training I possibly could. I had all my skills and knowledge because of him, and I owed him everything.
And now he wants to fucking adopt me, I thought as I moved through the crowded pub, heading for the door. The adoptive son of boss O’Brian would paint a huge target on my chest. And it would also make Brenna my stepsister.
Bren, my damn actual stepsister...
I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. On the one hand, being the Mob’s rightful successor would change my life and give me power and opportunities I had never imagined. But then again, I had always been an orphan, and couldn’t imagine having a family. Let alone a family with her as my stepsister, the girl I hadn’t been able to get off my mind since that one day all those years ago.
There were plenty of women since then, of all shapes and sizes. But she was the only one that had stuck in my brain.
“Colin,” I heard someone call out, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I looked over. Davin was sitting at the bar, smiling his cruel smile at me.
“Davin, how is it?” I called back.
He motioned for me to come over. I clenched my jaw; he was the last guy I wanted to deal with. But I couldn’t outright disrespect him, since he was the third most powerful man in the Mob, so I slipped through the crowd and stood at his side.
“Seeing the Princess today?” he asked me.
I grunted. That was the overly familiar and somewhat mocking nickname many of O’Brian’s men had for Brenna: the Mob Princess. She’d practically grown up around them, and they all remembered her as the sweet little girl that doting Boss O’Brian loved to spoil.
That wasn’t exactly how I remembered her, though.
“She’s getting in soon,” I replied.
“Good. We have a little gathering planned for her tonight.”
“Easing the boss into it?”
“That’s the idea.”
I nodded. “I’ll let her know.”
“You do that.”
There was a tense moment where neither of us spoke. There were a lot of things I wanted to do with Davin, but talking wasn’t one of them. He had a thin, angular face, and sharp green eyes. Everyone said he was one of the smartest men in the Mob, and I didn’t doubt it. He was more fox than man, with thinning auburn hair, and a penchant for well thought-out plans. He wasn’t exactly the Rambo type, gunning down anyone who got in his way, but he was dangerous. Incredibly dangerous.
“Anything else?” I said.
“Nah, that’s it.”
I turned and walked away, not bothering to reply. I was getting sick of Davin’s passive aggressive games. We couldn’t be outright feuding, or else O’Brian would have both of our balls, but Davin was particularly good at jabbing his fingers into my eyes whenever he found the opportunity. Metaphorically speaking, of course. If he ever tried to touch me, I would break his smug little face. Nothing would bring me more pleasure.