“Okay,” snickered Uncle Declan, clearly not believing him.
I got up from my couch and placed my glass on the coffee table. “I’m guessing you all are going to want to talk. Fine. Take the day and have your father-son time. But remember this isn’t negotiable. This is happening. So get over whatever it is all of you need to get over because every moment we waste is the moment our enemies grow bolder…seeing as one of them already put a bullet through my sister-in-law’s skull, I doubt any of us want to see what bolder is.”
“Wyatt—”
“See you all at dinner,” I cut off Uncle Declan. I didn’t want to hear it right now.
This was the new order.
The mafia evolved to survive, and this was our next evolution.
SIX
“The measure of a man is what he does with power.”
~ Plato
DARCY
Whenever my father wanted to have one of those man-to-man talks with me, he took me to the garage, where there would always be something wrong with one of the cars, which he and I both needed to fix. Unfortunately for him, I blind-sided him with this news, so he didn’t have time to prepare a car.
“Dad—”
“Get in,” he said, nodding to his favorite black 1969 Ford Mustang. Rolling my eyes, I moved over to the passenger side. “No, you’re driving.”
He tossed the keys to me.
This is new. I thought but didn’t question him as I moved to the driver’s side. I got in, putting the key to the ignition.
BANG!
I couldn’t help but jump, frantically looking up to the windshield only to see the shattered impact of where his bullet met the glass…the bullet from where the impact would have gone right through my eye. He fired again and again, until the windshield was covered in nothing but cracks, making it almost impossible to see out of it. I couldn’t move…not until the windshield started to cave under the pressure of the tire iron in his other hand. The window held until he finally broke through, glass pouring onto the dashboard. Only when he could see my face did he stop. I opened the door, stepping out just as he shucked the tire iron across the garage. His hair disheveled, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm himself down.
“Why?” He finally turned back to ask me, his eyes hard, pissed. He looked ready to beat the living shit out of me. I glanced back over at the car…guessing that was the reason he beat the shit out of his car instead.
“I’m your son,” I answered back. “I know that. But for the last five years I haven’t felt that way.”
His eyes narrowed on me. “What does that mean? Why wouldn’t you feel like my son? If you know you are.”
“Because you stopped acting like it,” I replied, unbuttoning my shirt as I assessed the damage he’d done. “When I was younger, you were never easy on me. You made me learn how to fight. You pushed me. You made sure I always knew what was happening in the business and what I could do to be useful. And then Ethan told me to find something not related to the family to do…and all of a sudden, you stopped being my coach, and my mentor, and just became a fan. Do you realize over the last five years, most of all our conversations revolved around my games?”
When I glanced up, he was still watching me carefully, not saying anything. That meant he was going to let me speak my mind before tearing into what I said. “It was superficial. All of our conversations were superficial, and I started to feel like an outsider. While I could see you felt more and more relieved that I wasn’t part of the darker side of the family…the more relieved you were, the more pissed off I got. My whole entire life you fed me stories of how great this family was. The power behind being a Callahan, and then I was cut out from it…and you fucking cheered, Dad!”
“I was trying to fucking protect you!” he hollered back at me.
I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at that. “Bullshit. You were othering me. Do you how many times I’ve wondered if I wasn’t black, would you be so quick to expect me to accept that I wasn’t part of operating the family business.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Darcy? Have you lost your goddamn—”
“You were supposed to be the Ceann Na Conairte!” I hollered at him, and his eyes froze wide. “After your father, it was supposed to be you. But because he was murdered when you were young, Sedric stole it from you, and he stole it from me. Which is why we take orders from Ethan. If you didn’t want me to be a part of the business, then you should have claimed your birthright, but you didn’t! You let Uncle Liam take it. And I think part of you did that because of Mom. Yeah, we wanted the Italians on our side. Yeah, Uncle Liam was already expecting it, but deep down, I’m 100% sure you put up no fight because back then the Irish weren’t going to accept a Black woman as the wife to the head of the Irish. You took a knee and bottled up your own ambition for peace. So maybe you don’t think about it, but I do. I think about it all the time.”
“You think of being the Ceann Na Conairte?” he asked slowly.
Clenching my fist, I nodded. “Yes. I think about how, if my father had just fought, if he had been a little bit more selfish, a little bit more power hungry…I’d be Ethan. I wouldn’t of have had to play a fucking sport I didn’t like. I wouldn’t have idiots talking to me all motherfucking hours of the day. I wouldn’t have to pretend I’m fucking joking when I threaten people. I wouldn’t have to walk around
