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Back before the truce between our two families, the streets of Dublin ran red with violence. Mattie took Da’s code of conduct as weakness and tried a dozen times over decades to take control of the entire city.
He failed every time.
Mattie’s approach of brute force and mowing over anyone who got in his way was effective to a point, but in the end, Da’s strategic thinking and relationships with the local people and police always kept him on solid footing.
There were some dark days for the people of Dublin until Da proposed a truce. Mattie would take everything south of the River Liffey as McGuire territory and Da would claim everything to the north for the Quinns. Mattie was stupid enough to think he got the winning edge in the deal.
Our territory is technically smaller, but we have the airport and that has served us well for almost twenty years.
Both families have prospered, largely because the Quinns would never involve ourselves in the business of hard drugs, hit men, or sex trafficking.
Not being direct competitors makes it easier to stay out of each other’s way.
We deal in non-addictive party drugs, restaurants and night clubs, and guns. We keep our citizens safe and make sure everyone lives by the Quinn Laws.
It’s worked for decades and it will still be working in decades to come—if I have anything to do with it.
In the pub on the opposite side of the glass, the crowd parts like the red sea as Aiden makes his way back. His boots are hitting the wooden floor, and his blond braids are swinging. That’s never a good sign.
And there ends my quiet time.
I reach to the coffee table in front of me and click on the remote to release the lock on the door.
He comes in a moment later.
“What did you find out, sham?”
Aiden heads straight to the bookshelf and pours himself a drink to join me. “It seems the street rat was right. Word on the street says Mattie McGuire is gunning for the Quinns.”
Feckin’ hell.
“On our dealings, or on us in particular?”
“Can’t say for sure. I’ve got people asking questions though. We’ll know more soon.”
I take another swallow of whiskey and let it slide down the back of my throat while I think. “Since when do they have the manpower for something like that? We’ve got over a hundred in the MC and another thirty working for the family.”
Aiden sinks into the sofa next to me and the leather creaks in protest. “Apparently, Mattie made a deal with one of the families in the north and got soldiers on loan.”
“Who? Is it the Campbells?”
“Likely, but I can’t confirm that yet. I have our guy in metro going through the air one footage. He’s tracking movement to and from the McGuire compound.”
Having the Dublin police helicopter as one of our assets has been a boon to gathering intel on the south side.
“So, how did a poison peddler pick up on this before we did?”
“Nothing overtly happened, but our people say that now that they’re looking, there is a definite influx of muscle on the other side. Not sure where the kid fit into that.”
I lean my head back and look up at the ceiling. “And has this muscle for hire started coming onto our side of the bridges?”
“It has. Mattie has to know he can’t funnel that much muscle into our territory without someone noticing.”
“Maybe his balls have gotten so big he doesn’t care.”
Mattie McGuire was a credible threat in the days when my father ran the business, but these are different times. Brute force and bloodshed aren’t the best business practices anymore.
The world of guns, drugs, sex, and extortion has become more sophisticated.
