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Cormac’s putting on the pressure. This is all part of the game. He’s going to keep this little terror campaign up until I’ve got a shitstorm to deal with. All the business owners in my pocket are going to get targeted, and he’s going to make my life a living hell until I’m too busy putting out fires to fight him.
Which means I have to end this now, before Cormac can make another mess.
Chapter 44
Ronan
Niall doesn’t say much on the drive out to the suburbs. He stares pensively out the window, and I can tell there’s something on his mind that he’s not sharing. I let him stew for a while—we have another half hour to go—since I know that’s the best way to draw him out.
I’ve known Niall a long time. We were friends before I became the boss, but our relationship only accelerated after I took control of the family. He proved himself to be competent and trustworthy, but he doesn’t always agree with everything I do. We’ve established long rhythms together, and this is one of our little routines: he gets all quiet and thoughtful before finally telling me how he thinks I’m fucking up.
“I never liked Julien, you know.” He says it almost as if we had been having a conversation all this time instead of driving in total silence.
“Oh, yeah? I’m really shocked.”
He gives me a look. “You put too much trust in him.”
“Maybe,” I concede. “But we need him right now.”
“Are you sure about that?”
So that’s what this is about. He doesn’t want to get involved with Julien, and it’s not like I can blame him. Julien comes off as this unserious small-time gangster, but the truth is he has an enormous network of people working for him, mostly overseas. He’s deeply connected to some very shadowy, very shady European businessmen and major banking conglomerates, and his operation is a part of a much wider network of interconnected crime syndicates.
Julien runs deep, much deeper than he appears, and Niall doesn’t like it. We’re a local family and Chicago runs through our veins, while Julien doesn’t care about this place beyond using it as an easy port to bring through his product.
That’s the type of businessman that’ll throw us under the bus the first chance he gets.
“I understand your reservations. I share them too. Julien’s unpredictable sometimes, and this stuff with wanting to marry into our family—” I shake my head, revulsion running down my spine. “There’s something he’s not telling us.”
“But we need him.” Niall deadpans at me. “As if there aren’t any alternatives.”
“Do you want to get another family involved in this shit? Think we could go ask Dusan if he’s interested in getting his hands dirty? The cops are all over us for that shit with the Righteous Servants. No crime boss in this city in his right mind will get within ten feet of our operations, not with the fucking Chicago PD breathing down our necks.”
“And yet Julien’s willing.” Niall raises his eyebrows. “I wonder why.”
“Again, I hear you, and again, it doesn’t fucking matter. We’re stuck with the guy.”
We lapse into silence. Niall doesn’t like my answer. I wish I had something better to tell him other thansuck it the fuck up and move onbut that’s the best I can do. We need muscle, Julien has muscle, and we already made an agreement.
Now we’re driving to a random warehouse an hour outside of the city on a tip one of Julien’s informants picked up.
Nobody knows if it’s legit. Even Julien said he’s got his doubts. This particular informant has been solid in the past, but the guy’s also an addict, and addicts do stupid shit.
The way I see it, worst-case scenario is we get out there, find an empty warehouse, and drive back home. Two hours wasted, but nothing really lost.
Best case is we end this fucking war before it really begins.
That’s worth the risk to me.
As we get closer to the location, I slow our approach. Uncle Eddie’s driving a van filled with loyal soldiers, while Uncle Joseph is in an SUV packed to the gills with men in Kevlar vests and assault rifles. Julien showed up too, though he’s coming at the place from the other side.
The warehouse is a big, beige structure, almost like an airport hangar. It’s at the end of a long driveway, surrounded by a crumbling chain-link fence and overgrown with weeds. I’m guessing the area used to be a working farm, but the fields are turning to grass as the wilderness reclaims them.
“Looks dead,” I say, searching for any sign that people have been here recently.
“Not the best choice of words,” Niall says, giving me a meaningful look.
I grin back, park, and get out. Nothing happens, nobody moves. There are no shouts from the warehouse and no cracks of gunfire. Just silence and birds singing nearby.
