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Orna mutters something about “dick” and “head” under her breath as she stomps out of the room.
I smirk at my reflection. If Orna wasn’t being such a little bitch, I might have warned her to pat Poppy down before she enters. She might find herself on the receiving end of a shank.
By the time I’ve chucked two aspirin down my throat and washed them down with an Americano, my hangover is almost gone.
Time to head to the Quinn Ventures H.Q.
Antoin’s waiting for me in the lobby. “We have a problem,” he announces, handing his coffee cup to the nearest maid.
“Another goddamn problem. Great.”
He stops in his tracks, a frown creasing his brow. “What happened to your face?” I nod to the pink and purple bruises creeping down his collar. “What happened to your neck?”
He offers me a small grin, one that I return. And just like that, the beef is squashed.
“I’ll drive us to the office,” he says, holding up the keys to my Bentley. “You’re probably still over the limit.”
I don’t disagree.
As soon as we pull out of the gates, he’s back to business. “I got a call from John Brasco.”
God, it’s nice not having to drive on a hangover. I sink into the plush leather seat and rest my head against the cold window. “Who?”
“OwnsMovers and Shakers, the nightclub in the Theater District. He hasn’t received his coke shipment from Bratnov.” A vibrating noise comes from the breast pocket of his suit. His knuckles tighten around my steering wheel. “Hear that? My cell’s been blowing up all morning with calls exactly like Brasco’s. The whole city’s dry. Ain’t you been getting the calls too?”
My mind flicks to the shattered remnants of the iPhone that dared to wake me up this morning. “Phone’s broken. Anyway, it’s no big deal.”
“No big deal?” Antoin barks, shooting a death glare at me.
“You ran that red,” I drawl, closing my eyes again.
“Lorcan, it’s Friday morning. The clubs and bars can’t be dry for the whole fucking weekend. It’s gonna cause chaos.”
“We are the Quinns,” I growl back. “I already told you. We aren’t relying on other families anymore. We don’t need them.”
The purr of the Bentley’s engine and the quiet chatter of the radio float between us for a few minutes.
“You wanna know why your pops was so successful?” Antoin eventually asks. I peel an eye open to glare at him.
“I thought you learned your lesson about having my father’s name in your mouth.”
“It was because of the relationships he built with other families up and down the East Coast. He was a businessman, Lorcan. Not a mob boss. This ain’t the Godfather anymore, no ‘swimming-with-the-fishes’ type thing. You’re burning all of the bridges your father and brothers built, all ‘cause you’re feeling stubborn.”
My fists clench, itching to swing a right hook. If he weren’t driving my Bentley, they’d be connecting with his jaw right now. Finally, a red light that Antoin actually slows to meet. He turns to face me, a serious expression clouding his face. “This game is about making money.”
“We have money,” I say through gritted teeth. “A ton of fuckin’ money. I wantpower.I want the whole East Coast.”
My father secured Boston, and I’m going to honor his legacy by doing one better. Expanding our reach—and I don’t give a fuck who we have to go to war with to get it.
I’ve been on autopilot since the Italian’s package bomb blew my family into pieces. From the penthouse office at the Quinn Ventures building, barking orders between gulps of whiskey and unleashing bullets from my Glock when anyone sends me over the edge. I sign the contracts Antoin slides across my desk. I give the final approval to Donnacha to clean up my whiskey-fueled rages. It’s time to take back control.
And I don’t give a fuck who we have to go to war with to get it.
The rumble comes deep from Antoin’s chest, and I watch, amused, as the vein tick, tick, ticks at the side of his temple. He’s a good cousin and colleague, sure. But he knows his place, and more importantly, he knows mine. Anything I say goes. I say jump, and I also say how high — he only figures out how to make it happen.
“So, what’s the plan, Boss?” he asks, swinging the Bentley into the underground parking lot of the Quinn towers.
“Send some men to trail the Bratnovs. If they are planning an attack, we want to be one step ahead. Then, I want you and Donnacha on the first flight to Colombia to talk to the Vargas family. That’s who the Bratnovs gettheircoke from. We’ll go direct. No more being the middle man.”
