The Mafia Boss

Ch. 8: Is that any way to greet your sister after five years?

Inside, the penthouse apartment is magnificent. Not a lot appears to have been done in terms of decoration, but the space itself is enough. The city view is breath-taking and the kitchen—oh the kitchen.

"You feeling okay?" asks Torin, slipping his hand around my lower back.

I don't question his motive. I know it's a harmless gesture, but part of me revels in the familiarity of it all.

"Yeah. Just enjoying the view."

He smiles. "Me too."

Only, he's not looking at the twinkling lights of London. He's looking at me.

"Oh my God!" Frank O'Neil's wife—Louisa—comes scuttling over. "It can't be!"

I first met Louisa when I was fourteen. My father often hosted parties and even though the O'Neil's were his biggest rivals, he'd always invite them. I call it mafia logic. Their son—Aidan—is the devil himself. He was in the year above me at school and acted like a psychopath. He used to set stuff on fire and throw poor, defenceless animals into the flames. I caught him doing it once and—in a bid to save the innocent life of a bunny—punched him in the dick. He retaliated by holding me down and shoving dirt up my nose. I avoided him after that and—to this day—haven't so much as looked at him.

"Is that really you, Imogen?"

"It's really me, Louisa," I reply, allowing her to kiss my cheek. "How are Frank and Aidan?"

"Both are driving me mad, as usual."

I laugh.

"You should find Aidan later. He'll be glad to know you're safe."

I don't bother telling her it's Frank I'd rather have a conversation with. Aidan might be my age, but I'm here for business and unless he became boss of his family in the past five years, I really don't have time.

"Do the others know you're back?" she questions, suddenly sceptical.

Torin intervenes. "No. It's a surprise."

"I'm sure it will be," she replies, firing Torin a warning look.

We both know as well as he does how much this plan of his has the potential to blow up in his face. You don't blindside the mafia. Not with news like this.

"I bet it's great to be back and reunited with your love, Imogen," she says.

Back then, mine and Torin's relationship was common knowledge. I never heard it first-hand, but in passing, people would refer to us as the mafia prince and princess. We hated it.

"We're not together," assures Torin, putting an end to Louisa's wild imagination. "I'm engaged to Eva, remember?"

My stomach churns.

"Oh, right," she says.

Louisa is the biggest gossip I know, and I wouldn't be surprised if half the party already know of my safe return. She probably sent out a mass text the second she locked eyes with me.

"Your father was a well-respected man," she offers, smiling at me. "I'm sure the families will welcome you back with open arms."

I'm not so sure. Eight years ago, my father and Frank sat down with Finn Gallagher, Tom McCarthy and Daniel Lowes with the aim to call a truce. The aim was to end a decade long feud between the Irish and the English. Needless to say, it didn't work. Not that it matters. Daniel Lowes is dead, meaning there's only Irish left in the running. Still, Torin is only just starting out. New to the scene. And it's vital to have men like Frank O'Neil and Finn Gallagher on your side. Without their endorsement, you might as well give up. Unless you're—say—Shane Murphy. In that case, you have enough power and fear to rule the streets of London without consequence. It's an age-old rule between mafia families. Until someone hurts your own, don't get involved. I wonder if that's why Torin attends these parties knowing Shane will be in attendance? To get Frank and the others on side. One thing is for sure—Torin is in it for the long run. He has patience, I'll say that much. He's intelligent. Cunning. Waiting for the right time to swoop in and make his move.