The Mafia Boss

Ch. 10: I started this mess. I'll finish it.

All in all, I look well put together for someone who just got thoroughly fucked. The party is still ongoing by the time I return and the music—thankfully—loud. Shane is nowhere to be seen and I figure now is as good a time as any to get a drink. I don't normally go anywhere near alcohol, given my low tolerance to it, but tonight has been stressful and I need something to silence my thoughts.

I order a wine and drain the entire contents before ordering another.

"Imogen."

I turn to find Frank O'Neil nursing a scotch.

"Let's talk."

I abandon my drink and follow him to his office, only a little apprehensive about being alone with him.

"Please, sit," he offers, gesturing toward a leather chair.

His office in nothing like how I expected. It's bright, modern and—well—weapon-less. His desk is perhaps the only stereotypical mafia thing in here, other than the man himself.

"Smoke?"

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and I accept, too scared to refuse. "Thanks."

"Your daughter," he begins. "What is her name?"

He lights my cigarette and the taste of it overwhelms me.

"Maeve." I cough.

"Such a beautiful name."

I don't make comment. My mother always taught me to speak when spoken to when in the presence of such power. The alternative is having your head blown off.

"I appreciate your protectiveness. A mother who loves her daughter as much as you do has all my respect."

The door suddenly opens, and Torin appears, alongside Finn Gallagher.

"Have a seat, fellas."

Torin takes the chair to my left, declining Frank's offer for a cigarette.

"I want to discuss our deal."

My stomach churns.

"Or rather, I want to negotiate it."

"Go on," prompts Torin, unable to acknowledge my presence, let alone look me in the eye.

Had the ache between my legs not been there, I might've thought I'd imagined having sex with him.

"I'm willing to be reasonable."

I don't dare allow myself to feel any ounce of excitement. Mafia business isn't much different to normal business. There's always an ulterior motive. If Frank is feeling particularly generous, there's a reason for it.

"All I'm asking for is your compliance." He switches his gaze to me. "Or rather yours, Imogen."

Huh?

"My Son needs a wife."

I almost inhale my cigarette.

"My intention was to have Torin's first born daughter marry Aidan. An O'Brien and an O'Neil. It made sense."

Torin leans back in his chair, the embodiment of casual.

"You're not having our daughter," I insist.

Torin finally intervenes. "I made that deal when..."

"When what?" asks Frank, looking to Torin.

"When I didn't think I'd have children."

"So, you made false promises?"

"Correct."

Frank grits his teeth, unimpressed.