Page 3 of Mob Star

“Dillan?”

“Yeah. We’re in the kitchen.”

We used to have an open-door policy at each other’s homes for all the cousins. Now that Dillan’s with Mair, it’s different for them. I texted just as I came through their property’s gate. They recently moved into a gated community in Queens. Dillan didn’t feel the security was adequate outside his Brooklyn brownstone, and he wouldn’t consider Mair’s place in Harlem. Now we all have to knock or text ahead of time. The last thing any of us wants is to walk in on his kinky arse with his wife. All our proclivities run in the same direction.

“Hey, Finn.”

Mair— Márgrég —grins at me as I join them. She hands me a glass of wine and points to the table. They’re just about to have dinner. I didn’t realize that. She’s more Irish than we are. She was born in Ballycastle, Northern Ireland, but moved to the States as a kid. She goes by Mair— like the horse —when she’s with us. Her real name isn’t hard for a Gaelic speaker, but it would confuse the feck out of most Americans. It’s easy— Mare-greeg. Only Dillan calls her Greta.

I’m letting my mind wander as they whisper something to each other, and Dillan’s hand wanders south to her arse. I’d blame it on them being newlyweds, but considering how our parents behave, I think this is inherited.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I could have come at another time.”

Dillan shakes his head as he pulls corned beef out of the oven. It’s not St. Patrick’s Day. It’s not even Sunday. We’re that Irish.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Mair curls her nose. “This way there won’t be leftover cabbage.”

Dillan waggles his eyebrows. “I’ll get you to enjoy cabbage. I have sixty years to do it.”

We like to think we’re going to have a long life, but there isn’t one of us in this family who doesn’t know it could end before the sun comes up. It’s the life we were born into. No one in my generation or our parents’— or even our grandparents’ —asked to be part of the mob. It was decided four generations back when our family was still in Ireland. We can’t leave. We won’t leave. We do our best to have a normal life when we’re at home.

So, I’m carving the corned beef right now as Dillan brings over the vegetables, and Mair grabs the apple cake for dessert. It’s really a side dish in this family.

We laugh and joke throughout the meal. Mair shares her newest assignment for the newspaper where she works. She’s on the National Desk, and it’s been interesting since she married Dillan. Even when they were dating. Fuck. Their relationship is complicated. But they make it work. Her editor is still walking on eggshells around her. I had a little chat with the Editor-in-Chief, Chuck, to make sure he and Gary understand Mair gets treated with the utmost respect just like before she got involved with Dillan.

“I have work to do, so I’ll get out of your way.”

Mair grabs her bag and heads to her office, which is downstairs but at the opposite end of the mansion. What else do you call a home that can sleep them, five cousins, and three sets of parents? Dillan and I move to his office where we each take an armchair. I naturally settle into the one to his right, and his is closest to his desk. I’m his right hand. Part of it is because I’m the second oldest of the six cousins. Part of it is because we’re best friends. But most of it is because we balance each other. It’s probably because my younger brothers are a matched pair as twins, and Cormac and Seamus may as well be. I’ve been Dillan’s conscience and DD as many times as he’s been mine.

He has a mind for strategy, and I can make Uncle Scrooge look extravagant. I see numbers, and they tally themselves in my head. I’m the family accountant, so I ultimately decide how we allocate our money. Dillan comes up with the plans, and I tell him how much we can spend.

“How’re things coming along with Marco?” Dillan crosses his left leg over his right thigh. I look down at my legs. We match. Fecking nature versus nurture.

“Things are falling into place. The FBI and ATF are asking how high when I tell them to jump. Trying to get them to go after Lorenzo was a bust, but Marco is a solid target.”

It was more than an inconvenient failure. It’s been a long time since I’ve lost a fight. Enzo came to my boxing gym and fucking lost his shite in the ring. I ended up with a broken nose and ribs that have just recovered from the severe bruising. He thought I was into his now-wife. I thought I kinda was when Enzo started sniffing around. Getting the shite knocked out of me made me realize I literally wasn’t going to fight that hard to have her. I might have lost, but he could barely limp out on his own.

“The Mancinellis still haven’t guessed our role in the whole Kansas City-Chicago deal. Fucking numb nuts. I can’t believe at least Carmine hasn’t figured it out.”

That fecker. Maniacal genius.

“Yeah, well, Carmine’s still living in his newlywed bubble just like Enzo.”

Dillan grins at me as he glances toward the door. Gross. “What do we need to do to move things along?”

“Nothing right now. The ball isn’t in our court, but I’ll take it back if the FBI and ATF feck this up. As long as they keep looking away from us, we’re good. Any other direction is better than us.”

“True. Where do we stand with the shipment coming from Prague?” Dillan’s ready to move on from the Mancinellis, and so am I.

“It’s due to arrive any minute now. My brothers are at the docks to meet the ship. They know the customs officers, and they’ll make sure they cooperate. Hopefully, all it takes is one look at them. But they have five grand for each.”

“That much?” Dillan’s sarcasm makes me mentally roll my eyes.

“I told Sean and Shane they better come home with change.” I’m frugal, not a miser. I understand just fine that you gotta spend money to make money.

“What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“I’m going to the clubs for payroll, then I need to pop round to McGinty’s. There’s another private party, and Shannon’s been a little trigger-happy with the pours. I want to make sure she has a jigger glued to her hand. I got a new one just for her. It’s not double-sided, so there’s no accidentally pouring double what she should after ten.”

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