Page 75 of Mob Star

“Uncle Corey probably figured I’d breed the next generation of bikers. Who knows? He’s certifiable.”

I don’t disagree.

“He thought you’d get married at eighteen?” Dillan’s brow furrows. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Thea, it’s just hard to fathom. But Thea thinks he’s questioning her.

“I’d rather have been a House Mouse. I guess being family paid off.”

“I’m sorry. I believe you. I just can’t believe even Corey would force a child bride.” Dillan realized his delivery was off for someone who doesn’t know him.

It’s my turn not to understand. “A House Mouse?”

“Yeah. Sometimes a club will take in a runaway girl. If she can get along with a man’s side piece, then he’ll give the girl to her, basically. The House Mouse doesn’t get involved with most club things, but an Ol’ Lady might turn her into a maid and babysitter for a safe place to live and protection. Usually, they don’t expect a House Mouse to put out. I’d rather be a maid than forced during a marriage to a man who’d insist he has a right to make me sleep with him. Granted, if she’s biddable and trainable, she might become a guy’s Mama or Ol’ Lady.”

“Did you know all of this back then?” Seamus asks what I should have back at our place. Yes, our— mine and Thea’s.

“No. I didn’t understand most of what was going on around me back then. The internet explained it, but I wound up asking my mom because half of it confused me. Uncle Corey likes to claim I was a Sweet Butt or Mama, but I never was. No one passed me around. I wasn’t anyone’s maid. I didn’t hang out at the clubhouse. None of that. He does it to degrade me and intimidate me. I’ve been back to Boston once since I graduated high school and that was to see my younger brother graduate. I’m not scared to go back, but why would I tempt fate?”

It’s a reasonable question. The answer goes without saying. We’ve gotten to where I don’t think there’s much to be gained by Thea telling the others everything she told me. But we can’t talk about anything else in front of her. I think she senses that.

“I have time for an hour nap. Which room is yours?”

“Top of the stairs to the right, third door down. I’ll make sure you’re awake in plenty of time.”

“Thanks.”

I watch her walk out of the family room and to the stairs. None of us say anything until we’re certain she can’t hear. Even then, we keep our voices low. Mair’s office is at one end of the house, and Dillan’s is at the other. This family room is in the middle. We don’t want Mair to hear anything either.

“I let him live because I think he’s still useful. We’ve fucked Rowan and Riley over, but it wasn’t enough. Corey doesn’t know it, but he’s about to fuck those brothers over. When they come for him, they’ll all wind up dead. I want them looking at each other when it happens.”

I want a lot more than that, but that goes without saying. Dillan nods, then it’s Shane’s turn to speak up.

“You know I called Steve Russo to warn him to keep his sister away from Marco. Short of telling him everything, I made it clear things were already in motion that neither he nor Tres J’s were going to feck up.”

Tres J’s— Joaquin, Jorge, and Javier — are Enrique’s nephews. They’re fucking batshit crazy from growing up in Bogota. They moved to America when we were all teenagers. They’d seen some shite way too young. They wanted to fuck Marco over at the same time as us. It was a coincidence, but our plan was in the works way before theirs. Theirs came from Marco fucking over Enrique. Ours came from needing the feds off our backs. We put way too much work into setting up Lorenzo, then Marco. We weren’t going to let it go to shite. But it did anyway.

“You said Lorcan’s dead.” I look at my brothers.

“And we’re all better for it. Shite bird.” We all share Shane’s disgust.

Lorcan Cullen was our godfather. My parents definitely didn’t choose him. Our grandfather did. They were friends even though Lorcan was younger than him. Granddad thought Lorcan would be an excellent influence over us. Piece of shite drank too much and spent most of his time finding young gold diggers to suck him off.

“Who did it?” I look at Dillan, then the others.

“We’re not sure, but it was marksmanship like only Robert Simms could do.” Dillan hated working with Simms, but the man was a necessary evil.

Simms was a mercenary and a fucking great one. He was a ghost. You could only contact him through a burner phone you had to hope he would answer. All payments were in cash— mostly. I dug up some shite on him and his connections to the old bratva pakhan. The psychopath before Maks Kutsenko took over. I used that to leverage him into some jobs for us. Then I used Carmine and Gabriele as my dupes. While Salvatore banished them to some shithole vineyard in Sicily for being idioti, I routed payments through Gabriele’s bank accounts. It was going great until Sumiko Kutsenko— Pasha’s wife —figured it out. She’s a forensic accountant, just like Pasha and me. There went that plan.

“Sean, didn’t you say Simms was dead, too? How the feck did that happen?”

“Elizabeth Russo soon-to-be Mancinelli.” Dillan’s jaw clenches.

“What?” How did I miss so much in the space of three days away?

“Simms went rogue, even more pissed at her about money than he ever was with us. He got to her while she and her brother were having lunch with Marco and Carmine. Shane, here, didn’t mention she’s a fecking expert marksman and shoots clay and skeet and whatever other shooting sport there is.”

“Don’t piss in my direction. I haven’t spoken to her in years. Finn’s the one Donovan and Declan tasked with following her.”

“You make it sound like they tasked me to stalk her.” I look over my shoulder toward the stairs before glaring at my brother. “I was there to protect her.”

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