Page 80 of Mafia Kingdom

“Stay, I point to a large armchair that she reluctantly occupies.

"Father," I answer, my tone carefully neutral.

"The O'Reillys made you look like amateurs last night." No greeting, no preamble—just the cutting assessment of my failure. Patrcik Walsh has never been one to soften blows.

"We had bad intelligence," I reply, matching his directness. "The situation is being addressed."

"Is it?" His skepticism cuts through the line. "Because from where I'm sitting, my son and heir just led twenty good men into an ambush that cost three lives and yielded nothing of value. The O'Reillys are openly mocking us, and our allies are questioning whether the Walsh name still commands respect."

Each word lands like a physical blow, precisely calibrated to strike at my deepest insecurities. My father has always had this talent—the ability to dismantle confidence with surgical precision.

"What would you have me do?" I ask, keeping my voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Clean up your mess," he instructs coldly. "And do it quickly. We can't afford to appear weak, not now."

"I'm already working on a response," I tell him, deliberately vague. Until I know where my father stands regarding Gerald's potential betrayal, I can't risk sharing detailed plans.

"See that it's decisive," he replies. "And effective. Gerald will be in touch to coordinate."

The mention of Gerald sends alarm bells ringing in my mind. If Gerald is indeed working with the O'Reillys, having him "coordinate" our response would be tantamount to announcing our plans directly to the enemy.

"Actually, I was hoping to discuss some concerns about recent security breaches," I say carefully, testing the waters. "There are indications that someone high up may have compromised last night's operation."

A long silence follows—so extended that I briefly wonder if the connection has been lost. When my father finally speaks, his voice has dropped to a dangerous register I know all too well.

"Be very careful what you're suggesting, Marco."

"I'm not suggesting anything, Father," I reply evenly. "I'm reporting a security concern that requires investigation."

"Gerald has been loyal to this family for over thirty years," he says stiffly. "Since before you were born. I won't entertain baseless accusations against him."

The vehemence of his defense is telling. Either my father genuinely believes in Gerald's loyalty, or he's complicit in whatever game Gerald is playing. Neither option simplifies our current predicament.

"Of course," I concede, knowing when to retreat tactically. "I'll keep you informed of our progress."

He grunts in acknowledgment before hanging up without a farewell, leaving me staring at the silent phone, mind racing with implications.

Sasha watches me expectantly, having heard only my side of the conversation. "He doesn't suspect Gerald," she surmises accurately.

"Or he's protecting him," I counter, setting the phone down carefully. "Either way, we proceed as planned, but with additional caution. If my father mentions this conversation to Gerald..."

"He'll know you are onto him," Sasha finishes.

"Exactly." I move to the window, staring out at the estate grounds where security teams maintain their patrols, oblivious to the internal threats that may be more dangerous than any external enemy.

“Marco.” Sasha’s soft voice has me turning to her. I wish I could keep her out of all this. The dark circles under her eyes are a tell that this is taking its toll.

“I know this isn’t the best time, but I would like to see my father.”

She’s right; it isn’t the best time, and a part of me doesn’t have the heart to tell her she can’t, but I’m lucky when a knock sounds at the door.

“Come in,” I say quickly.

Tony enters, his expression suggesting news of significance.

"Surveillance picked up Deckie O'Reilly entering The Sanctuary thirty minutes ago," he reports.

"Who else knows about this?" I ask Tony.

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