Page 18 of Sins of the Father

"That depends on your family.” She says. “What were your desires?"

I stand up and move to the windows. Boston sprawls before me, a city my family has shaped from the underworldfor generations. Those sparkling lights in the night are our playground—we own this city.

"I wanted to build stuff, not destroy it. Create jobs, not fear. My thesis outlined turning our shipping network into the most efficient east coast operation through both technology and partnerships." I look back at her. "My Father called it naïve, fantasies, and said I should stop trying to fix things that are not broken."

"Why not just do it anyway?"

Most people accept that I abandoned my education for family duty.

“who says I haven’t?” She smiles. "The Connecticut expansion. Our new digital tracking systems. Allowing for payment in crypto not just fiat." I return to my desk. "Small steps toward changing things, while keeping the surface undisturbed."

Orla nods. "A quiet resistance, not a revolution. Smart."

"Exactly."

She finishes her whiskey. "Your brother disagrees with you? He doesn’t strike me as a man with vision."

"Eamon believes in old ways. Protection through fear. He thinks my methods will make us look weak, and that we will lose control."

"But you still work as a team."

"We protect the family. That’s how it works."

Orla puts down her glass. "Thanks for explaining."

"Thanks for not running." I pour us each another finger of whiskey. "Not many people would stick around to ask questions."

"Still waters run deep, I know you are more than meets the eye."

Our conversation changes from business to books, travels, philosophies. Each exchange reveals parts of her I didn’t know. I find myself drawn to her mind, her ability to challenge me without confronting me. She’s whip smart, sexy as all hell, and doesn’t seem to know either.

Hours pass. The office is dark except for my desk lamp. We move from sitting across the desk to the comfortable chairs near the window. The gap between boss and employee shrinks with each question, each answer.

"Why don’t you have any personal photos in here?" she asks.

"Getting personal at work is dangerous."

"People need to know you’re human."

"Being human costs too much in my world."

"It must be lonely."

"I can handle it." I pause, taking in her features in the dim room. "Usually."

She looks up, and I lean in, pulled by a force I can't resist. Her eyes meet mine, then drop to my mouth. Electricity sparks in the space between us.

I move closer. Her eyes close. I shouldn’t be looking at her like this—I should not be so close. This is an HR violation, it is going against my gut on every level.

My phone rings. We pull apart as I grab it.

"Kavanagh," I answer.

"Security breach at the serv ice elevator," my head of security says. "The motion sensors activated, and cameras have been tampered with."

"I'll be right down." I end the call and stand. "Work calls."

Orla rises, composed despite what almost happened. "I should leave."

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