Page 22 of Sins of the Father

"Boston harbor has been under increased scrutiny lately," Reed says as the waiter clears our dessert plates. "DEA presence makes commerce... complicated."

I take my time with the wine. "Every port has unique challenges. Business doesn’t have to be complicated."

"True." His smile never reaches his eyes. "Though your family's current challenges seem particularly acute. That dock worker incident. The Colombian imports flagged."

My temperature rises—he knows details that never went public—he’s got information that no one outside my family should have.

"Markets evolve," I reply. "So do our methods."

"Evolution requires adaptation." His gaze shifts to Orla. "Or we face extinction."

I place my napkin beside my plate. "The Kavanagh family has survived for generations. We understand change better than most."

His eyes narrow at the implied threat. "We'll see."

While paying the bill, I notice a man sitting alone at the bar. Dark suit, angled away, but he’s watching our reflection in the mirror. When we get up to leave, he signals the bartender.

The parking garageechoes with our footsteps. Concrete pillars casting shadows, creating perfect blind spots every few yards.

"We need to get out of here for a while," I murmur, my mouth barely moving.

Orla nods once. Her hand slips into her purse, and I know she's not reaching for car keys. She is full of surprises.

We reach the middle level and I can sense we might not be alone.

"Get the car," I tell Orla.

"Mr. Kavanagh." The a man steps out of the shadows. "Just a friendly conversation."

"My office handles appointments," I reply, shifting to block his access to Orla.

His hand slips inside his jacket.

I drive the heel of my palm into his sternum. My knee cracks against his thigh. I twist his wrist until the gun clatters to the ground. Orla pulls up next to me, the engine growls as I reluctantly get in the passenger side of the car. “this meeting, the whole trip seems to be some sort of setup.” She says hightailing it out of the parking and seamlessly joining the traffic.

“You think?” I snap, my agitation getting the better of me. “Just drive, I will get someone to clear the building and our rooms before we go back.”

“Drive where? It’s peak hour traffic in Manhattan. It’ll take an hour to get around the block. We could walk faster.” She’s right, we’re sitting ducks in the car, but at least we’re sitting in a gridlock that is too public to create chaos.

Midnight findsus back in the suite, we drove around until we found a coffee shop to wait for my security to give the all clear. The New York skyline glitters through floor-to-ceiling windows, a sea of lights against the darkness. Orla stands at the glass, silhouetted against the view, her reflection ghosted onto the city outside.

I pour two glasses of whiskey and join her, offering one silently. She accepts with a small smile that changes her entire face. For a moment, I glimpse a different Orla—not the assistant, but a woman with desires and secrets.

"It's beautiful," she says, turning back to the view. "Makes a person feel small and powerful all at once."

"The Kavanagh family started with nothing," I say, standing closer than necessary. "My grandfather lost his parents during the famine, came here alone at fourteen. Started it all with one fishing boat."

"And now you control half of Boston's imports." She turns toward me, her hip against the glass. "Legal and not-so-legal."

The acknowledgment of the truth hangs there. She's never directly referenced the family's other businesses before.

"We provide services that people need," I reply. "Some things the government doesn't approve of, but people don’t stop needing or wanting them."

"And what about you, Cillian?" She stares at me over the rim of her glass. "What do you want that you don't have?"

I consider deflecting with something about work.

Instead, I answer honestly. "In my world, everything's a transaction. Everyone wants something."

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