Page 3 of It Will Always Be You
“Just trust me, okay? When have I ever let you down, huh? All we have to do is get through tonight, and then we can sort this out. We’ll be fine, I promise.” Holding out my pinkie for her, I watch as a hundred questions dart behind her eyes before, with a shaky exhale, she links pinkies with me.
The last thing I want to do is subject her to even a second longer in Angus’ presence, but we all have a part to play. For the moment, I need to play the part of the perfect, obedient mafia daughter like my life depends on it. It may grate on my nerves and make me sick to mystomach, but I don’t have a choice. Tonight is very much do or die.
Thankfully, the rest of the dinner passes without incident or any more talk of my impending nuptials to Satan himself. As we wrap up and the countdown begins for my plan to come to fruition, Father hangs back to join Angus in his study while Mother ushers us home before disappearing into her bedroom without so much as a backwards glance.
Oh, don’t worry about me, your daughter, you just sold off. I’m fine, thanks for asking.
As soon as I’m sequestered in my room, I set my plan in motion. Pulling up the loose floorboards underneath my bed, I pull out the supplies I’ve been hoarding. A backpack. A few hundred in cash. A fake ID. Blood bags. A butcher’s knife. Growing up as a daughter of a member of the Clan, the Scottish mafia, I’ve always feared this day would come. I’ve watched countless peers get paired off with a man old enough to be her father, and with each wedding I was forced to attend, I knew it was only a matter of time before the gauntlet was thrown down for me. I may not have known who I would be given to, but one thing I did know was that I would never go quietly.
With a grimace, I exchange my pathetic excuse of a dress for a dark hoodie and jeans before putting my plan into motion. Soon enough, my room looks like something out of a slasher movie: blood everywhere, upturned furniture, sliced bedsheets. A quick look at the time tells me it’s now or never. Father will be on his way back soon, and the last thing I need is to bump into him while making my great escape. Adding the final touches, I take one last look at what was once my childhood room, now prison, before easing open my balcony doors and making the short jump down into the back garden. Leaving Freya behind has a lump forming in my throat, but I push it down and focus on slipping out unseen. She’s safer at St Andrew’s than she would be if she were on the run with me. Both of us vanishing would have Father spending every waking moment hunting us down until he could drag us back to this hell.
Not allowing myself to delay the inevitable any longer, I make a quick dash to the gates with my hood pulled up, purposely leaving a trail of blood behind me. Approaching the gates that, in theory, are there to protect us but are really here to keep us prisoner, I use the random soldier’s ID I pickpocketed earlier on the scanner. Holding my breath, I pray he hasn’t noticed and reported it missing yet, but when the little light flashes green and the gates swing open, I exhale with relief.
Despite growing up here, this place was never a home. I won’t miss it or most of the people behind these gates. I know they won’t miss me either. When they stumble across my blood-soaked room and bloody balcony doors, they’ll assume someone took me, and the chances of any of them sending out a manhunt for me or even caring is slim to none. The biggest inconvenience will be that Angus has to find a new bride, and while I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone, better them than me.
Keeping Freya far away from his clutches is the only thing that matters.
Phase one: get out of the compound undetected. Complete.
Phase two: vanish and make a new life, one I can eventually bring Freya into. Let’s go.
Chapter 3
Two years later
Call me a cocky bastard, but striding into an office with my name on it never gets old. It doesn’t matter if I’m heading into one of the smaller offices across town or the main O’Neill’s Corporation Headquarters in the heart of Canary Wharf—it’s always a heady feeling. Every day here is a glimpse of what’s to come, a glimpse at the power that will one day be at my fingertips. It’s tangible proof of my future; one I can’t wait to grab by the bollocks and make my own. As I stride up the few steps to the doors, the mantle I wear every day falls over my shoulders.
My posture eases into something less threatening, more alluring. Behind these walls, I’m the guy who can charm a deal out of even the most reluctant customer, not a gangster who will do some wanker’s kneecaps in to get what I want. This office is the respectable side of the family business, what we can present when questions arise as to how we make our billions. It’s a way to keep the pigs off our backs and the less-than-legal dealings under the radar.
Dipping my chin at Tina, the front receptionist, I step into myprivate lift and take one last deep, centring breath. From the moment this lift spits me out on the executive floor, the day stretches in front of me like a long, winding road with no rest spots in sight. I thrive best when I’mthisclose to burnout out and, as such, every day is jam packed.
“Good morning, Mr O’Neill. Your coffee is on your desk, as well as this morning’s analytics report.” Brenda, my executive assistant, appears at my side the moment the doors open. She rushes to keep up with my long strides through the office, used to my aversion to slowing down or stopping by now.
“Perfect. Anything I should know?”
“No, sir. Profit margins look good, and enquiries are flowing in steadily. Mr Jameson requested a lunch meeting, but other than that, no changes to the schedule.” At my nod, she jots my approval down in her ever-present notepad before breaking off to go to her desk while I continue my path to my office. An office that I’ve painstakingly put my stamp on and made my own. Alright, fine. I got Brenda to put my stamp on. Same difference if you ask me.
In most of our other offices scattered across the city, Da has the corner office reserved, even if he hasn’t set foot in the building in years, and the clubs, while fun to run, don’t provide anything beyond a dark and seedy room to work in. So, as soon as I had the keys to this kingdom, I wasted no time in putting Brenda to work. My first, and arguably favourite, order of business was designing it so that Brenda’s office is attached to mine. It gets rid of the inconvenience of having to go out into the hall any time I need her and has the added benefit of making it impossible for people to bypass her and storm into my space.
Letting out a groan, I loosen my top button and collapse into my chair. Last night was a long one. Running a successful empire was never going to be easy, but doing all the heavy lifting and getting none of the credit is starting to grate on me. Over the last year or so, Da has increasingly stepped back, leaving more and more of the day-to-day business up to me. Which isfine, except I’m out here busting my ballswithout so much as a thank-you, while he skulks around his mansion, shutting me out both figuratively and literally.
Shrugging my suit jacket off and draping it around the back of my chair, I crack my neck before logging on. Immediately, the ping of a dozen emails makes me want to turn the damn thing off. Clenching my jaw, I down my espresso before I get started on answering the people waiting for my attention. The morning passes in a blink, and before I know it, a knock on my open door draws my attention away from the computer screen and up to the figure in the doorway. Dark, cropped hair and green eyes dancing with mirth greet me, a smirk planted firmly on my oldest and closest mate’s face as he strolls into my office like he owns the place.
“Oh, sure, make yourself at home,” I drawl with a shake of my head. The jab rolls off Seamus’ back as he pours us both a measure of whiskey before turning to face me with a smirk planted firmly on his face.
“I’d have thought you would be a wee bit more relaxed this morning,” he taunts with a salacious smirk, tilting the bottle at me in question. At my refusal, he shrugs and helps himself to a top up before pouring me one anyway.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Well, I heard through the grapevine you were seen getting close to one of our girls last night at Alibi.” It’s a statement, not a question, one that makes me roll my eyes. Seamus should know better than to listen to gossip.
“Diamond’s ex came sniffing around. What was I meant to do? Let that fucker hit her again?” I throw back, leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms behind my head. Tipping my chin at the chair in front of my desk, I watch as he throws himself into it, looking every inch the relaxed, recently reformed playboy he is. He slides one of the whiskeys towards me as he sips his.
“You and your martyr complex. You should be living it up, taking one for the team, not locking yourself in this office all day and thenthe office over there all night. Come on, mate, live a little. Any one of the girls would jump on your dick in a heartbeat if you so much as winked at them.” He snorts, pumping his eyebrows at me. If he was anyone else, he’d have lost a limb by now, but Seamus is my right-hand man and fellow businessman. By businessman, I don’t just mean behind these shiny walls. No, he’s my brother forged in blood in a way only Four Points men can understand, and one day, he’ll be my underboss. That doesn’t mean he can get away with running his mouth unchecked, though.
“Fuck off. Not all of us let our dicks rule us.”
“How about you let me set you up with one of Fiona’s friends?”
