Page 37 of Brutal Heir
“Aye, pleased to meet ya.”
He runs a hand through thick, dirty blonde locks. “Lance. I’ve been the bartender here for over a year now. You work for the boss, too?”
I bite my tongue before the truth spills out. Knowing how sensitive Alessandro is about it, I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t want me telling everyone I’m his nurse. “Aye, administrative matters.” I don’t know why I lie, but the words come too easily. Maybe because deep down, I know what this place is. And if I admit what I really am to him, to myself, I’ll have to admit I’m part of it again.
“Sounds boring.” He chuckles as he leads me past the main lounge where Alessandro and Lawson are huddled around a small table. “Come on, I’ll show you the VIP room. It’s the best part of the place.”
The sleek elevator in the back corner zips us up to the second floor as Lance chatters on about all the celebrities he’s spotted since working here. I keep trying to get a sense for the true purpose of the lush nightclub. Is it simply a front for the mob? If Lance has been working here for a year now, he has to know. The elevator doors glide open, revealing the decadent VIP lounge looming over the dancefloor below.
Leather couches are sprawled across the marble floor each one angled like a confession booth designed for sin and secrets. Dark velvet curtains divide up the space, giving each section a sense of privacy. I could feel the remnants of the late-night debauchery still lingering, waiting for nightfall to reclaim them. We walk beneath a chandelier that doesn’t belong in any club; it should be in a palace. Twisted wrought iron vines with flickering faux candles. Gothic. Moody. Much like the club’s king.
As Lance leads me to the glass railing that overlooks the first floor, my eyes immediately chase to the dark king. He leans over the table, brows furrowed as he scans a stack of papers.
Are they laundering mob money?
I have to find out. When I fled Belfast a year ago, I swore I would never return, not only to my home but to that way of life. Now with every day that passes, I’m more certain I’ve fallen right back into that blackhole.
“Hey, Lance,” I whisper, “is there any truth to the Gemini mob rumors?”
He blanches, his open expression suddenly shuttering, and it’s all the confirmation I need. “I—uh…”
I hate putting him on the spot, besides, I already have my answer. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
Turning my gaze back to Alessandro, my ears straining to make out his hushed whispers, memories from the past threaten to pull me under. I fight it for as long as I can, because the truth is I don’t want to face the reality.
I’m only eight, but the pub already feels like a second home. It’s the kind of home that smells like spilled whiskey, fried grease, and old secrets. I sit on a stool near the back, swinging my legs, and a Fanta clutched in my hands. It’s too sweet, too cold, and doing nothing to stop the nervous flutter in my belly.
Da said we were grabbing dinner, said Mam needed a break. But I know better. This isn’t about chips and curry sauce. This is business.
Men linger in the corners, nursing pints and low voices. Their laughter isn’t light. It’s heavy. Dangerous. Like they know things that would make other people run.
Da slides into the corner booth with Brian and Malachy, the same two men who always show up when things go quiet at home for too long. I should stay where I am. I know that. But something pulls me to the curtain that separates the back hallway from the booths. I move slow, soft-footed like Da taught me, and tuck myself behind the thick drape.
“He’s talkin’,” Malachy mutters, his voice sharp. “To the Garda, no less. His brother’s got him spooked.”
Da doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s done, then. No more chances.”
My heart stutters.
There’s a clink of glass. Someone exhales. It sounds like finality.
“Make it look clean. Accident. I don’t want the kids touched.”
“Aye, boss. He won’t see it comin’.”
My Fanta slips in my grip. I back away slowly, careful not to make a sound. The breath in my lungs turns to ice as I push the pub door open and step into the freezing Belfast night.
The cold slaps me in the face, but it doesn’t chase away the truth that just settled in my bones.
Da isn’t just a pub owner or a butcher.
He’s a man people fear. A man who decides who lives… and who doesn’t.
And that’s the moment I stop seeing him as my hero.
And start seeing him for what he really is.
I blink quickly, chasing away the dark memories, and drag my gaze back to Alessandro, but the chill in my bones doesn’t fade. No matter how far I run, the past keeps catching up. And this man… this place… might be exactly what I was running from. I stare at the man hunched over the table in the dimly lit lounge. From this distance, cloaked in shadow, the scars and ruined skin disappear, leaving only the man he used to be. His eyes lift to mine for an instant, the turbulent light and shadow, warring for dominance. And finally, I see him for what he really is.
