Page 1 of Kneeling for Daddy
ABOUT 6 MONTHS AGO
“Where the fuck have you been?” Enzo roars as the front door clicks open, launching from his stool at the kitchen island. Listening to the sharp slap of his Oxfords echoing across the penthouse as he storms toward the foyer—and already annoyed that we’re behind schedule—I barely glance up from scrolling through the sports highlights on my phone. “The meeting is in twenty fucking minutes. We were supposed to leave five minutes ag?—”
“Put me down, Cian!” The scream slices through his rant, high-pitched, female, and definitely pissed.
With Enzo on his heel, Cillian storms into the kitchen with a woman slung over his shoulder. Her legs flail violently—each kick hiking her skirt obscenely higher up her thighs—and her fists hammer into his back, like she’s trying to crack his spine. Her foot swings. Hard. Cillian winces with his jaw clenched,clearly feeling the sting of it landing squarely against his groin. “For fuck’s sake! Would you fucking stop? I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice is low and strained as he shoves past me, carrying the wildcat deeper into the apartment.
Enzo follows him, looking as if he’s about to burst a vein in his neck. I arch a brow and stare at the three of them before huffing, “What the actual fuck? We’re bringing women here now? Oranyone, for that fucking matter?”
The unspoken rule is sacred—we don’t bring people here. Not tothisplace. Not where the three of us meet under our fathers’ noses. Without the watchful eyes of the city knowing what we’re up to. This penthouse is our sanctuary. Our war room. The only place we can breathe without looking over our shoulders.
“If she’s for later, Cian, I’m gonna pass,” I call after him, shaking my head as I trail behind them. “I like my women feisty as fuck, but I also like them willing.”
Cillian stops in his tracks and spins around so fast I’m surprised the screaming girl doesn’t slide off his shoulder. With a beet-red face, he grabs the front of my shirt and yanks me forward. His wild eyes jump between me and Enzo. “Even if she were fucking willing, I’d fucking end you for trying to put yourmankycocks anywhere near her. Either of you.” He lets go of me with a shove and snarls, “She’s my little sister.”
I blink slowly, trying to comprehend what he said as Enzo storms after him, shouting, “I’m sorry? Your fucking what? We are about to… And you just brought your fucking sister here?”
“We’re late. We can talk about this later,” Cillian grouses. The redhead—his sister—is still fighting like hell when he dumps her onto the couch in the living room. She scrambles to her feet,but Cillian gently shoves her back into the cushions. “Stay,” he commands like she’s a goddamn puppy. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”
I glance at Enzo and find his expression matches mine—outrage and disbelief—before briskly crossing the apartment and walking into the hall toward the elevator. Cillian’s sister pounds on the locked door, and her muffled protests echo around us as we wait for the cab to arrive. When we step inside, I slap the button for the parking garage. Watching the front door rattle as the elevator doors close, I grouse, “Really? Your fucking sister?”
She’s got a hell of a lot more spunk than her brother.
“Later,” Enzo grunts, his jaw clenched so tight I can hear his teeth grinding. “We don’t need the fucking distraction. Not tonight.”
No, we don’t. Especially not tonight.
The garage echoes with the thud of our shoes on the concrete as we storm across it. We make our way to Enzo’s G-Class, silence falling heavy over us. I climb in, tension coiling in my gut. This night has already gone sideways, and we haven’t even gotten to the messy-as-fuck part yet.
Enzo glares at Cillian in the rearview as he turns over the engine. “I know I fucked up,” Cillian mutters. “I had no cho?—”
“Fucking later!” Enzo barks, yanking the SUV into traffic. “We have twenty minutes until the biggest meeting of our family’s lives. Your sister isn’t what any of us need to be thinking about.” He’s right. None of us needs to be thinking about the redhead locked in our apartment or what we’re going to do with her when tonight is over.
We need to focus on the plan.
We fall into a rhythm, going over the details one final time. It’s not complex, but there’s zero margin for error. One misstep and we’re fucked. All of us.
By the time we hit Chelsea, the tension in the car could snap steel. I peer out the window and spot the four cars parked in front of the abandoned warehouse: Enzo’s father’s Rolls, a Tahoe, a Bentayga, and my father’s Z4. The Bentayga is far too nice to be the rental of the bastard they’ve dragged into this meeting. It must belong to Cillian’s father.
“They’re all here,” Enzo mutters as he parks in the alley. Honestly, I’m surprised. A meeting between the three families? It’s never happened. The fact that it’s for a joint venture is almost laughable. But apparently, the intoxicating scent of money is enough to erase generations of blood and hatred.
We’ve talked about this for years—how strong we could be if our three families weren’t at war. But this? This isn’t how we wanted it. Not this deal. Not selling women. Never trafficking.
We tried to tell them. All of us. But our fathers each made their positions abundantly clear. I run my palm over my jaw, swearing I can feel his firm grip and the spittle of his hot breath as he berated me. His words still ring in my ears. “You want to be a fucking leader? Start by following orders. You’ll sit at the table. You’ll nod your fucking head. And if you speak out of turn, I’ll make sure you never speak again my-fucking-self.”
Tonight, we end it.
We pause at the warehouse door, a silent moment between us. I look to Enzo. Then to Cillian. Neither says a word, but I can see it in their eyes—the same flicker of doubt that burns in mine.Breaking the silence, Cillian exhales with a nod. “My brothers.” Enzo and I echo his sentiment. Drawing a deep breath, Enzo pulls open the door.
Fucking go time!
The old metal door groans on its rusted hinges, announcing our arrival. Our fathers—Rurik Romanov, Rian O’Brien, and Tazio Roseti—are all seated around a dimly lit table, like kings of the underworld.For now. Sitting among them is their newest partner, the dirty Armenian fuck who will be supplying the women from overseas. His eyes dart between the three of us as we approach, and he grumbles to Rian, “I thought you were bringing your daughter.”
I can’t look away from my father. His hard stare and clenched jaw accentuate the disapproval and disdain in every line of his face. Reaching into the waistband at the back of my pants, I wrap my fingers around the grip of my pistol. I pull it free as a gunshot echoes around the metal building, my finger slides along the cold steel of the trigger as I raise my weapon. Without hesitation, I fire a bullet that lands dead-center in the Armenian’s chest.
Another shot rings out as I race toward my father. “Are you proud of me now,Otets?” I snark, shoving the muzzle of my gun under his chin. “Cold-hearted. Ruthless. Just as you raised me.” After reangling my gun, I pull the trigger, and a bullet tears through my father’s throat. His hands fly to the gushing wound as he gasps for a breath, only to find his lungs filling with his own blood. He collapses to the floor, and I watch the life quickly fade from his ice-blue eyes as I add a second slug to the Armenian.
Rounding the table, I adhere to the plan—one from each of us into each of them. I add a round to Rian, and as I put a bullet into Tazio’s chest, a string of rapid gunfire pings around the metalwarehouse. When I glance to my left, I find Cillian emptying the last of his clip into the man who was going to take his sister.This quick death was far too good for that piece of shit.
