Page 33 of Mine
DOMINIC
The Irish countryside flies past my peripheral vision as we make the trip back from Belfast. Ciaran’s driving. I’m in the passenger seat of the BMW. Four of my security staff are in the vehicle behind us.
I usually avoid meeting the Colombians in person, but sometimes they need a reminder of who really runs this country. And it’s not them. They’ve been our main drug suppliers since they overthrew the Jamaicans. I don’t trust them, but their coke is pure, and their operations seamlessly discreet, which is why I’d prefer to continue working with them, but not under their new terms.
Santiago Cruz the head of their cartel, has been pushing us to distribute heroin. He knows heroin is a hard limit for The Syndicate. I don’t want that shit all over the streets. Coke, weed, party drugs are fine, but not that fucking poison. Which is why we needed to meet with him personally, to reestablish our boundaries. And that involved a trip to Belfast.
After three days of negotiations, they held up their end of the bargain. The drugs were delivered. Cruz finallyaccepted that The Syndicate won’t supply heroin in Dublin, but I’d be foolish to assume this is the end of the matter.
Men like him don’t like the word no.
I know—because I am one.
After several heated debates at his warehouse, he finally agreed to find someone else to take the smack. As soon as I find out who that someone else is, we’ll make it disappear. Burn it in one of our incinerators and then deny all knowledge of it.
‘We got what we went for, eventually,’ Ciaran comments, shooting me a sideways glance.
‘For now. I don’t trust the Colombian’s as far as I can throw them. Cruz is a slippery cunt. His smile was too bright, too forced, and his pupils were shifty as fuck. We need to keep an eye on him.’
‘You sure you’re not being paranoid?’ My brother asks quietly.
‘I’m not paranoid. I’m protective of the empire we fought for. There’s a difference.’
‘He wouldn’t bring his sister to the meeting if he wanted trouble,’ Ciaran says.
‘Huh.’ I scoff. ‘Don’t kid yourself, Ciaran. He knows women are off limits to us. He was using her presence as a shield.’
‘Speaking of women.’ Ciaran waggles his eyebrows. ‘How are you getting on with your blushing bride?’
I drag a hand over my stubble. I’ve only been gone for three days, but it feels like a lifetime when the woman I can’t get out of my mind is in my house.
My right palm is almost as chafed as my cock. And it’s not even like I can blow off some steam in the club. I can’t be seen there. Not now I’ve instructed my brothers to circulate whispers that I have a woman.
And truthfully, the thought of fucking anyone else simply doesn’t appeal to me.
Not when the only woman I’ve wanted outside of Reveal is sleeping in my bed every night, with her golden hair fanning over my pillow like Sleeping Fucking Beauty, her flawless skin luminous beneath the moonlight, and those huge elongated eyelashes fluttering as she dreams.
With every day that passes, I want her more.
But she’s the one woman I can’t push.
If she had any idea of the things I’ve imagined doing to her—–cuffing her ankles to my bedpost. Blindfolding her. Taking her to the club and fucking her in front of the voyeurs, to show the world she’s mine—even if it’s only supposed to be on paper.
‘Our marriage serves a purpose, but I can’t say I object to having her in my home.’ That’s a gross understatement. It nearly killed me peeling myself from the bed beside her the other morning.
The second I got into Ciaran’s jeep, I ordered her a red bikini and had it sent to the house—for my benefit, as well as hers. It arrived yesterday, and since then, I’ve spent way more time than is healthy checking my home security cameras, staring at her lying by my damn pool, planning our wedding from the iPad I bought her.
‘So, you’re really gonna marry her, huh?’ Ciaran says, thrumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
‘Yep.’
He whistles, eyeing me over the centre console. ‘You know Frankie’s going to go fucking berserk when he hears what you’ve done. And everyone knows you don’t fuck with Frankie.’
It’s true, our uncle is notoriously ruthless, cold, and calculating. But is he any worse than the rest of us? Thejury’s still out on that one. We all have our fair share of blood on our hands.
‘Be careful,’ he continues solemnly. He understands the situation better than Aoife ever will. I’m breaking a family rule in order to start a war, one that will come with repercussions.
But our streets will be safer.
