Page 55 of Mine
For two years, we worked inside their structure. Learned their routes. Their suppliers. Their accountants. Their weak links. We bought loyalty quietly. Redirected money. Took control of logistics and security inch by inch—until the men running the Syndicate were still sitting in the big chairs, but nothing moved without us.
Then, when everything was in place, we cut them off.
In one week, their shipments vanished. Their protection disappeared. Their bank access froze. And the day they walked into their club to discuss what the actual fuck was going on, poof–—it blew up into a million pieces. Faulty wiring apparently caused the explosion.
Imagine that.
My brothers and I assumed control of the city, overseen by our Uncle Frankie. And anyone who dared tochallenge us found out the hard way: no one controls the Kincaids.
‘Pft.’ She swats me away with mock anger. ‘Don’t give me “good evening”. I need details,’ she demands aggressively, but there’s no missing the excitement in her tone.
She’s been at me for years to settle down, step aside and let my younger brothers take over. Like my brothers, she doesn’t believe it’s possible to run The Syndicate and have a wife and family.
I understand her concerns. The Syndicate fucked over my father, used him, and killed my mother.
But that was the old Syndicate.
And this is why it’s imperative that we continue to run things our way. If we don’t control the city’s underworld, someone worse will. And what kind of world will my kids grow up in?
An image of Aoife with a swollen stomach bursts into my brain like a wayward bullet.
The prospect of impregnating her makes me feral. Not yet. But one day.
‘Who told you?’ I steer Mama K towards the kitchen. I need whiskey for this conversation.
‘Ciaran. You know that boy can’t hold his own piss.’ She slaps my bicep. ‘Naturally, I asked Sheila, and the grin on her face told me everything I needed to know.’
I shove my glasses higher on the bridge of my nose to draw her attention away from the grin I’m biting back.
I love it when a plan comes together.
‘So, where is she? When do I get to meet her?’ Her sharp eyes scan the kitchen like she’s expecting Aoife to pop out from behind the counter any second.
‘She’s upstairs. In the shower.’ I can’t help the smug smile stretching my lips. I make a point of checking mywatch. ‘And you’ll meet her when she puts some clothes on.’
‘Dominic Kincaid!’ Mama K pulls a suitably scandalised face, but even she can’t wipe the smile from it. ‘I can’t believe you have a woman in your house.’
Sheila wasn’t exaggerating. I’ve never brought a woman here.
Ever.
Fucking them in my friend’s sex club was far more convenient—until her.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she squeals. She practically hops around my kitchen with glee. ‘It must be serious.’
‘It is.’ I head for the drinks cabinet and pour two Beckett Golds. Mama K is fond of the hard stuff. She can put it away better than any man I’ve ever met, including me. She might need it in a minute. I think I mentioned I don’t do things by halves, which is why I’m going to tell her about the wedding.
‘We’re getting married.’ I fold my arms across my chest and wait for the onslaught, but instead, I’m greeted with silence. Her jaw hangs open on its hinges.
The silence doesn’t last long—unfortunately. ‘When exactly were you planning on telling me this?’
‘I’m telling you now, aren’t I?’
‘What the actual fuck, Dom?’
I shrug and reach for my whiskey. ‘I told every single one of you I’d know when I met the right one. And guess what? She’s the right one.’ The truth of that statement punches me square in the sternum.
Earlier, when she said ‘for a year’ I wanted to pin her down and tell her she’s not going anywhere, ever. But I need it to be her choice. She has to stay willingly, or I’m no better than Kavanagh.
