Page 1 of Owned By the Mafia
Chapter 1 - Robbie
I've never been a fan of mornings, but from when I was a lad, it was always up early and get the day started. It’s been bred into me by my mother and later beaten into me by my father. I took the lesson quickly, and it became part of my breathing. Something I do without thinking, whether I’m hungover or not, I get up at the crack of dawn to start the day.
My brothers are the same. Though, on occasion, Jarryd will lie in on a Sunday as areward. What kind of reward is lazying in bed? I don’t know, but apparently, he certainly thinks it is one.
I walk across the street toward the pub. Its shiny exterior is a reminder that it was blown to pieces months ago as my older brother tried his hand at love. Fuck, it was bound to happen for one reason or another, eventually.
Love. Love is for the weak who don’t know what they want in life. You can love many people in your life. Real connection is with intoxication. When someone fills your senses in every possible way, you can’t do a single thing without thinking of them. When every choice you make, every turn you take, and every person you kill is for her.
I’ve had that intoxication, and it’s not something you just get over. It’s not only a broken heart, some time to heal, and onwards to the next conquest.
That one obsession never goes away. It might retreat to the back of your mind as you force yourself to focus on the present, but she’s always there. Always. Waiting for us to cross paths again.
I step through the door and look at the family section, where Ronan is seated on a chair with his broken leg elevated. He’s been recovering well but slowly. The recovery may be slow, but nothing slows my brother down. He may seem congenial to most, agreeable and peaceful, but I’ve seen Ronan at his worst. I’ve seen Ronan when he’s been betrayed or when he’s been in love. No, when he’s been intoxicated.
He would never name her out loud. It would place her in the instant crosshairs of all our enemies.
I sit in the booth beside him, and I nod. “Alright?”
“Alright,” he says.
Molly comes out of the kitchen carrying a tray of dishes, each filled with various breakfast items. She sets them on the table and finally puts three clean plates at the end.
“Enjoy, boys.” Her voice is sing-song, and I see the smile Ronan gives her.
Intoxicated.
I reach over and pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table. It’s still hot, so it must be fresh. I like my coffee black but sweet. It’s always how I’ve had it, whereas my brothers prefer milk and less sugar. I straighten my suit after I set my coffee down and look at Ronan.
“We need to talk about the security management for the Italian and Russian families.”
Ronan is busy piling food onto his plate. He loves Molly’s cooking. He always said it reminds him of Nan’s cooking, but that’s before my time.
“We’re integrating the Italians and Russians into our security to better manage the families’ security as a whole. You can handle that, I’m sure?” He glances at me with a raised eyebrow, and I frown.
He’s riling me up. He always has done so since we were children. He’d always say that out of the red-haired Quinn boys, I got the bulk of the temper and the least amount of patience. I don’t think he’s wrong, but he irritates me when he tries to goad me.
“It’s not that it’s difficult. It’s that the idiots don’t want to listen to me.” I sip my coffee and then decide to start dishing up some breakfast for myself. As I begin to eat, Ronan takes the opportunity to talk while my mouth is full.
“Look, you need to be diplomatic about the situation. Just because Alexander and Ivan have given orders for them to integrate with the Quinn security teams doesn’t mean they will like it on any level. The two families might get along in the higher ranks, but their people still mistrust each other and hate crossing those patriotic lines. They each love their own countries and cultures. They certainly have no love for ours.” Ronan starts to eat, satisfied with his little speech.
“You are right,” I scoff. “It is easier to deal with the heads of the family than their little soldiers. You seem to run well in that circle.”
Ronan doesn’t miss my tone, and his blue eyes bore into mine. I know to back down as he says, “Watch your tone, boy. I might not be Dad, and I might be laid up now, but I will make you regret your words, and you know it.”
I don’t apologize. We both know it’s not my nature, but I don’t speak back. Many people know my brother as a calm man, but I’ve seen what he was like before.
When breakfast is finished, I get up and turn to leave.
“Have a good day, Robbie.” The intention is clear: Ronan is looking for respect.
“Have a good day, boss.” I hate uttering the words, but Ronan seems satisfied, so I leave the pub to go to my headquarters. We’re in the process of moving, but until we do, they’re in Irish territory. The Russians and Italians don’t like that.
I wish I could get rid of them all because this isn’t what I signed up for. Normally, these other families are worlds apart from us, and we only get hired to do jobs for them once in a while when they don’t want to get their hands dirty or be affiliated with a certain death or jump.
This is taking it to a whole new level. They’re asking us to keeptheirmen in check. To police their men, give them assignments, and assign them to guard duties for various people within the families. It’s not that I can’t do it logistically. I am excellent at making a roster that plays to everyone’s strengths, and I’m good at handing over assignments.
I am not good at people. I need people who follow orders, not people who argue at every turn, every decision, and every breath. Especially those damn Italians. God, they’re argumentative. The Russians aren’t much better, more condescending, but the Italians think they rule the roost.