Title: Owner By The Mafia
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 a reward. 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 keep their men 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.
The worst part is that this is the first time the Italians are technically working with the Russians like this. Although the families were joined, they kept their security separated, so I don’t know why Ronan agreed to do this.
Just for Daniel?
So he could get married and have a kid?
God, I never want children.
I hear the shouting from the street level already, but I don’t quicken my pace. There’s no need. They’ll still be arguing by the time I get there. I recognize the one voice; it’s Aiden. He’s my second in command when I’m not around, and from the sounds of it, he’s having a real go at an Italian guard.
The elevator opens, and I step out. The shouting is louder here, and you can barely make out words as they are shouting at the same time.
I pass a group of Russian men sitting around a small table, smoking and laughing at the noise coming from the main boardroom.
I give them a disdainful look before I slam the boardroom door open and look around.
Aidan and the Italian stop shouting to look at me. The slamming door startled them out of their fight, which is probably good because their faces are inches apart.
“You two should kiss and call it a night,” I comment. I take out my cigarettes and light one, going to sit at the top end of the boardroom table.
“This idiot…” Aiden’s voice is still raised, and I slam a hand flat on the table.
“I should shoot you both and save myself future childish arguments. Neither of you is the boss here. I am.” I look at Aidan, who inclines his head, then at the Italian. He seems familiar, but I can’t quite remember his name. His face is still filled with anger.
“You are not my boss, and you never will be.” He spits on the floor in my direction, snaps something in Italian at Aidan, and storms out.
Aidan turns to look at me with his hands up. “Boss, the guys won’t listen. I’m just trying to tell them where they’re needed.” He lights a cigarette and inhales deeply, exhaling loudly.
I look out the window and flick my cigarette ash onto the little ashtray on the table. “Think they’re better than us; that’s the problem.”
Aidan sits beside me and pulls a folder toward himself. “Well, let me tell you where I’ve got everyone then.”
I listen as he outlays the plans for various jobs that we have going on this week, and the time goes by quite quickly. My phone starts buzzing on the table while I light my third cigarette.
“It’s Dominic Sorvino.” Aidan looks at me.
I sigh and pick up the phone. “Mr Sor…”
He instantly starts tearing me a new one without hesitation.
“Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to our men as dogs? You’re paid to manage their schedules, not order them around like they’re your fucking slaves, Quinn.”
I glance at Aidan as I respond. “It’s difficult to manage their schedules when they listen as well as a fucking brick wall.”
This sets him off worse, and after a stream of what I assume are Italian cuss words, he screams over the phone, “You are so low on the fucking pecking order. Learn some fucking respect. You do as I tell you, not the other fucking way. You want my men’s respect, fucking earn it. They say you treat them like shit all the time and act as though they can’t string a sentence together.”
“Not an English one, at least,” I snap back.
“You fucking punk, I should have you dragged and beaten for your insolence. Do your fucking job.”
He hangs up on me, and I set the phone down and look at my best friend. “Give it ten minutes, and my brother will be on the line.”
We sit in silence, not bothering to continue because it’s inevitable.
The little Irish jig that is my brother’s ringtone starts playing, and his face flashes across the screen under the name Bigger Brother.
“I can’t work with them,” I say immediately as I answer the phone before Ronan can get a word in. “These fucking Italian and Russian assholes don’t listen, Ronan. I can’t direct people who won’t follow orders.”
“Don’t you fucking talk shit to me, Robbie. You’ve made your feelings on the new guys clear as fucking day, and I’ve heard how you speak to them. You get your fucking act together and make this fucking work, or you won’t have any more work within this family. Do you hear me?”
He hangs up, and I stand up fast, slamming my chair backward into the wall. Aidan looks up at me.
“Where are you going?”
“To shoot things,” I snap.
There’s an open field, one I always visit, one I visit whenever I have the urge to think about her or when I’m too angry to control my temper. I do target practice there and envision the person I want to kill or the man I imagine touching her instead of me.