Because I wasn’t an O’Shea. Or a Murray, for that matter. Our syndicate, the Sons of Munster, revolved around those two families. Way back in the day, two men had started a farmer’s militia where we were from in the southwest of Ireland. One Murray, one O’Shea. My ancestors had joined them. We’d fought the British there. Then we’d helped the Republican Army in the Civil War. But as intertwined as our families were, we still had our separate traditions, and sending kids to a prestigious boarding school in England wasn’t a Ford thing. Besides, Shan was right. I hadn’t wanted to leave Luna behind.
Our parents had never wanted anything to do with the Sons. My pop had made that clear from a young age. He’d been livid with me when he’d discovered I was hanging out with Finn and Patrick, which I could crack a smile at today. Oh man, he’d been furious to the point where he’d just spluttered and turned red. A rage he’d later directed at his own father, ’cause it was Grandpa Tadgh who’d encouraged me as a kid. Too bad he died not long after.
On the other hand, maybe he would’ve shunned me too, once I came out to my closest.
I shook my head and took another swig of my drink. “Your attempt to take me down memory lane won’t work, Shan.”
He smirked a little. “I’ve barely started. Give me a minute.”
I snorted and sat back some more, and I rested my foot on my knee. “Bringing up Grace won’t do anything either. Even her legacy is lost. She doesn’t exist anymore.”
Shan stiffened in his seat. “What makes you say that?”
“Because since we rose from the ashes, half our syndicate has been replaced by teenagers, Shan,” I replied tiredly. “Maybe we’ll look back on today in fifty years and call this just another turf war or vicious vendetta, but I don’t see it. The Avellinos wiped out dozens of our low-men, several in the management, and I’m balls deep in the recruitment process where I meet kids who’ve barely heard of Grace.”
What did a victory mean when we’d lost the mates to celebrate it with?
Yeah, sure, we’d killed off the entire Avellino organization—not counting the last sons’a bitches we were chasing in the aftermath. We’d ruined their operations, stolen their biggest clients and their caches of money, jewels, collectible cars, and drugs. We’d taken everything in a blinding fit of rage after they’d started the war. We’d won.
It just didn’t feel like it, because they’d taken a piece of our history with them.
Memories had been destroyed as men had died. Memories that would now go on to become tales and anecdotes that didn’t work the same way recollections did. A recollection tied you to someone. A memory could bring people together and unite a clan.
“In the grand scheme of things, we’re a small organization,” I continued. “We have Philly, we have our chapter in Chicago, and we have our friends in Ireland and London. We had to give up Jersey just to gather enough manpower to put together a few decent crews here at home.” I shrugged. “Losing ten people woulda been too much for us.”
Not all our losses were deaths. I knew of at least fourteen men—and their families—who’d fled the syndicate because they claimed it wasn’t worth the risk.
Maybe they were right.
Shannon let out a long breath and stared down into his drink, letting the whiskey swirl slowly in the glass. “Grace will always live on for those of us who loved her. That’s enough. And Emilia will show the new recruits we’re more than an organization.”
That was quite the change. Emilia—and my sister—wanted a more active role in the syndicate, something Shannon had been against up until…well, this very night? We were called the Sons of Munster for a reason. Women had no place in our business. They were to be protected and cared for at home.
Same had applied to Grace, only she’d had twenty years of becoming the mother to everyone. Twenty years of christenings, birthdays, dinners, Mass on Sundays, and holidays. It wasn’t like she’d shown up at sit-downs or worked with us.
We couldn’t wait twenty years for Emilia to earn the same status. Shan knew that.
He stopped swirling the whiskey and looked over at me. “I think it’s time I retire too.”
I frowned. “You’re not even fifty.”
“No, but…” He sighed and faced forward once more. “It’s a new era, Kellan. In fifty years, the Sons will look back on today and see just another vendetta. A war we won. We have to move forward—as a syndicate and as a family. But for as long as men like me are around, this will be…I don’t know. I see the end everywhere. Finn sees a new chapter. Maybe you see a continuation. But the fact of the matter is that we need to see this as a new beginning. A new syndicate—that you and Finn are putting together from scratch, almost.”