Cillian's War (Mafia Heirs 5)

I walk out of the NICU, rip off the gown, toss it in the trash can near the doorway, and head for the elevators. I’m a man on a mission, and I won’t let my son down. I tap on the button for the elevator until it opens. It’s the longest elevator ride of my life as my heart thumps in my chest, but when the doors open to the sixth floor, I begin walking the halls. I look into every room with an open door, waiting for the moment I find Aisling.

Sure enough, I find her scratching at her arms. Sweat beads on her forehead, and she doesn’t even notice I’ve walked into the room. “Itching for your next fix?” I snarl at her, and her eyes widen as they fall on me.

Good. She’s scared. She should be.

“What’re you doin’ here, Bruno?”

“They called me. Did you think they wouldn’t? He’s barely alive, Aisling!” I snap, walking toward her.

“I-I’m s-sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should be fucking apologizing to. What the fuck were you on? Huh? What were you poisoning our son with?”

Aisling blinks at me rapidly and begins scratching her arms again. “I w-wasn’t doing a-any—”

“Shut the fuck up and stop lying. Tell me what you want. What the hell do you want? If you tell me the truth, I’ll make it happen. He’s suffering, Aisling!” My desperation oozes off me. The mere fact our son is wailing in pain destroys me.

Aisling’s eyes lock onto mine. “Money. I want money, and then I’ll tell you.”

Fucking despicable. I fish my wallet out of my back pocket and give her everything I have on me in cash. It’s just over 3000. “Give me the answer.”

“Heroin.”

I head toward the door and glare at her as she’s grabbing the money and putting it in a pile. “I hope you enjoyed caring for our son while you could because he’s coming back to Italy with me. You’ll never see him again.”

Aisling locks her eyes with me. “You paid for information, not for taking our son. That’ll cost you more.”

“Burn in hell, you wicked bitch,” I hiss at her as I walk out of her room, head down the maternity ward, and then get on the elevators. It’s only a moment before the elevator doors open, and I’m back in the NICU.

I find the nurse who led me back into the NICU and head straight for her. “Heroin. Tell Dr. McGonigal it was heroin.”

She nods and darts off in an unknown direction. Meanwhile, I head back to where my son is, throw one of those hideous gowns on and go to where he is. His wails break my heart, and he struggles to suck in a breath because he wants to keep crying.

“It will be okay, Cillian. I’ve got you now.” Just as I speak, his eyes lock with mine, and I wonder if in some way he understands what I’ve promised him.

CHAPTER ONE

CILLIAN

Present Day . . .

The air’s thick in the room, and my heart thumps intensely in my chest. My father sits in an elaborate armchair, his cheeks sunken in and his suit loosely hanging on his skin. He wants to act like none of us know he’s ill. Maybe he’s in denial, but we aren’t stupid. My brothers and I know somethings wrong. It’s obvious. He’s barely been eating, from what I’ve heard. His staff has called me over the last few weeks, which has resulted in me coming back here.

“Why have you come home all of a sudden?” he asks out of the blue, his dark eyes falling on me.

“No particular reason simply came to check-in.”

He raises both of his brows and stares me down. My father’s never been one to accept bullshit responses. “What’s your real reason?”

I suck in a deep breath as I debate how to bring this up. “People are worried about you. Say you’re not eating very much. You aren’t, based on the way you look.”

He grimaces and shakes his head in either disappointment or irritation. “Who told you?”

I furrow my brows for a moment. Told me what? I was only asked by his staff to come in and check in on him. I don’t yet have a reply, and my father slams his hand down on the arm of the chair. “Who told you I was sick, Cillian!”

It’s as if my heart stops beating in my chest. I swallow hard and sit up in my chair a bit straighter. “No one, actually, but I should’ve seen it. Since you just outed yourself, are you going to fill in the rest of the blanks for me? Or will you act like you didn’t slip up and tell me I don’t need to know?”

I wait for a few moments, and his eyes find mine again. “I thought they must’ve told you—” my father’s words are cut off by a fit of coughing. It’s not too bad at first, and then it’s harsher, so much he grabs a handkerchief from the table beside him and coughs violently into it. He gasps for breath through his nose, even while his body thrashes from the outburst. After a few moments, he can catch his breath, and then he reaches over to the drawer on his right. He pulls out an inhaler shakes it as much as he can before he desperately takes in a deep breath.