Callous King (The O'Dea Crime Family Book 1)

by Elizabeth Knox

  Callous King

  O’Dea Crime Family Book 1

  Emily Sharp

  Elizabeth Knox

  Contents

  The O’Dea Family

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Bitter King

  Callous King

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  © 2021 Emily Sharp & Elizabeth Knox. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  Published by Knox Publishing, LLC

  Cover Design: Clarise Tan, CT Cover Creations

  Editing: Alecia Rivers Goodman, Knox Publishing

  Proofreading: Marybeth Higgins, Knox Publishing

  Formatting: E.C. Land, Knox Publishing

  Published in the United States of America

  Created with Vellum

  The O’Dea Family

  Colin – 46

  Cian – 28

  Siobhan – 26

  Sean – 25

  McKenna – 25

  Ronan – 24

  Niall – 23

  Nessa – 22

  Declan – 18

  Chapter One

  Cian

  “Sir,” Tearing my gaze off my phone, I frown as my mother’s head maid stands in the archway to the anteroom. Anteroom . . . my parents have an anteroom in their house. A wry smirk tilts my lips, and I lock the screen of my phone to stand. “They’re ready for you.”

  “Some things never change, huh?” I ask, and she nods without a verbal reply. She’s been my mother’s maid for longer than I’ve been alive, but I don’t know her name. Breezing past her, in her smart uniform, I speak up to hear my own thoughts aloud. “I hope nothing goes wrong this year. Siobhan is still giving me shit for what happened two years ago.”

  “. . . I don’t think your sister is who you should worry about this year, sir,” I pause, hiding my surprise that the woman trailing behind me actually spoke. She stares at me neutrally, but suspicion and aggravation brighten her brown eyes, dulled with age. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but Byrne has something ‘special’ for you . . . no doubt trying to salvage his favor after his latest, incredibly costly blunder.”

  “Oh, him,” Frowning through my mumble, I wave a hand dismissively. “He’s on his way down. If he thinks a nice birthday present will save him, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.”

  The maid doesn’t grace me with her wisdom as I start off through my parents’ immense home. Her words leave my mind wandering, and I ruffle my hair in agitation. Travis Byrne is a dusty, old cunt that got fucked a few too many times and had outlived his usefulness. He knows it; everyone knows it. In his desperation, he nearly destroyed a very important contract that’s been in my family for generations.

  Swooping in to fix his mess isn’t an easy task. I clench and release my fist by my side. My father advocates the long game, but no matter what route Byrne takes, it’ll end in disaster. I scowl to myself at the thought as I turn a corner, heading for the garden where my birthday party’s being held.

  “I know he has his reasons, but I wish that bitch wasn’t part of whatever he was planning,” I mutter exasperatedly, a rough sigh breaching my lips. “Marrying the Byrne girl is a mistake. She thinks she’s got everyone fooled, as if she didn’t denounce her family and swear loyalty to me just to betray me in the end. Well, I suppose to betray me, she’d have to have a measure of trust in the first place.”

  My thoughts bounce off the high ceiling, and I flop my head back to groan, a tortured sound. I stop at the lip the of the hallway to turn to the maid, her mask of disinterest wavering in surprise.

  “You were my mother’s maid since she was a baby, right? Did she feel any anxiety over being forced to marry my father?” I ask, and alarm morphs her expression. “Grandfather always said he didn’t regret his decision, but I don’t think I’ve ever asked, and now I can’t, not that I think Mom would tell me the truth in the first place.”

  “A fair bit of anxiety, yes. Dread? Disgust? Fear? No, not once she met Colin in person. Your father tried very hard to make it seem like ‘forced’ was more of a firm suggestion. Cian . . .” She trails off, transforming before my eyes into a sad, tired, old woman. The lines around her mouth deepen. I tense when she gently pats my arm with a weak, but encouraging smile. “For over forty-five years, I served your mother. Since she was a wee babe barely managing to walk without tumbling over. In all that time, I don’t think she ever once made a decision for herself, and she was perfectly content to live that way. If you don’t want to marry the Byrne girl, find a reason to break the contract. There are plenty of fish in the sea, after all.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so much in my entire life than you did just now,” I remark, and she smiles falteringly. “I appreciate your advice.”

  “She might not have been mine, but she was mine. You can’t choose who you love, Cian. That’s true for romantic love facing adversity, but also platonic love, too. Your mother and father loved each other somewhere in between. You can marry the Byrne girl and toss her aside when you find someone you love, and that’ll be more than reasonable,” She pauses, intelligence and wisdom shimmering in her eyes as expectation floods my chest. “I think that would be a mistake. Colin is your father, but Brigid is just as much your mother. If you’re going to settle, do so safely. That was her philosophy.”

  “I’ll take it to heart,” I say with a grateful nod, and she quickly rearranges her expression back to the same it’s always been. Continuing on my way, I stuff my hands into my pockets to tap my dress slacks with my thumbs. “Still, I don’t have a good enough reason to back out of this arrangement, and doing so would weaken us both, O’Dea and Byrne the same. I’d have to go through the whole selection process again, and no one would like that. For now, I’ll go with it. I’m sure that in due time, that idiotic girl will overstep and make a mistake. She’s not as smart or sneaky as she thinks she is.”

  Thick, glass walls suddenly spread out on either side of me, and I inhale a deep, steadying breath. My mother’s garden is glorious even four years after her death, and my heart aches, seeing the beautiful, big blooming flowers. Though, they’re smaller than they were when she was alive. I’m certain she was doing quite a bit to ensure the plants were getting exactly what they needed. Whenever I came home from school, I’d always find her here with gardening gloves on and the biggest smile spread across her face. Being here, it was her happy place, and I pray I find some
thing that makes me as happy as she was.

  I shake my head to clear my thoughts, focusing on the people in front of me. All the families are here, clamoring to give me the best present, to congratulate me the most enthusiastically . . . as if I don’t have a birthday every single year. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I take my hands out of my pockets to straighten my vest. The glass is all one-way mirrors, and I exhale my lungful of breath slowly and deliberately before grabbing the thick, bronze door handle.

  A round of cheers roll through the area, the smell of flowers and food like a brick wall slamming into me. I smile politely even as I scan the premises shrewdly, not finding Byrne even as I laid eyes on his daughter. Bella lives up to her name; she is drop-dead gorgeous, physically. Her perfectly curled, blonde hair and expertly applied makeup hide a wretched, vomit-inducing personality, though. Blue eyes meet mine, shining hungrily, but I dismiss her as I wander towards my father and aunt.

  “Cian, I think you got a little taller, boy!” Aunt Fiona exclaims, and a more genuine grin creeps onto my face as she cups my cheeks. She isn’t much shorter than me, still youthful and beautiful for her mid-forties. I don’t protest when she pats my face the same way she did when I was little. “How many years has it been, now? Three? Four?”

  “Four, yes,” I reply, and Aunt Fiona’s eyes flash with sadness briefly. She is, admittedly, the most two-faced person I know. I grip her wrists gently to pry her palms from my face. “Thank you for making the trip. How’s Georgia this time of year?” My Aunt Fiona has been travelling quite a bit as of late. While she stayed here in Boston for a long time, business has been taking her between Boston and Atlanta. My father sees her regularly, but I can’t say the same.

  “Who cares about that? You’re the center of attention today, boy,” She declares loudly, and I chuckle; she’s a deceptive woman, my aunt. I nod, giving in easily, because well, there’s nothing else I can do. Aunt Fiona would steamroll over me, and I wouldn’t even know it until I was flat on my ass. She leans in closer, gesturing me, and expectation twitches my cheek before she whispers in my ear. “Don’t worry about the Byrne girl for now. She’s incapable of thinking for herself, and I know for a fact that her idiot father has been scrambling since the announcement. You’ve got some time, Cian.”

  “Thank you,” I reply earnestly, squeezing her wrist gingerly. “I know my father’s got something going on, but that doesn’t make it any less palatable.”

  “Oh, please,” Aunt Fiona leans away with a huge smile, an air of brisk dismissal fluffing out her hair when she shakes her head. “I’ll have you know I’ve always been smarter than Colin, and he—”

  “Yes, yes, Fiona. We all know how much better you are than me,” My father cuts my aunt off, wandering the short distance to us holding out a glass of bourbon for me. I take a sip to be polite, but my father already gazes at his sister with mock hurt in his eyes. “No need to rub it in. I like to think there’s nothing wrong with being second best. Less pressure. I would like a word with my son, Fiona, if you don’t mind.”

  Aunt Fiona’s brows raise slightly in interest, but she doesn’t protest verbally. I smile at her before following my father through the garden. No one approaches me, but eyes bore holes into my body like bullets would. Holding my cold glass to my neck, I frown at my father’s back as we arrive at a table covered in food. I take an ornate, cushioned chair, and my father grabs one for himself before grabbing a hot dog.

  “I still can’t believe you,” Bemusement threads my father’s tone as he examines what I would call the beautiful bun and glistening dog, and I chuff a laugh. “Your mother would be horrified if she saw you had hot dogs at a gathering like this, you know.”

  “She’d probably beat me mercilessly if she saw this,” I say, setting down my glass to grab a hot dog of my own, smothering it in ketchup and spicy mustard. My father laughs fondly, but shakes his head low, a little sad, and this will go down as yet another bittersweet moment. “What did you want to talk about, Dad?”

  “I know Kaitlyn told you Byrne is planning something outrageous,” he pauses, his eyes meeting mine as I frown questioningly.

  Who’s Kaitlyn?

  “Unfortunately, I don’t know what it is or whether it’s something that can be stopped. He’s desperate to reopen negotiations with us, and he must be confident this will benefit you if he’s kept it such a tight secret.”

  Oh, Kaitlyn must be my mom’s head maid. So, that was her name? Not that it matters. I shake my head at my father’s words, taking a huge bite of my hot dog to avoid answering him. He knows, eyes narrowing into slits, and I grunt around my mouthful.

  “Cian, Byrne barely managed to avoid being caught by the FBI. The only reason he’s still around is because I don’t have anyone to replace him. It’s common knowledge that it’s only a matter of time. And frankly, you’re not doing yourself any favors making Bella hate you,” My father chides, and I roll my eyes as my irritation bubbles over the lip of my self-control. He glowers at me, and I swallow my bite harshly before he continues gravely. “It’s a business deal, Cian, and even if you don’t like her, you have to play nice with her.”

  “You’d think differently if you’d lived with the bitch for three months,” I grab a napkin to wipe my mouth, but my father just stares, unmoved. “I’ll make nice with her when she’s dead. Hell, I may even give her a proper burial despite everything.”

  “I hope eventually you realize why I made this decision. But obviously, three months isn’t long enough to stew in your own shit, is it?” My dad’s snide remark really aggravates me, and I fight a scowl before he stands up to walk off. Watching him go, I take another bite of my hot dog.

  Why? It’s a business deal. It’s a benefit. How? Well, I don’t know, but fuck me, right? People should have choices when it comes to these things, but when you’re in a mafia family none of it matters. The only thing you can ever count on is your choices being taken from you.

  Chapter Two

  Cian

  “Here,” Aunt Fiona thrusts a full glass in my hands, no ice, and grumbles lowly. She looks supremely unhappy, but I can’t open my mouth before she practically sneers down at me. “You’re going to need it, trust me.”

  “What?” I ask, the hairs on the back of my neck bristling as the garden suddenly goes silent. Staring at the crowd, I stand to follow uncomfortable gazes as my aunt scoffs low under her breath. My chest tightens as anxiety threads through my veins, and I take a large gulp of the bourbon. “What happened?”

  “Byrne happened.” She growls a tone I’ve never heard from her before, and my aunt sulks off toward my father. Watching them whisper to each other, unpleasant expressions deepening, I arch a brow quizzically. I lift my glass to my lips to hide my confusion before tearing my eyes off my father and Aunt Fiona. A palpable buzz ripples overhead, and I take another sip of my forced drink before my throat tightens in anxiety.

  “Cian,” Bella calls, her sultry tone is ineffective and not enough to shatter the silence. I ignore her, the smell of her—the way she slides up to me to hold my arm. Fighting a sneer, I nudge her away, and she frowns in displeasure out of the corner of my eye. “Cian—”

  “Would you just shut your mouth?” Snapping over the faint shuffle of feet, I stand up swiftly to drain my glass while Bella gasps in affront. A cold sweat breaks out under my stiff suit, and the tension in the air skyrockets. The footfalls intensify, and I tighten my grip on my glass as my guests part like the Red Sea.

  Byrne was a picture-perfect fat fuck, dripping in fine satin, the rings on his fingers requiring surgery to be set free. He struts down the path made for him in nice, Italian leather shoes that echo above the blood drumming in my ears. His body just oozes smug confidence, like he’s on top of the world—the man of the hour.

  At my own fucking birthday party, no less. What a set of balls this buffoon has.

  The world shifts around me as a flicker of gold trails behind him, and my heart damn near stops beating. Byrne tugged
a naked woman behind him by the ball gag secured in her mouth. Alarm bells ring in my skull shrilly, and I blink hard in disbelief. He stops a dozen feet from me and jerks the thick, heavy chain, sending her tumbling onto the cobblestone. I fight a wince, my teeth rattling in sympathy even as I subconsciously school my expression.

  “Cian,” With all the theatrics of a bad drag queen, Byrne flings out his free arm. He grins broadly out of the corner of my eye, but I can’t drag them from the girl at his feet. Long arms pockmarked with fingerprint bruises struggle to hold her up, her hair a waterfall of gold protecting her face and frail, thin shoulders. “I know it’s outdated, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try to smooth things over between us. After the past months, and with your engagement to my daughter, I’d like to bury the bad blood between us and pave it over once and for all. Bella tells me your household could do with another maid, and aren’t the best gifts functional as well as thoughtful?”

  What is this, the Middle Ages? I can’t explore what the fuck possessed Byrne to think this was a good idea as he grabs the woman by her long, thick locks. His grubby fingers barely hold, and he jerks her around like a rag doll. She doesn’t fight him, but she doesn’t help herself either as she lets him fumble and embarrass himself. I set my glass down before I drop the thing, and my stomach churns violently.

  “This is one of my best toys,” Sick fuck. Byrne elicits surprised gasps with his statement, hauling the poor woman to her bare feet. She shivers, as if she’s freezing, and he rears back his hand to crack his palm against her ass. Her muffled, high-pitched shriek slams into me with the force of a train, and her fragile body crumples. The slap of skin on skin threatens to shatter the glass encasing the party, and Byrne’s grin stretches as he looks to me. “I only offer my best to Cian O’Dea, the next Boss of Boston.”