He turned to face Bruce, holding his hands out from his sides. “You going to do anything with that or just pretend you’re an actual cop?”
Bruce slowly uncocked the weapon, lowering it when Don muttered he was fine.
“Is someone going to answer me about the surveillance on my place?” Cian asked. “I need to get back to work so my men don’t wonder where I am.”
He saw the two agents glance at each other and knew then he wasn’t going to like what came next.
Bruce leaned down and picked up his unlit cigarette from the asphalt where he’d dropped it during the scuffle. He put it between his lips and pulled out a lighter. After he’d taken a long drag and blown the smoke to one side, he spoke, eyes glittery in the dim light from an adjacent light pole.
“We made a deal you’d gather information for us, and we’d let your old man and Liam off the hook. We never said we wouldn’t continue to investigate MacFarlane activities.”
Cian took a deep breath, because now he did feel like losing it.
“You understand if you’re on me all the time, you’ll make it so I can’t get you information on anyone? No one will be doing business with me if I have a tail twenty-four seven. You wanted me to inform on associates and the Vasquez family. I’ve been doing that, but I can’t do it with feds glued to my ass.”
Don cleared his throat, but his voice was still rough. “What you’ve been giving us isn’t enough.”
Shit. Cian had been waiting for this day. Sharing information that couldn’t be traced back to him or implicate his family wasn’t easy. He walked a fine line between giving the feds enough info to keep them engaged while not giving them anything of real value. He’d obviously erred on the side of too much caution, something that wouldn’t have surprised his old man a bit.
“I can’t make information appear out of thin air—unless you want me to start planting things, which, considering it’s the Vasquez family we’re talking about, wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.”
“Look, we know there are limits on what you’re going to be able to get on the Vasquez operation. Unless you have someone on the inside, you can’t get the kinds of details we need to make significant charges stick.”
He folded his arms, feeling the heightened pulse pounding there under his wrists.
“Start small. Isn’t that what you guys do? Bring them in on whatever you have so you can get search warrants and subpoenas? I’ve given you things that would get the ball rolling. Even without a fancy law degree, I know that.”
“The bureau’s sick of the resources it takes to make convictions that don’t slow you scumbags down,” Don said with surprisingly little animosity. “They want bigger convictions, bigger fish. They want to show a real impact. We’ve got the Senate Judiciary pushing hard for progress on organized crime and the opioid crisis.”
Cian frowned.
“Sorry.” Don shrugged.
“What’s it going to take to get your men off my back?” Cian asked, suddenly so tired, he felt as though he could go to sleep and never wake up.
Don shot a look at Bruce, who quietly turned and walked back to the car, where he pulled out his phone and began a conversation of some sort.
Don stepped closer to Cian as though he had things to say he didn’t want Bruce to hear, but Cian knew it was all a ploy to seem as if they had a level of intimacy they didn’t. The feds and their constant head games. Sometimes he really believed they thought he was stupid.
“Look, I personally don’t have a problem with the info you’ve been giving us. It’s all panned out. You haven’t screwed us over once, which is pretty rare for informants at your level.”
“But?”
“But like I said, it’s not enough, and no matter what you do, you can’t get us what we need on the Vasquez organization.”
That was when Cian finally got it. “You’ve found someone inside to flip on Vasquez.”
Don just looked at him.
Cian’s chest squeezed, and sweat broke out along his hairline. He knew what came next.
“And what do you want from me now?” he asked, only because he needed it said out loud before he told them to screw themselves.
“MacFarlane info,” Don said blandly, as if he wasn’t asking Cian to betray his own flesh and blood.
Cian swore under his breath before he leaned in and spat in Don’s face, “Fuck. You.”
“I’m sure the girls think you’re very pretty, but I prefer tits.”
Cian growled before he began to pace in a tight line up and down in front of Don. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bruce watching him from where he leaned back against the car, probably ready to shoot him in the head if the mood struck right.
“We’re done here, then,” Cian said, stopping to pull his car keys out of his pocket.
“That’s fine,” Don said before turning to look behind him. “Hey!” he called to Bruce. “Was it Finn or Connor we caught on camera making that big buy last month?”
“I don’t know, man, which one has his cute girlfriend’s initials tattooed on his forearm?”
Cian’s heart sank to somewhere south of his knees. Connor.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Don said snapping his fingers. “Connor. The baby, right?” he asked Cian.
“No,” Cian snarled. “You will not get anywhere near Connor.” He’d given up trying to be cool. His self-control had officially snapped.
“I’m sorry, but we have him taking a shipment from the Martinezes down in Albuquerque. On camera. Cash passed. The whole nine yards. It’s like a dream come true.”
“You son of a bitch,” Cian whispered, not even looking at the agent.
“So, ball’s in your court. Here’s the offer. Immunity for you and Connor. Everyone else is fair game, and you’ll give us what we need to put Liam, Robbie, and your lieutenants in prison for life. We want the Devils shut down or at least crippled to the point it’s down for years, not months.”
Nausea rolled through Cian, his hands tingling as he flexed them over and over again. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. He needed to keep them all safe. Let his father take the fall and rot in prison until he died alone, Cian couldn’t care less about what happened to Robbie. But how was he supposed to choose one brother over the others? No. He simply couldn’t. He had to get all three of them out, no matter what.
“What about Finn?” he asked, voice rough with resignation.
Don shrugged. “No one cares much what happens to him. If he gets caught in the net, fine. If not, it’s no deal breaker. We know he doesn’t have what it takes to run the show. If the other players are out, Finn’s rendered irrelevant.”
Jesus. His tenderhearted, talented, brilliant brother reduced to “irrelevant.” It was shocking, even to someone as jaded as him.
“Immunity won’t be of much use to us when everyone finds out I’ve cut a deal for me and Connor. If you think my old man can’t or won’t get to us from a prison cell, you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”
“Oh, did I forget the other part? Witness protection,” Don said, a smug smile on his shiny face.
Cian sighed as he quickly shuffled through the options. If he could get witness protection, Connor would be out for good. Then he’d have to figure out what to do about Liam and Finn. But maybe one less brother to worry about was the best choice under the circumstances. Lighten the load for a bit. Give him some breathing space to calculate the next move. It wasn’t as if he had a choice anyway.
“Fine,” he finally told Don. “Witness protection for Connor…” He thought for a moment. “And his girlfriend, Jessica O’Neil.”
“Thought they split up,” Don said, demonstrating once again his vast knowledge of all things MacFarlane. It would be a little creepy if Cian didn’t know the man was paid to keep track.
“It’s complicated,” Cian said. “But in case, I want her included in his package.”
“Fine. New identity for the old boxer’s daughter too.�
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“It’s going to take me a while to get you what you need—financials, emails, that kind of thing.”
Don nodded. “I want the overview of the activities first, then I’ll tell you what evidence is useful and what isn’t.”
“And in the meantime? The surveillance?”
“I think we’ll keep it right where it is,” Don said. “It’s proven to be useful for all sorts of reasons.”
Cian swallowed the bile and nodded sharply. Then, without another word, he walked to his car and started it up. Five miles away, on a quiet street a few blocks from Union Park he pulled the car over to the curb, turned off the engine, and leaned his head against the steering wheel as a single tear rolled down his cheek.
Chapter 7
“Where the hell have you been?” Connor griped as Cian strolled into the private balcony at Banshee at midnight.
“Nice to see you too,” Cian muttered as he slid into the booth where his three brothers sat, and sank back into the cushions, exhausted.
“You look like shit,” Liam noted as he held his empty tumbler aloft and gestured for one of the waitresses to get him another.
“Thanks, nice to see you too,” Cian answered.
“Sharla!” Liam called out after the girl who was on her way to get his drink. “Grab the whole bottle and an extra glass for Cian.” She nodded and went on to the bar.
“We’ve been waiting for forty-five minutes,” Connor continued. “You left without taking anyone with you. What the hell is up?”
Cian sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes for a moment. “Nothing. There was a little dustup at one of the dispensaries—the one on Lake Street, an easy walk right here in the neighborhood. I thought it’d be nice to get a break, go outside. And yeah, get away from the guys for a few minutes—so sue me.”
Liam scowled. “I told you owning those medical MJ shops was going to be more headache than it was worth.”
“Sixty-seven million dollars,” Finn interjected. “Since the authorization passed the legislature, legal cannabis in Illinois has grossed sixty-seven million dollars. Those three little shops of ours made a three-hundred percent profit in the last eighteen months. It’s worth it.”
Liam flipped his younger brother off, and Finn just smirked and shook his head. The brawn and the brain of the family often tussled in wars of words, and Finn invariably won. Luckily, Liam might be rough, but he wasn’t cruel, and he loved Finn as much as he did Cian or Connor. Cian sometimes thought Liam said the things he did in part to give Finn the platform for demonstrating his intellect. Finn didn’t get a lot of attention from their father, nor was he particularly popular with the men. When Liam set him up to shine, Cian doubted it was by accident.
The waitress placed a large bottle of Connemara whiskey down on the table and handed Cian an empty tumbler with a look of sympathy. Sharla had been at the club long enough to know when Cian was having a rough night.
“So what’s the big emergency?” Cian asked as Liam poured him a generous amount of whiskey and pressed the bottle into his free hand.
Connor’s brow pulled down over his eyes, and Cian couldn’t help but remember that same look on his face when he was a tiny boy, running to get Cian’s help when Finn or Liam had teased him to the point he’d snapped. The ten years between them made Cian feel more like Connor’s father than his brother sometimes. He remembered every moment of the kid’s life—the good, the not so good, the completely ridiculous. Something in his chest lightened a touch when he thought about Connor and Jess somewhere far, far away—safe, happy, in love.
“Jess and her friends were at Club Destiny celebrating a birthday when Alejandro Vasquez showed up.”
Cian sat up straighter. “What?” he ground out.
Liam nodded. “I vote we head out there tonight when they aren’t expecting it, take four or five of the boys, and slam some heads together. Even if we don’t get to Vasquez himself, we’ll make an impression, show him he can’t come onto our turf and mess with our women without consequences.” As the family’s head enforcer, Liam enjoyed a good rousting whenever he could work one in.
Cian’s mind started turning, as it always did. “Did Vasquez touch her?”
Connor shook his head. “No. Finn was there and watched her until I came with Ricky and a couple of the other guys. They escorted Vasquez off the premises, and I made it clear to Jimmy McGuire that he’s not to let Vasquez in the door next time.”
“So Jess is okay?” Cian asked, taking a long swallow of his whiskey and relishing the way it burned all the way to his empty gut.
“For now,” Connor answered. “I left Ricky with her, and he’s sticking until we figure this out.”
“So you think Vasquez was just playing games?” Cian looked at Finn.
“Hard to say,” Finn answered. “He definitely knew who she was, didn’t approach her directly but made a point of chatting up some of her friends. He had a couple of his guys with him, and they kept a close watch on Jess and her party, but once they saw me, they stepped it back.”
“We have to do something,” Connor announced, looking each of his brothers in the eye one by one. “He’s gunning for me, and he’s going to use Jess to do it.”
“Exactly,” Liam agreed, nodding enthusiastically. “That’s why we need to head out there tonight. Make a clear statement we won’t put up with this.”
“I’m not going to war with the Vasquez family over this,” Cian announced. “We have more than enough on our plates right now with these new web sales. We don’t need to be in a street fight on top of it all.”
“I don’t care about whether we go to war or not,” Connor interjected, “but I won’t have Jess harmed. Not when it’s my fault we’re here at all.”
Cian looked at Connor, one eyebrow raised. “It wasn’t your finest moment.”
Connor hung his head. “I know.”
“Hope Vasquez’s sister was a good lay, that’s all I can say,” Liam muttered.
Cian tipped his chin up at Finn across the table. “What do you think?” he asked. Cian had never felt the need for a consiglieri to consult with. His father still had his eye on the business, and with three younger brothers, Cian was always being scrutinized. But when he did want someone else to chime in, it was Finn he went to.
Finn MacFarlane was soft-spoken, thoughtful, sensitive, even in the midst of a brawling, testosterone-fueled pack of Irishmen. If analysis needed to be done, it was Finn who would do it. If a creative solution was sought, it was Finn who would provide it. And if anyone had a chance at making something of themselves outside the violent, gritty world the MacFarlane boys had grown up in, Finn was the one who did.
Finn cocked his head at Connor the way he always did when thinking about something, mulling it over in his oversized brain. “Why don’t you negotiate?” he asked.
“Negotiate what?” Connor asked. “We going to offer up Jess if he’ll stay out of our territory?” He scoffed in disgust.
Cian held up a hand to quiet Connor, his gaze never leaving Finn’s. “Continue.”
Finn gave him a small smile. “If we knew something that was useful to Vasquez, we could use it as a peace offering. Trade it for his promise that he’ll forgive Connor’s indiscretion. He’s been insulted, and he needs to have his pride assuaged. Once that happens, he’ll get over it and move on.”
“Ass-wayjed?” Liam snorted. “What does that even mean?”
“He needs to feel like he’s had a win after Connor embarrassed him,” Cian clarified.
“That’s all fine and good,” Connor added, “but we don’t have anything to trade.”
A smile spread across Cian’s face. “Actually, we do.”
“What’s that?” Even as he asked the question, Liam’s attention diverted to a waitress walking by whose short, tight skirt revealed the lacy tops of thigh-high stockings. His lips turned up in delight.
“Word is there’s a rat inside Vasquez’s organization, and the feds are going to nail Vasquez
with the rat’s help.”
“How do you know these things?” Connor asked, shaking his head.
Cian shrugged. “Pop has a lot of contacts, even some inside the FBI.” Luckily for Cian, it was true, and he frequently had information that seemed to come out of thin air, so this tidbit fit right in with his typical patterns.
“Then go to Vasquez with it,” Finn said. “Suggest a deal. Make him promise he’ll let Connor off the hook.”
Cian mulled it over for a moment. He’d have to meet with Vasquez without the feds finding out. Not a simple task, but certainly not impossible. If it would get Vasquez off his brother’s ass and protect Jess, it was definitely worth it. In addition, if it queered the deal between the Vasquez rat and the feds, it might make Cian valuable to the FBI again, give him some more leverage than he currently had—which was next to none.
“Okay. But we need the meet-up to be absolutely confidential.”
“And how do we know one of the men he brings with him isn’t the FBI informant?” Connor asked.
Liam reached out and snagged the hand of the waitress he’d been eyeing, his attention lost once the details of a plan didn’t involve brawling or women.
Cian shrugged. “Only one way—neither one of us brings men.”
That got Liam’s attention, and he slapped the waitress on the ass to send her on her way.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” he growled.
“Hear me out,” Cian said, one eyebrow raised at his brute of a younger brother.
“I don’t need to,” Liam said. “There is no way you’re going into a meeting with Vasquez without guards. He won’t agree to it anyway, so it’s pointless to talk about.” He put his tumbler down with a little more force than was strictly necessary, looking pleased that he’d wrapped up the issue.
Breath of Deceit Page 6
