Children of Vice (Children of Vice #1)(8)

“Yes, sir,” he said, holding on to a butcher knife.

“A butcher knife, Grey? Feeling nostalgic?” I asked him.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, pulling out Downey’s arm. “You know I never continued the family business, but put a knife in my hand and a butcher’s son is still a butcher’s son.”

“I’m sure your parents are proud. Go on—”

“No! Please! No! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you,” Downey found the voice to beg.

“Well, get on with it then!” Grey hollered, the knife moving to the man’s throat.

“My name is Eamon Downey. I was sent by the Finnegan brothers.”

Pushing off the wall, I walked up to him. Kneeling in front of him, Grey released him and stepped back, leaving the butcher knife on the ground.

“I knew all of that already, Mr. Downey. I do not give a f*ck about you or your name. My question was: what are they planning? Why did they send you?”

“Because…because…they wanted me to tell you, to lie and name some families that were turning on you.”

“When it’s really the Finnegan brothers who have betrayed me.” Did they really believe I’d allow them to determine who were my enemies and allies? Did I look like a dog?

“And—”

“And?”

Silence.

I grabbed the knife and brought it down onto his wrist. He screamed, trembling as he gripped onto his wrist in agony. “I’m glad you found your voice again, Mr. Downey. I’ll give you a second to compose yourself.”

“…s…sis…” He panted, weeping as the blood continued to flow from his wrist.

“Your second is up, now finish your speaking before I start to get violent…and believe me, you don’t want to see me violent.”

“They…he…they…”

“Mr. Downey.”

“Alliance.” He used all his strength to say.

“An alliance of what?” I asked calmly, spinning the knife in my hand.

“Your…your…sis—”

“Sister? They want my sister?”

“It’s all—that’s all I know,” he spoke quickly, his adrenaline pumping. Grabbing onto my arm with his good hand, he held on like a man on the edge. “I swear. I swear. Spare me! Please! Please!”

Reaching down, I peeled his bloody fingers off of me. “God forgives. The Pope forgives. I am neither God nor the Pope.”

“You can use me…I’ll do anything you ask! I’ll be a spy for you.”

“A spy that flips sides is not a spy, he’s a traitor. I have no use for traitors,” I told him, taking the butcher knife and hammering it down between his head and shoulders. His blood splattered onto my suit.

Rising to my feet, I held my arm out. “Where is Dona?” I asked.

“She just got on her flight. She’ll be here in the next hour,” Toby answered, placing the towel in my hand.

“Get her on the phone.”

Wiping my face and hands before dropping the towel over him, I undid my cufflinks and black tie before removing my shirt, throwing each one at Grey, who in return handed me a new replica pair.

“Got her, sir,” Toby said, handing me the ear piece.

“Dona.”

“You know, you really should give your speechwriter a raise. She’s absolutely brilliant.” Her smug came over loud and clear.

“Apparently I’ll have to, seeing as how she’s now flying commercial for some reason unbeknownst to me. What are you up to, baby sister?” I asked, buttoning up my shirt again.

Silence.

“Donatella.”

“Do not call my name like that. I’m your sister, not one of your minions.”

“I’m still waiting,” I replied as I placed the tie around my neck. I knew Dona would never do anything to betray me, but I also knew when she was hiding something.

“Why can’t we ever have normal brother-sister conversations? Like ‘Hey, Dona, how was Boston?’ ‘Oh, not bad, a little chilly for August, but hey, what can you do?’ ‘Yea. Chicago’s still as windy as ever. And I’m bored shitless. When are you getting back—’”

“How long do you plan on keeping this little one-person play going?”

“How long do you plan on treating me like a baby?”

“Until you’re older than me.” I smirked, hearing her suck her teeth, trying her best to keep from snapping at me. Instead, she chose to annoy me.

“Where did we pause the play? Oh, right, you miss me. ‘Well, don’t be bored, brother, I’ll be back before you can say—’”

I thought for a moment as to why she was fighting me so much. It wasn’t like her…and then I realized.

“You went for Wyatt.”

She didn’t reply.

“This is your last trip to Boston for a while.” I waited for her to get the last word, placing my jacket on as I walked toward the metal door.

“No matter what Wyatt’s done he’s still our brother.”

“I wasn’t the one who exiled him. He left on his own. He abandoned the family, his family, on his own. Therefore—”

“You cut him out...of everything.”