“Enough!”
The tone of authority rings through the air. I have to suppress a sigh.
Talk about a party pooper.
I turn to glance back at my brother. He’s standing at the threshold of Padraig’s front door. Just behind him is Padraig himself.
The drunk looks a little roughed up. But otherwise, not too much worse for the wear.
Unlike Brody, who’s sniffling blood like a toddler with a runny nose.
Sean walks down the steps and glares at Brody and the two Kinahan flunkies.
“Get out of here now,” Sean says with deliberate slowness. “Or this is gonna turn ugly.”
I gotta hand it to him. My brother knows how to make a threat.
His eyes are dark with promise and his expression is as cold as Da’s.
For a second there, the resemblance is uncanny.
Makes me fucking shudder.
“You don’t command us, O’Sullivan,” one of the stooges retorts.
“This is our territory,” Brody adds.
This time, I can’t stop the eyeroll that’s been lying in wait since the first moment I saw him.
If it’s even possible, Sean’s expression turns even colder. He takes a step forward and the atmosphere shifts imperceptibly.
“I think you need an etiquette lesson, boy,” Sean says, looking Brody directly in the eye.
Sean’s twenty-four. He’s only got a couple of years on Brody. And yet the sentiment feels appropriate.
No one can accuse my brother of being a child.
“What are you doing on our turf?” Brody asks, trying desperately to save face in front of his new cronies.
“That’s my business, Murtagh.”
I glance at Padraig, who’s still standing in the shadows of his threshold. He’s clearly shitting himself, but he’s too scared to close the door on this situation.
He probably should.
And I think he realizes the same thing when one of the stooges looks up and catches sight of him in the doorway.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Padraig Connelly. Why am I not fucking surprised?”
Sean doesn’t even glance behind at Padraig, but I notice Brody’s eyes flash with recognition.
Padraig’s eyes go wide at the unwanted attention. “I, uh… Mr. O’Sullivan was just leaving.”
“There’s only one reason the O’Sullivans would deign to pay scum like you a visit,” the greasy-haired stooge continues. “They’ve come to collect.”
Brody’s listening hard to the exchange. A second later, his face flushes with fury.
“Padraig Connelly, you owe my father money,” he says accusingly. “How dare you pay these assholes without first settling your debt to my family?”