The silence is familiar, thickened by all the things we’ve never said and probably never will. My father has never been one for heart-to-heart conversations. He loves through duty and expectations. It’s a brand of tough love most people can’t stand, but it’s the only language he knows.
“I owe you an apology,” he starts, his tone matter-of-fact.
Certain I’ve misheard him, I cock my head to the side. “What?”
“For what’s gone on,” he answers, scrubbing a hand at his white beard. “I didn’t trust you. Frankly, I didn’t think you had it in you to lead the clan.”
That’s nothing new. I’ve always known I was the spare. The leftover son.
I had long ago accepted that I was. But in thirty-one years what I’ve never expected is an apology or admission I was seen as inferior…
“I was wrong about you. I know that now. In my eyes, Lochlan was always supposed to be the one,” he admits. His voice sounds gravelly even against the crackle of the fireplace flames. “He was groomed from the time he could walk. Taught him everything I knew. But then... he made choices. Bad choices for the clan that landed him behind bars.
“Contrary to what Eddie believed, I wasn’t happy about it. I wasn’t relieved to have my son take the fall. I tried everything. Every damn thing I could think of. Threats. Intimidation. Bribes. Offered the judge enough money to retire three times over. Fucking wanker refused.” He lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head. “None of it worked. They wanted to make an example out of a Callahan, and Lochlan was the one the feds pinned down.”
“None of us saw it coming…” I say.
“But I was his father. I was the fucking patriarch that should’ve steered him better. Now I have to live whatever cursed days I have left knowing I couldn’t save my boy.” He sighs deeply, his eyes closing for a second as though pained. “So when I found out what was happening with Dren—when Raguzin came to me with intel about Eddie’s betrayal—I made damn sure you had help. I wasn’t going to lose another son. I’m a cold bastard, yes, but even the devil has his limits.”
I’m not sure how to respond. It’s as about as much of an apology or admission of guilt as it gets with Dad. About as much as he’s capable of.
It means a hell of a lot even if he might not know it.
“I appreciate that,” I say. “The vote of confidence you’ve got. The backup you provided. I sure as hell needed it.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me. I did what needed to be done.” He pauses, studying me with his usual cold eyes. “But you handled yourself well, Ronan. Better than I expected. You’ve got more of me in you than I gave you credit for.”
Coming from my father, that’s practically a damn declaration of love.
“Which brings me to the point of this conversation.” He sighs again, straightening up in the armchair, the light from the fire only illuminating more lines on his face. “I’m done, Ronan. The cancer, the shooting, all of it... I’m tired. Too bloody tired to keep running this family the way it needs to be run. The clan is yours now.Officially. I’m stepping back, and you’re stepping up. You’re the head of this family. The captain. Whatever you want to call it. It’s yours.”
I’ve known this was coming. Ever since Lochlan went to prison and my father’s health started to decline, I’ve known eventually the mantle would pass to me.
It was solidified when Lochlan’s life was permanently cut short.
But hearing him say it out loud, making it official... it makes it real.
There’s no turning back now.
A few months ago, this was the last thing I wanted. I didn’t ask to be the heir. Nor did I want the responsibility, the fucking pressure and weight of an entire criminal empire on my shoulders.
I was content to be the warlord, getting my hands dirty and never having to play underworld politics. That was more Lochlan’s wheelhouse.
That was before. A hell of a lot has changed since then, including the arranged marriage and the woman I now call my wife.
It was all before I realized maybe I’m capable of more than I ever gave myself credit for.
“I’ll do my best,” I say. “Keep the clan prosperous. Rule the New York underworld.”
My father gives a firm nod, his expression vaguely proud. “That’s all I ask. It’s the Callahan way.”
The door to the den creaks open, and we turn to see Simone wandering in. Her eyes widen with surprise. She was obviously looking for me but didn’t expect to find me having a private talk with my father.
“Oh,” she stammers, starting to back up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meanto?—”
“It’s alright, Simone.”
Dad’s risen to his feet with the help of the cane. He’s lost the roughness about his tone, for once calling her by her actual name.