Boston Blood

Twenty two

"You must be fucking crazy! There's no way I'm doing that!" Frankie was pacing the living room and staring in outrage at Cillian and O'Shea. They must be more stupid than they look if they think I'm going to do this!

O'Shea leaned back in the plush armchair and shrugged. "Fine. But you know what happens if you refuse." He eyed her with a menacing smile and waited patiently for her response.

"But it's Bill's bar! It's not mine. He just put me in charge. And Colin is probably going to keep working there. He'll be watching my every move."

"That's exactly what we want him to do, Frankie. That little shit head is in way too deep with the Italians and is skating on thin ice with me. He'll come in handy." O'Shea's voice was calm and cool, the polar opposite to Frankie's, whose was an octave higher and extremely shrill.

"I can't. I can't do that to Bill."

"You have no choice."

Frankie stopped pacing and turned to stare at O'Shea. She was fuming with anger but felt herself nod. Bill will never forgive me for this. I'm a fucking monster.

"This is why I need you, Frankie. Finally making Tommy fucking Ryan pay for what he's done is the end game, but I'm also not stupid. I know that there is a lucrative deal to be made with the Italians and there are people out there who want to take Antonio Russo down. I have contacts that are going to help me do this. Once Tommy is out of the picture, they'll need someone to continue their distribution in Southie. Russo has bigger fish to fry and won't want to spend too much time worrying about something as petty as guns and coke. I'll offer my services at a reasonable price and will once again have control of south Boston. The fucker won't see what hit him once I'm through, he'll have nothing. And with you by my side, a woman with your reputation and connections? We'll be unstoppable." O'Shea chuckled like a fucking Bond villain as she revelled in his own brilliance.

Did he say Russo? Any of the feeling Frankie had left in her body was now completely gone. It all made sense, then. The name made her stomach flip. That's why he needed her. He wanted her to get in touch with him! No, she couldn't do it. She had left all of that behind when Bill found her. She got clean and walked away from that life, only barely making it out alive. If she had to go back to him, she knew that wouldn't happen again. But O'Shea couldn't have known what had happened between her and Russo, could he? She tried to hide her trembling voice.

"But you must have dozens of other places you can set up your meetings and deals. Why does it have to be Bill's bar?" Frankie knew she sounded idiotic. O'Shea obviously knew what he was doing. He needed somewhere that wasn't high profile or being watched by the cops. (The ones that weren't in O'Shea's pocket, of course.) But the thoughts of criminals meeting in Bill's bar... selling coke and guns under his roof made her sick to her stomach. She was so ashamed.

"But what if my father comes looking for me? He'll eventually find out that I'm the new manager. Once he hears that I'm working with you, he'll come looking for me." Frankie was surprised that the idea of seeing that piece of shit walk into her bar both terrified and excited her. If he did come see her, with the way she was feeling now, she wasn't sure she could wait for O'Shea to finish the job. She wasn't sure she could stop herself killing him. And Russo? Oh God.

"That's what we're hoping." Cillian's voice was harsh and rough and the look in his eye made Frankie shiver, slightly. He was standing with his huge arms crossed and his eyes were stabbing hers.

Frankie felt the blood drain from her face and she saw Bridget smirk behind her glass. What is he on about?

Frankie opened her mouth the speak but nothing came out. No please don't make me do this.