I Kidnapped the Mafia Heir, and He Never Tried to Escape novel · Chapter 9 of 24

Chapter 9: Mine

Mal didn't raise his voice.

"Sit down, Uncle," he said. "You've read the law wrong."

Padraig's smile did not move.

Mal swung his legs out of the bag, stood and walked through the broken glass in his socks.

He took my wrist.

He lifted it, in front of sixty men, and held it up.

"A hand raised against the heir answers to the heir," he said. "That's the old law, the first page, the one my grandfather wrote. She took me. She's mine to answer for."

The room breathed in.

"Touch her," said Mal, "and you answer to me."

The old man with the cane stamped it once on the floorboards.

"The boy has the right of it," he said, in a voice like a rusty hinge. "The heir's claim stands. I carried the book, Padraig. You know that I did."

A second man at the bar nodded.

Then a third.

It spread through the Hall, and Padraig stood there with his tea going cold and watched it go.

He bowed.

It was a small, graceful bow, and it was the most frightening thing I had seen all night.

"The heir's claim," he said. "Then she's yours, nephew. I hope you'll see she pays what she owes."

"I'll see to everything she owes."

"And the boy is in the car. A courtesy to the heir."

He smiled at me again.

I would have taken the bar stool to his head if Mal's fingers hadn't tightened on my wrist.

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