I Kidnapped the Mafia Heir, and He Never Tried to Escape novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: Proof of Death

"We give him a dead man," said Mal.

He sat on the cabin step with a mug of Tadhg's tea in both hands.

He was looking at the photo of my brother on my phone.

I couldn't look at it again.

"We send him proof, and he brings your brother to the Hall at eleven for the trade. The Hall will be full. It's Friday, and the crews drink there on Fridays."

"Why does that help?"

"Because sixty men will be in the room when I walk out of the bag."

I stared at him.

"A bag," I said.

"Tadhg's gone to the funeral home on Medford Street for one. I own it. Padraig doesn't know."

"You own a funeral home."

"I own a few things Padraig doesn't know about."

"And what does the bag do?"

"It lets your phone do the talking."

He pointed at it.

"Friday night every crew chief sits at that bar. You carry the phone in and set it down in front of Padraig. I stand at the back with nothing in my hands."

"Why not stand beside me?"

"Because they need to see you do it, not me."

"And if they don't care?"

"They'll care. My father built that room on one rule, that the Family doesn't spend its own blood."

"And Padraig spent yours."

"Tried to."

Tadhg came back up the ladder an hour later with a canvas duffel and a tub of something from a butcher.

He set them on the deck and took one look at my face.

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