Read Chapter 10: The Rival's Seed

The warehouse office smelled of cheap tobacco and older money. Danny O’Shay had led Jack there on the promise of a lead, a name, a whisper about Vince Poole. Instead, through the grimy window, Jack saw Frank sitting across from Conor O’Malley like he belonged there.

Frank’s back was to the glass, but Jack knew the set of those shoulders. He’d watched them carry crates, throw punches, haul him out of gutters. Now they were squared in negotiation, Frank’s hand flat on the table between them, tracing something—a map, a route, a claim.

“That your brother?” Danny asked, voice low.

Jack didn’t answer. He watched Frank nod at something O’Malley said, then reach into his coat and slide an envelope across the desk. The loan shark’s thick fingers closed over it without a word.

“We should go,” Danny said.

Jack shook him off. “Wait outside.”

“Jack—”

“Outside, Danny.”

The door clicked shut behind him. Jack crossed the warehouse floor with measured steps, boots echoing off the concrete. Neither man at the table noticed him until he was ten feet away. O’Malley looked up first, a flicker of amusement passing over his slab of a face. Then Frank turned.

“Jack.” Frank’s voice was flat. Not surprised. Almost relieved, like a man caught stealing who’d been waiting for the hand on his collar.

“You’re a hard man to find,” Jack said. “Thought you were working the north docks this week.”

Frank stood slowly. “I was. Came here to talk business.”

“Looks like you found yourself a partner.”

The silence stretched. O’Malley leaned back in his chair, watching the two brothers like a spectator at a prize fight. He didn’t need to say anything. His presence was the point.

“The O’Malleys have boats,” Frank said. “And a buyer network I don’t need a silver spoon to reach.”

“They’re loan sharks, Frank.”

“They’re capital.”

“They’ll own you before the first tide.”

Frank’s jaw tightened. “That’s rich. Coming from the man who borrowed from them to buy his own boat.”

“That was different.”

“How?” Frank stepped closer. “Because you got to choose the terms? You got to pick who knew, when they knew, what their share was? You built your crew from your back pocket, Jack. You didn’t ask me. You didn’t even tell me.”

“I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me.” Frank laughed, short and bitter. “I’ve been bleeding for you since we were kids, and you think I need protecting from a few numbers in a ledger?”

Jack’s eyes flicked to the envelope on the desk. “What did you just buy?”

Frank followed his gaze, then looked back with something hard in his expression. “Insurance.”

“Against what?”

“Against being a ghost in your operation.”

O’Malley cleared his throat. “Gentlemen.” He pushed himself up from the chair, straightening his waistcoat. “I’ll leave you to family matters. Frank—I’ll have the papers drawn up by Friday. Captain Marchetti’s boat will be at your disposal.”

Frank nodded without looking at him.

The door closed. Jack and Frank stood alone in the dim light, the space between them filled with everything unsaid. Outside, a foghorn sounded long and low across the harbor.

“Marchetti,” Jack said. “You’re running rum from the Italian crews.”

“They’ve got product coming in twice a week from Havana. Quality stuff.”

“They’ve also got ties to the Black Hand, Frank. You start dealing with those people, you don’t walk away.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed. “You think I don’t know risk? You think I haven’t been paying attention while you whisper deals with Elliot Ashworth and trade secrets with that woman at the bar? I’m not your soldier, Jack. I’m not your damn lieutenant.”

“I never said you were.”

“You didn’t have to.” Frank’s voice cracked, just slightly. “You made the decisions. You collected the loyalty. I was just the brother who carried the boxes and kept his mouth shut.”

Jack felt the words like a punch. He wanted to explain—Ashworth’s investment, Molly’s favor, the weight of a promise to a woman who might ask anything. He wanted to tell Frank about Patrick’s letter, hidden in a drawer, burned to ash. He wanted to say that he’d kept secrets because some truths were too heavy to share.

But the words wouldn’t form. And Frank was already moving toward the door.

“Frank.”

He stopped. Didn’t turn.

“Friday night. I’m running twenty cases to Providence. I need a man on the bow.”

Frank shook his head slowly, still facing away. “Find someone else. I’ve got my own cargo to move now.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Maybe.” Frank finally looked over his shoulder. “But at least I’ll know I did it on my own terms. That’s more than you can say, brother. You’re still dancing for your master’s tune—you just haven’t figured out who’s holding the string.”

He walked out. The door swung shut, leaving Jack alone in the silence of the office, the smell of tobacco and betrayal thick in his throat.

Danny appeared in the doorway. “You alright?”

Jack stood motionless, staring at the empty chair where his brother had made a pact with wolves. The envelope was gone. The deal was done.

“We need a new lookout,” Jack said finally. “Frank’s out.”

Danny frowned. “Out? Out of the crew?”

Jack looked toward the window, where Frank’s figure was disappearing into the fog. He watched until his brother was gone, swallowed by the gray that seemed to be closing in from all sides.

“Out of everything,” he said.