“I’m Still A Man… You Think I Can’t Do This?” The Disabled Mafia Boss Whispered To The Poor Waitress

Connor’s face did not register surprise. It registered a cold, terrifying satisfaction.

"Liam," Connor called out softly.

Liam appeared from around the corner within three seconds, his hand resting inside his suit jacket on his concealed firearm.

"The house is compromised," Connor told Liam smoothly. "Declan knows I’m meeting the union leaders at the warehouse today. He thinks this was his chance."

"Shall I cancel the meeting, Boss?" Liam asked urgently.

"No," Connor growled, his grey eyes flashing with lethal intent. "We go to the warehouse. Let Declan think his plan is working. It’s time to end this."

Against Connor’s strict orders, I insisted on coming with them in the reinforced SUV. I couldn't stay in that house alone, knowing someone inside was actively trying to spill blood.

The warehouse was a massive, decaying brick structure near the South Boston piers. Rain slammed against the tall, dirty glass windows, casting dim shadows across the wet concrete floor.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick with dust, diesel fumes, and danger.

Connor sat in his wheelchair in the center of the vast empty floor, flanked by Liam and two security guards. I stood ten feet behind him near an overturned wooden crate.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed from the upper catwalks.

Declan Kavanaugh stepped out onto the metal balcony, flanked by six heavily armed men in dark raincoats.

"Well, well, cousin," Declan mocked, his voice echoing off the high steel beams. "You actually made it. I was hoping you'd take a tumble down the marble stairs, but this works just as well."

"You cut the brake cable, Declan," Connor said, his voice completely calm, devoid of fear.

"I cut a lot of things!" Declan laughed hysterically. "I cut your brake line six months ago on the highway! I hired the sniper at the docks! But you just wouldn't die, Connor! You stayed alive, rotting in that damn chair, holding onto power that belongs to me!"