Empire of Ashes - Chapter Eight: Strange Bedfellows

Sullivan never thought he’d be sitting across from a lawman, much less one from the U.S. Marshal Service. But there he was, a cigar burning low between his fingers, the smoke curling into the dim light of the backroom at O’Leary’s Tavern. The door was shut tight behind him, and across the small table sat Marshal Frank Donovan, his cold blue eyes locked onto Sullivan’s face.

The tension in the room was thick. Red stood by the door, arms crossed, his gaze flicking between Sullivan and Donovan. No one liked the idea of inviting the law into their business, but times had changed. Volkov had changed them.

Donovan sat back, casual, his hat tilted on the chair beside him. “You understand why I’m here, Sullivan,” he said, voice low, calm. “We’re not here to make your life easier. I don’t give a damn about your empire or how you’ve managed to stay out of prison all these years. This is about something bigger.”

Sullivan’s eyes were cold, unreadable. “Bigger than me?”