"Son."
Finn turned his back to the explosive lined door, and addressed his father, "You do realize that would have killed both of us, right?"
"It would be poetic, don't you think?" Cillian said casually, still seated at the head of the table. "A father and son both going up in flames after turning on each other."
"I've never considered you the poetic type, honestly."
A smirk appeared on the older man's face. He gestured to a seat, saying, "Come join me."
"I think I'm good where I am."
"If you say."
Finn narrowed his eyes. "What is this? You're acting different."
"Am I?" Cillian questioned lightly. "Let me ask you, son: Have I always been a monster to you? You can't see me as anything else, right? That's why you think me being civil is so strange."
"No," he refused, "it's different."
And he was. The Cillian Malone that sat in front of him was different. His father had always been cold, ruthless, a darkness surrounding him. This man was calm, an air of confidence that didn't scream arrogant, but peaceful. Something that he didn't deserve.
"Maybe I've have time to reflect." He said.
"I doubt that."
They stared at each other for a long time. Finn's finger twitched against the trigger of his gun, but he didn't shoot. There was something stopping him, and he wondered - not for the first time - if he could do this. Could he really kill his father?
"What happened to us, son?" Cillian broke through the silence.
Finn tensed. "What do you mean?"
"How did we end up like this?" He opened his arms in gesture. "At each other's throats. Ready to kill one another. We're family, Finn."
"Family?" He scoffed.
"Yes, we are. Regardless of whether you like it or not." Cillian tapped his finger on the old wooden table. "I raised you into the man you are. We've fought side by side, grown the empire together. You were everything I ever wanted in an heir."
"I didn't realize that reflecting on your life's choices would make you so sentimental." Finn said dryly.
Cillian continued, "You know, you've impressed me greatly in all this mess. I heard you took down those Russians. Good job."
"Those Russians were responsible for abducting Ivy and killing Cara." Finn told him, clenching his jaw. "Or did you forget about that part of your family?"
With a frown, he looked down. "Things were different for them. They took after their mother-"
"Don't you dare speak of her." He interrupted furiously. This man had no right.
Sighing, Cillian said, "I was hoping we could put the past behind us."
"And do what?" Finn actually laughed.
This time, his father took a moment to answer. Finn didn't know what he exactly wanted to hear from his father. He didn't know why he was still listening to him. The place was loaded with explosives that could go off at any time, yet he was rooted in place.
Finally, his father stood up. Finn reacted quickly, backing away and pointing his gun straight at him. Cillian just grinned. "C'mon, son, we can have a conversation without threatening the others life, can't we?"
"I'm not so sure about that." Finn stated clearly, keeping his aim straight.
Cillian nodded, "Fine. Keep your little gun." He didn't look the least bit bothered by it being pointed directly at him. "I knew by picking this place that you would come. You would know that I would be here and send the others off to those other places that your rat told you of. By the way, whoever they are is good. I knew there was a rat within Castellan's ranks but could never quite figure out who they were."
Finn was thankful his man wasn't made. He was a valuable asset, one that Knox had found for him a few years ago, making it impossible for him to be planted by his father. What he didn't like hearing was that he knew that the other two locations were being searched. That meant danger for those two parties. Harry had touched base, but he still hadn't hear from Abigail or Knox.
"Can you get to the point?" Finn said.
"We could rule Queenstown." Cillian finally said, "You and I. No other families. No other names. Just Malone."
"I'm assuming Ivy isn't included in this?"
"Ivy is no longer a Malone." He said simply, "She's belongs to Styles."
"You think we could work together and not kill each other?" Finn asked.
"I think we already have." Cillian pointed out, adding, "Minus this little misunderstanding."
"That's quite the understatement, don't you think?"
He shrugged, "We're two alpha males. Of course we're going to have some problems along the way. And most of those have been because of me, so I'm sorry."
"An apology?" Finn laughed, "That might be the first one I've heard from you in my thirty years on earth."
"I underestimated you." He admitted, "I thought you were too much like... her. But I see now that you do have me in you. More than I think you know."
Finn studied him for a long moment. His father was as calm as ever, but he was starting to see the cracks. Cillian Malone had aged this year. Obviously, he was an older man, but before now Finn hadn't seen it. His skin was hard with scars and deep lines. His eyes were sunken, cheeks shallow. This wasn't a man who had had some sort of epiphany about his son - not that he ever truly believed his father's words over the last few minutes. This was a desperate man at the end of his rope.
"Maybe I am more like you." Finn said finally. "I spent my entire childhood watching you, looking up to you. I've studied the way you move, the way you speak. I've even copied the way you've killed."
"You've done well, son."
"You think we could take over the circle and Queenstown?"
"I think we could do it in our sleep." Cillian stepped forward. "Think about it, Finn. Everything we've always wanted in the palms of our hands."
Finn's eyebrows went up. "That's really what you've wanted? Then what was the point of selling Ivy off to the Styles?"
At this, Cillian lost a bit of patience for the first time. "It worked out for her, didn't it?"
"But you didn't care how it turned out for her." Finn accused, "You didn't care if she ended up with the devil or not."
"Have you met Ivy?" He asked, "If anyone's a devil, it's she."
"That's pretty ironic coming from you, don't you think?"
His father laughed, "Maybe it is. I've done my best to raise you children into formidable people, into someone worthy of the name Malone. I guess I must have rubbed off on even Ivy, although she was the most stubborn of you all. You were much more malleable, though. You've come out as ruthless and cunning as I always wanted. I'm proud of you, son."
Finn's stomach churned at that. "What about the rule of five?"
"The rule of five? Superstition. The city doesn't need five heads, and the only reason they even think that is because anyone who has tried has been too weak." Cillian said.
"But we're not."
"No, we're not." Cillian shook his head. "Everything I've taught you, everything you've done in the name of Malone, has proven that we could do this. Queenstown could be ours. All the money made in that city, the power, the influence we would garner as just us would be immense. No one would dare to even look at us."
Finn couldn't believe his father actually thought that. The more power they wielded, the bigger target they would have. But maybe this is what failure has done to him. The delusion he has of ruling over the city was just not feasible.
"You don't think we could do it." Cillian said.
"I don't think it's what you actually want." Finn decided to be honest. "I think you would love to rule over the city, but I think doing it with me is only because you think you have no other choice. I think you're desperate."
"Interesting." His father said, drawing out each syllable.
"I think you know you don't really have a choice here." Finn cocked his head. "You're cornered and think by inciting me with power - something that only you have a desperate craving for - will get me to show you mercy, because both you an I know who holds the real power right now."
"You'll go against your own blood?" Cillian asked coldly, his eyes hardening with every second as he realizes he never stood a chance.
"Blood means nothing to me when it comes to you." He said truthfully, "I've made bonds that are stronger than any you have ever have with me. I have people who would die for me and I would die for them. Why would I need someone who would stab me in the back as soon as I wasn't looking?"
They stared each other down for a long moment, eyeing one another like wolves in a forest baring their teeth seeing who would flinch first. Finally, Cillian said, "You were never going to listen to me, were you?"
"Not after everything." Finn admitted. "Not after years of abuse and neglect. Not after seeing how you treated my sisters and our mother."
"Your mother!" He laughed ruefully. "That fool of a woman deserved how I treated her. She was ready to betray all of us, speaking to a pig, giving information that would've taken down the Malone family. A family that has been at the center of Queenstown for almost a hundred years."
Finn paused. "What?"
"She thought I was so evil that she was ready to turn all of us in. For months, she went behind my back, but she wasn't smart enough to hide it from me forever." Cillian continued to rant.
"What are you saying?" Finn's heart was beating erratically in his chest.
"Oh, come on, son." Cillian stepped toward him slowly. "Like you didn't know. You're far too smart to feign ignorance."
He was right. For years, Finn had known, yet he was unwilling to admit it, to truly dissect what had happened and why.
His father had killed their mother.
"There it is." Cillian continued. "Acceptance, finally. And in a moment, you'll come to realize I did the only thing I could have."
"You killed her." Finn's voice broke.
"She betrayed us." Cillian sneered, "What do you think would have happened to you if she had gotten her way? You think you would have been let off with a slap on the wrist? You had already done so many unforgivable things."
"You killed her." He repeated.
"She deserved it."
Finn actually laughed at that, sounding far too manic to be in complete control of himself. "After everything you did to her, you really think that? Of course she fucking turned on you."
"Turned on us, son." Cillian insisted.
"Stop fucking calling me that." Finn spat out. "I am no son to you. She turned on you and you only. You treated her like shit. You treated us like pawns in your game. You're the one who deserved it, Cillian. You deserved to be betrayed and this-"
Finn stopped when a loud sound interrupted him. It was deep, shaking the foundation of the building, and out of the window on the far side of the old conference room he saw a plume of fiery smoke billow in the sky from miles away.
"And there goes the warehouse." Cillian taunted.
The warehouse. It had been blown up. He had blown it up.
That was where Finn had sent Abigail.
He was caught by surprise as his father lunged forward, knocking the gun out of his hand. Finn landed hard on his back, the air escaping him, leaving him breathless. A fist went flying at his face, hitting his cheekbone hard.
Finn's head whipped to the right as the left side of his face bursts into pain. His instincts kicked in quickly, blocking the next blow to the face with his arm. His free hand went to his belt and unhooked a small knife. He sunk it into Cillian's side, but his father was fast, moving out of reach before he was able to get it far enough in and twist it.
His father was a good fighter, but he was older. That meant slower and weaker than Finn was. But it also meant that he had more experience.
Blood began to pool slowly on the older man's shirt. It was too shallow to cause any real harm, but it would give Finn more of an advantage. This time, it was Finn who charged in first. His fist connected with his father's stomach, bending him in half before Cillian rushed forward and tackled him.
Finn was able to stay upright, slashing out the knife against his back, blood splattering across a dusty window. He heard his father shout out in pain and anger, turning to grab Finn's wrist and turn it at an odd angle. Reflexively, he dropped the knife, hearing it clink onto the floor.
It only took a second to get out of his hold, but it was a second too long. His father kicked out, the flat of his boot making contact with Finn's stomach. A whoosh of air escaped him as he stumbled back and was hit yet again with another right hook.
His cheek was burning now, his body aching, still recovering from being poisoned. Finn was weaker than his father in this moment. He knew it. His father knew it.
He was weak.
He couldn't protect himself. He couldn't protect his sister. He couldn't protect Abby.
Looking up at him, Finn saw the monster that he had grown up with. A devil of a man that had controlled them all. They had been like marionettes for him, not bothering to fight back. Except for Ivy. She had gone out of her way to prove their father wrong, to become stronger than him, smarter than him.
And, apparently, their mother. Mom had decided to fight him as silently as she could. Her decision to work with the police or whatever law enforcement she went to was one to bring down the man before him. Throughout all the abuse and fear he had brought down on her, she had fought back. And paid the price.
Even Cara in her own way had fought back, denouncing everything the name Malone stood for. She had wanted a peaceful life filled with love and serenity, avoiding the conflict and war that Finn and Ivy went into headfirst.
It had been Finn who was the marionette. The puppet on strings controlled by his father. He had let the man mold him, train him, speak down to him. He had never truly fought back. Forcing his father out of the city had been his biggest and first act of defiance.
Cillian grabbed Finn's collar and threw him onto the ground. His hip hit badly, landing on the knife he had dropped a moment ago. The blade didn't pierce him, luckily. Finn lifted himself onto his hands and knees, catching his breath and picking up the knife out of view of his father.
In a matter of seconds, he was pushed flat against the ground, his father's hands fisting his hair as he pressed his cheek into the ground.
"Come on, son!" Cillian spat down on him, "Put up a fight. Stop being such a pu-"
Finn flung his hand back, feeling the blade of the knife sink into his skin. His father yelled out, but Finn was able to throw him off. Cillian was grasping at his side, blooding seeping from his fingers.
Finn got up and cocked his arm back, bringing down a brutal punch to his father's face. He held him down and hit him again and again. The second one gifted him a solid crack as his father's nose broke. The third covered his face in blood. By the seventh, Cillian's right eye was already swelling up.
When he felt his father stop resisting, he stood up, shaking his hand out, and looked around for his gun. Cillian Malone laid motionless on the floor, his chest moving up and down shallowly as he tried to breathe.
Finn found his pistol a few feet away near the broken window. He checked the clip, already knowing he would find six bullets at the ready for him. Then, he turned and stared down at his father. The same father he had dated all his life. The one that controlled his every move, that punished him when he dared disagree, the one that kept him from admitting his love for his woman.
The one that might have taken her away from him.
Cillian grumbled, struggling to get up. Finn wanted him to be cognizant before he pulled the trigger. He wanted the last thing his father saw be his face.
"You really thought you could convince me to be your puppet again?" Finn asked him, pointing his gun at the man. "You really thought I was that foolish to believe your plan and your sudden respect for me?"
He coughed out more blood, then looked up at him with his one good eye. "I thought you might see beyond your ego."
Finn shook his head. "You really won't ever understand, will you?"
Cillian lifted himself up into a sitting position, his hand gripping the edge of the conference table to hold him steady.
"You've created your own grim reaper." Finn continued, "Here to collect your worthless soul after years of mistreatment. Of course, I want you dead. You've done nothing in life for me to want you here at my side. You know, I don't blame mom one bit for turning to the police. You deserved to be betrayed. Over and over. And I'm glad I get to put the final nail in the coffin."
With that, his father grinned, his mouth bloody, teeth stained red. He lifted his hand, a small black remote in it where he was originally holding onto the table. "Then join me in hell, son. Satan is waiting for us."
Finn pulled the trigger, the bullet embedding into Cillian Malone's forehead, but it was too late. He turned and ran, diving over the broken window just as the explosion went off.