"They didn't seem to care what happened to me," he said flatly, setting his mug aside. "I was no threat to them. If things had gone according to plan, I'm sure that my father would be the only member of my family who's dead right now. See, the mob, contrary to popular belief, really don't like to kill people. They only do it when they need to set an example or they run out of other options. You can bribe every judge in the world, but somewhere down the line you're going to find the one that won't take your money, and that you can't kill for fear of digging yourself into even deeper shit."
The longer he talked about it, the more his tight control over that anger slipped. His eyes flashed, but clearly none of it was directed at Emil. "Chasing me down and killing me at eight years old when I didn't even see the crime happen wasn't high on their list of priorities. Maybe they wanted me, once, and would have made sure they got me when I was older, but after my father they were...no longer interested in my prospects."
He ran a hand through his hair, head bowed, staring at the table, and took a breath. This was stupid. Why was he saying any of this? Emil didn't need to hear it, and he generally wouldn't have given that information up. But there was something about having someone to talk to, someone he didn't have to lie to. "Among other things," he said, before looking up. "Yes. I kill members of the mob." To the average person, Shane's lack of guilt about the whole thing, backed by quiet, subsumed, intense anger, might have been disturbing. But he had faith that it wouldn't bother Emil too much.