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At that time, my uncle joined the five other men who made up the old guard. Only the boss could appoint members to the exclusive group. All six living delegates had accepted their roles at the behest of my father. They remained apprised of all serious matters, and their opinions and intel carried weight. The number wasn’t limited, but the criteria were stringent.
Given their one power, it was the only way.
Only the underboss could challenge the fitness of the boss. It took a unanimous vote of no confidence from the old guard to have him unseated.
Finn and Keegan had been invited to join the meeting because they had firsthand knowledge of my brother’s actions. Their testimony could give as much sway as my own, but ultimately the old guard would make the call. Then it would be up to me and my chosen brothers to accept and act on their decision.
I paused in the open-concept dining area, and Keegan stopped beside me. He knew what today meant, and he’d been doing his best to be supportive in the way a brother should.
I took a beat to take in the scene as my uncle folded into the chair beside Finn.
All six members were present.
A revolutionary event in the making was about to commence.
My gaze lifted, landing on the Boston skyline on the horizon. It sprawled the expanse of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The scene was as breathtaking as it was poignant.
My father came to this country forty years ago. The drug market in Ireland had been overrun with heroin. Cocaine and marijuana—the Flynn Syndicate’s areas of expertise—had been on the rise in Boston, and he saw an opportunity. The idea that he could create a brotherhood of like-minded Irishmen in a city that he believed he could rule had given him a purpose.
In 1843, Brookline, Massachusetts, became the first racially restricted covenant in the United States, forbidding the resale of property to Blacks and those native to Ireland.
It took a century for the Supreme Court to rule it was unconstitutional under the Fourteenth Amendment.
The Flynns never forgot.
Choosing Brookline as the location to build the Flynn estate had given his life’s work meaning.
My father wasn’t perfect. But I loved him. And I admired the boss he was and what he stood for: honor always, violence if necessary, and flesh was never a commodity.
I wouldn’t allow anyone to destroy his legacy. Not even my twin brother.
A hand came down on my shoulder for the second time in so many minutes. “You ready for Operation Kingslayer?”
My jaw clenched, and I swung my hard gaze to Keegan.
He inclined his head. “Kidding, Lucifer. Game of Thrones. You should check it out.” When I didn’t return his grin, he added, “No one said anything about killing your bro. We all love Raph. We’d just rather keep our blood inside our veins. The way McIcarus is flying these days—we’re all gonna get fucking fried.”
My brother had an unhealthy ambition when it came to money and power. A fact no one could deny—not even our father. But this merger with the Brennans had revealed just how insatiable my twin was.
Raphael was reaching for the heavens themselves, and in the process, he’d touched the sun.
Everyone always wondered what it would be.
I’d found it. The thing he planned to use to crown himself king of Boston, maybe even of Dublin.
The key to an alliance he foolishly thought made him untouchable.
It was her.
But she was mine.
Raphael thought he’d set himself up for checkmate, but in his arrogance, he’d misread the board. He’d never see the attack coming until it was too late.
I shook off Keegan’s grip and took my seat next to my uncle.
At the head of the table.
Lucifer
