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“I’m telling you the truth, Lucifer. You didn’t kill Máthair—Athair did. And he used us both to cover up his crime because he wasn’t man enough to admit what he’d done.”
It was the second time he’d asserted that notion, and again it sounded as alien to my ears as if he’d been speaking in tongues.
I rubbed my forehead with a closed fist and swallowed hard. “The old guard has chosen to enact its single power. As your successor, it is my duty to inform you that you are hereby stripped of your title as acting boss of the Flynn Syndicate.” I ground out each word without sentiment.
Raphael choked on a half laugh. “Right—you’d rather discuss how you stabbed me in the back and took away my birthright than listen to what I have to say about Athair. The prick never could do anything wrong according to you. For Chrissakes, brother! Wake the fuck up!”
I shook my head and drained the bottle. I tried to block out the memories—to focus on the duty that I’d sworn to uphold—but they were persistent fuckers.
My mother’s warm hugs and the way her nose crinkled when she laughed.
The taunting voices of my classmates as they chanted monster and mother-killer and devil.
I was seven years old the night I asked Athair to handcuff me to my bed while I slept because I was afraid that if he didn’t, I might kill him or my twin brother too. I’d always thought it was grief I saw looking back at me—but now when I closed my eyes, I could read it as clear as fucking day. Guilt.
My life had been a lie. A fucking lie.
Glass shattered somewhere to my left before I realized I’d thrown the bottle. “Why the kryetar?”
It wasn’t the question that my soul begged to ask, but it was the one whose answer I could survive.
Raphael limped to the front of the cell. His hands curled around the bars. His skin was several shades short of good health. His eyes were bloodshot, his mouth tight. Still, pity lined his expression. “I hired the Albanians to intercept our artillery shipment so we could blame it on the Bratva.”
He was being honest. I accepted the answer for what it was because I didn’t have the wherewithal to comb through it to find the hidden agenda. I needed to get through this conversation. “You raised a false flag.”
“Aye.”
“But why?” I already knew the answer, but Raphael needed to confess his wrongdoings. The Russians were stronger than the Italians. They posed the greatest threat to our East Coast dominance. Raphael wanted to establish his reign with a demonstration of power.
He sighed and pressed his forehead against the bars. “I’ve been wanting to stick it to those Russian fucks for years. They think they’re our equals—but they are not. Athair didn’t have the balls to do it, but I did. It should have been a win-win. Zoto could have made a name for himself, letting the street gangs believe he pulled one over on the mighty Flynns by stealing our shipment and pitting us against the Bratva in the process. He got what he deserved for fucking me over and bragging to anyone who’d fucking listen. Liars are always the fucking loudest.”
My gaze dropped to my hands. Bitterness seeped between my teeth. “Aye—a rookie kryetar mistake indeed.”
Raphael got in bed with the wrong Albanian, and the syndicate would pay for it. Fortunately, our uncle had stepped up and offered to take the lead on the Albanian matter. My hands were full with the Russian saga, Liam was on Raphael duty, and Keegan was already stretched thin over a number of roles. With Finn’s help, Niall had prepared a monetary peace offering that he intended to extend tomorrow. Which meant I needed to get this new intel to my uncle as soon as time permitted.
Raphael snorted. “So what are you going to do with me now? Hand me over to the Albanians? Let them do their worst?”
No. That was never the plan. The goal was for Raphael to step down with his honor intact. If he accepted his fate without resistance, he’d be given the option to remain part of the syndicate in a less authoritative role—or he could cash out, take his inheritance, and relocate under an alias. He’d never have to work a day in his life, and he’d have our protection.
But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him this. Not when I wasn’t certain that I could stand by those options after tonight.
I raised my head and leveled him with a cold stare that I saved for my darkest moments. “Were you there when Tiernan killed Willa’s mother? Did you let him take Willa?”
Stunned amazement washed over his ashen face. He dropped his hands and straightened his spine. “Christ, Lucifer. You really are in love with her—aren’t you?”
I flicked my wrist, reminding my brother I had a gun on him.
The corner of his mouth twitched, then fell flat again. “Yes, I was there. Yes, I let Tiernan take her. But before you accidentally shoot me like some pathetic, lovesick fool—didn’t you ever question why it was so easy for Athair to turn Jack over to the Brennans?”
I dragged my thumb over the thick scar on my lower lip. Easy? It wasn’t exactly how I recalled it—but then again, I’d been pistol-whipped by Raphael. Bound and gagged by the Brennans’ lackeys.
Raphael shoved his hands in his pockets. He winced and his knee buckled, but he remained on his feet. “You and Willa—your pasts are more connected than you think.”
I felt the walls of my sanity closing in.
“Tell me,” I growled.
“Ah, so now you’re ready to hear—”
