I adjust Aria in my arms, her face buried in my chest. Troy opens the rear door, and I slide in with her on my lap; she’s refusing to let go. I buckle us in, one hand stroking her hair, the other wrapped tight around her body as the Maybach pulls away. I lower my head, breathing her in, her flowery scent filling my lungs, stroking her as if touch alone can stitch her together. She’s seen too much. My thoughts sharpen into a single, merciless truth: Lorenzo Rizzotto won’t survive this war.
Twenty- Five
“I’m the blade and the hand that holds it steady.” – Cyan MacBrady.
Salvo rushes to open the doors of my Crescent Bay home.
“Thanks, Sal,” I mutter as I pass, my woman slumped in my arms, limp and intoxicated from the too many whiskey shots she downed on the private jet. I should’ve stopped her. But the way her hands trembled when she reached for the glass… the hollow look in her eyes as the alcohol dulled the memory of blood and death… I let her drink because it was easier than watching her splinter. Pulling my woman closer to my chest, I head for the stairs. Whiskey clings to her skin, threaded with her vanilla-citrus scent. She belongs in the light, not in the shadowed world she’s been dragged into. My world. The world of bullets, betrayal, and bodies. She does not know what this life carves out of a man’s soul.
Chester is dead.The thought slams through me again and again. My vengeance prowls beneath my skin, a living animal, clawing to the surface. Lorenzo stole Chester from us. From Trent, from Liam, and from me. I’ll burn his entire world to ash. By the time I’m through, Lorenzo will beg for death.
I glance down at Aria seeing the bruise on her cheek. Even in sleep, her brow creases as if she’s fighting off nightmares. I did this to her. I dragged her into my chaos, and now she can never unsee it. I carry her through the dim hall. Her weight in my arms is a contradiction, pure softness in a world built on violence. Now her innocence is being destroyed piece by piece. I should leave her untouched. But I won’t. I can’t. She belongs to me, whether or not she’s ready to admit it.
Walking into my private rooms, I move straight to the bedroom and lower her onto the bed. Adjusting the blanket around her as if she might break beneath the pressure of my hands.She doesn’t belong here.The thought again whispers through me, poisonous and true. Outside, the ocean roars, waves slamming the cliffs. It matches the storm in my chest, an endless cycle of destruction. Aria shifts, a small sigh slipping free. She’s the only thing tethering me to anything beyond vengeance. I brush a curl from her face, fingers lingering longer than they should. If choices existed for men like me, I’d stay in her light. But men like me? We don’t get choices.
“C, the family’s waiting downstairs,” Collin says from the doorway.
I don’t turn yet. I can’t. My gaze lingers on Aria, on the fragile innocence still clinging to her despite the hell she’s been dragged through. The chaos of my world is swallowing her piece by piece. Like it swallowed Collin and also swallowed me. I exhale hard and drag a hand down my face and glance out to the ocean. “This life… it’s a relentless beast; Col. Gnaws at you. Never fucking satisfied.” My voice drops. “Do you ever look back, Col and wish I hadn’t pulled you into this life? Regret what I made you?”
“You can’t save someone from who they are,” he says without missing a beat. “Life isn’t a fairy tale, brother. Never was. I figured that out long before that bastard put a bullet in Ciara.” He steps closer, and I catch his reflection in the window. His vacant half-smile, dead eyes brewing with that frigid ice underneath. “You want to know what I learned, C? The more you fight the madness, the more it eats you alive. So don’t fight it... let it out. It’s far more entertaining that way.” Ciara’s name hangs as a ghost between us our shared wound.
I loosen my collar, focus on that image of Ciara’s last moments and rabid heat crawls up my spine. “Aye, brother. I won’t give them the fucking satisfaction; I’m the nightmare they created.” I look at Aria one more time. Her light is slipping through my fingers, dimming under the weight of the world I chose. When she wakes, she’ll only see the darkness. Because in this world, mercy is a death sentence, and control is the only thing that matters.
***
By the time I reach the bottom of the staircase, Collin stands beside me, fingers twitching like he’s itching for sanctioned murder. With the rest of the Irish Fist, my brothers filling the living room, waiting for me to speak. Troy and Sebastian simmer with barely leashed rage. Johnny, Thomas, Jake, Gabriel, and the twins—Trent and Liam—don’t know yet. What I’m about to say will carve them open.
I don’t waste words. “Chester is dead.” The room freezes. Then, detonates.
A chair slams into the wall as Trent snaps first.“What?!” His tattooed fists clench, knuckles cracking like gunfire. He grabs the bottle of whisky and hurls it. Glass shatters, splintering against the far wall.
Liam doesn’t move. “How?” He rasps, too fucking quiet.
“A drive-by. They came for me. Chester took the hit.”
Trent erupts again. He lunges forward, grabs the edge of the coffee table and flips it. Glasses crash, liquid soaking into the wood like blood. “Fuck.” He bashes his head against the nearest wall; his actions lack rationality, but grief is never fucking logical.
“We all chose this life. Chester chose it.” Liam’s voice is stone. His gaze fixes on a point behind me, somewhere far enough away that his face doesn’t break. His fingers twitch, like he’s fighting the instinct to reach for someone who’s gone.
“He should have been here!” Trent snarls. “He should have been here. I should’ve forced him to move.” His inked fists pound the drywall, leaving holes over and over.
Until Sebastian moves, he grabs Trent and slams him into the opposite wall. “Enough.” Sebastian growls. Trent thrashes, but Sebastian doesn’t budge. Elbow locked to Trent’s chest, pinning him.
“Let go of me,” Trent spits, eyes wild.
Sebastian’s grip tightens. “Not until you get your head out of your ass. You think Chester would want this? You think he’d like you smashing your knuckles to shit instead of making them pay?”
Trent stills. His shoulders rise and fall, then he lets out a frenetic laugh. “We’ll more than make him pay.” Sebastian slowly releases him but doesn’t move far. Liam drags a hand through his long black hair, jaw clenched so tight I swear enamel cracks.
“First things first,” my voice slices through the tension like a blade. “Johnny, call Rosa and tell her to lock down her bar and then reach out to the Sheriff and update him.”
Johnny nods and steps away, already dialing. We move to the meeting room. The tension is a living thing. I take my place at the head of the long table, the Capo’s seat. Troy sits on my right. Collin on my left, Liam, Trent, Jake, Johnny, Sebastian, Thomas, and Gabriel take their places. My brothers, the generals in my army. I let the silence drag. I want every man here to understand what comes next. “Chester’s death wasn’t just a loss. It’s personal. Lorenzo thinks he can step into our city, take what’s ours, and walk away unscathed. He thinks we’ll bend.” My jaw flexes. “He’s fucking wrong.” Low growls ripple around the table.
Troy’s fists clench. “Damn right.”
Jake, cool as ice: “A direct hit is risky. We’ll need precision.”
Sebastian nods. “We avoid drawing law enforcement. We’re already under heat because of that drive by.”
