Collin isn’t the least bit apologetic. “When you put it like that, bro, yeah. We’re a bunch of sad fucks.”
“From now on, keep my relationship out of your goddamn gambling ring.”
Collin shrugs, unbothered. “What about Elana?”
My fingers flex. “What about her?”
“The girl’s been walking around with wedding bells in her eyes since you started fucking. You took her to the Mayor’s Charity Gala after sealing the alliance with the Bréaga. That didn’t help.”
“She was just my plus one. I didn’t fuck her that night…”
“Elana thinks you’re just sowing your wild oats and you’ll be back. That’s what Thomas said she told Lucilla.”
My jaw tightens. “She’s delusional. When she came to Crescent Bay, I told her straight to her face. We aren’t a thing.”
Collin hums. “Just a heads up.”
We hit the landing strip in minutes. Col throws the keys to one of our guys. With the jet waiting, we climb the steps, and I settle into my seat, palms itching with anticipation. Our special guests won’t be breathing much longer.
***
Forty-five minutes later, Boston’s skyline cuts through the dusk as we pull into the underground parking beneath The Towers. The faster we clean this mess, the faster I get back to her. My focus sharpens. The entrance to the tunnels sits hidden behind reinforced concrete and doctored city blueprints. The Ten Irish Fists bought the properties above and the shadows beneath them—paid for with enough cash to keep a dozen bureaucrats quiet. These forgotten rail lines became ours years ago. They’re the backbone of our empire. Our war room and Col’s playground. No one outside the Ten and our select soldiers knows this place exists as we descend the steel steps; a familiar hit of nostalgia sinks its teeth into me. This is where we built everything, where every enemy’s downfall started long before a single bullet was fired. Even now, with my grip on this city ironclad, I know there’s always some ambitious cop sniffing around, desperate to make a name off my corpse. Just look at Officer Ethan.
The air grows colder as we reach the chamber. Three figures hang from hooks in the ceiling, swaying with each breath. Blood drips slowly, drop by drop, onto the concrete.
Sebastian, Trent, and Liam lean against the far wall like they just finished grabbing drinks instead of painting the room in gore. But the man slumped in the chair catches my eye. He’s too still. I look at Liam. “This one dead?”
Liam shrugs, wiping his bloody knuckles on a rag. “I might have gone a little overboard.”
One man lifts his head at the sound of my voice. His lips tremble. “The Púca...” His fear bleeds through the whisper. Then desperation. “Hey, man... hear me out. I told Leo to steer clear of your girl. I tried. Please. Believe me! I played no part in Leo’s scheme.”
His whining dissolves into the creak of rope and metal. He’s the one I wanted. But I don’t acknowledge him. Not yet, I turn to my men. “What have you learned?”
Liam stands straighter and tosses the rag he was using to scrub blood from his hands. He points to the man on the right. “He’s the driver and the other fuckers were the gunmen. Either of them could’ve killed Chester.” The tremor in his voice gives him away. Yeah. I know exactly why the one in the chair is dead. Rage ate through Liam’s restraint. Chester and his wife raised Trent and Liam when Sebastian couldn’t. His death will forever cut deep.
I pull out my gun and hand it to Trent. “You can have that one.”
The man on the left sobs, his pleas useless. Trent shoves the barrel between his teeth. “I’ll do anything! Just–please! Don’t do this.” He tries to talk around the muzzle, like begging has ever saved anyone down here.
“You should’ve thought about that before you killed my father.” Trent snarls and pulls the trigger. The bang detonates through the chamber. Blood sprays across the concrete wall. The remaining two jerk against their restraints, terror rushing through them.
The driver chokes out, “You’re all monsters. I didn’t even want to be there–I was following orders. They forced me!”
In this world, we are monsters. Did the poor bastard expect empathy? I don’t respond. Instead, I look at the one I came for. “Hey. What do they call you?”
The man in the middle swallows hard. “Jol, sir.” I peel off my black pinstriped jacket and toss it to Sebastian without breaking eye contact. My hands curl into fists, and I twist my head to the right, feeling the gentle pops in my neck. I pulled a neck muscle once because I’d gone all out on someone before stretching—but tonight, I don’t give a shit.
I want the crunch of bone, the howls of excruciating pain to see what this bastard looks like on the inside while still seeing the terror in his eyes. I am the beast unchained, pivoting on my heel, landing a brutal uppercut. The impact is visceral, a sickening crack as my fist collides with his jaw. His head snaps back, his body jerking in the restraints. A groan escapes his busted lips.
“I’d prefer it if we didn’t start with lies. What is your fucking name?”
He gulps air. “Davide.”
“Good.”
I roll my shoulders, fists ready again. “Now tell me why you and Leo were in my city.” His eyes widen, but instead of answering, he bares bloody teeth and spits at my feet. The blob of blood hits the cement with a wet slap. “Fuck you, Púca.” A low, wet chuckle as blood trickles from the side of his lips. “Don Lorenzo. He’s coming for you.”
I tilt my head, studying him. Is this loyalty or stupidity? Neither will save him. “Don Lorenzo?” A slow grin works across my mouth. “Coming?” I lean in. My voice drops to something colder than death. “Good.”
