I need to walk into that building, find my desk, and start work, but I’m stuck in another moment in time. A guy walks past and looks at me strangely. Thankfully, the image of my Nonna’s smiling face flutters into my mind. Placing one foot in front of the other, I push forward, forcing a smile for Heather in bookkeeping, and nodding at coworkers. I overhear them talking about hitting up a new, trendy cafe on the boardwalk tonight. As I make my way through the workspace, it strikes me that none of the people here grasp the danger lurking in this small city. I’m a little jealous of most of my colleagues. They do not know what kinds of monsters walk among them. Sighing, I keep moving forward with quick good mornings. I can’t afford to get sucked into any conversations. I don’t think I can pretend that everything is all right.
Relief floods me when I reach my desk, my refuge, and I boot up my computer. I love my job; I love working with numbers. Structured, dependable, and honest. Numbers don’t lie or disappoint me. Gladly, I dive into spreadsheets and drown in numbers until Simon shows up.
My slimy, insufferable, power-abusing supervisor leans against my cubicle with a smug grin. “Hate to disturb you.”
Translation: he enjoys disturbing me. I spin in my chair to face my creep of a supervisor. “What do you want, Simon?” The man is a pig who lords his power over the employees. He assigns more work to me than to the others in our payroll division. All because I turned down his advances. The number of clients I’m responsible for has doubled compared with my colleagues. I should only handle payroll work, but Simon has me taking on some of his tasks, including preparing the quarterly profit-and-loss reports for his client list.
He snickers, eyes dragging over me like I’m a dessert platter and stopping at my chest. The very thought of letting him touch me makes me want to dry heave. “Just checking in. Tough weekend?”
I stiffen. “I’m busy.”
He laughs, rocking back on his heels as he puts his hand in his pockets. “Busy with Hayden?”
Turning back to my computer. “What can I do for you, Simon?” The faster he moves on to his office, the better.
“I’d love for you to do... many things,” his lecherous eyes roam over me again. His blatant display repulses me, and I feel sick at the thought of Simon’s limp dick anywhere near me.
“Simon, this conversation is leaning toward you and me in a private room in the corporate HR department in Boston.” His eyes glint with anger at the mention of HR. That has Simon fixing his perfect tie. He glances around at the other cubicles, then bends down too close to my ear.
“You treat me like a predator, but the golden boy. Hayden, you let touch you all over.” The name makes me jerk farther away from him. Simon grins. “Did you think screwing him would get you a promotion? Guessing he didn’t mention his new job? Overseas. In Ireland.” The blood drains from my face. Simon laughs. “Looks like he ghosted you. Maybe next time, pick someone with real ambition.”
Simon is so vile. He came to gloat. The sound of Cyan’s knife stabbing Hayden’s leg flashes in my mind. Simon unknowingly confirmed what I was trying to avoid thinking about. Hayden is dead. “Looks like I was right. Guess he didn’t tell you about this while he was fucking you,” Simon sneers. The vision of Hayden’s body being dumped and buried in some unmarked grave is prominent in my mind, and my stomach rolls.
I stand quickly, almost head-butting Simon, but he steps back in time. “Excuse me, Simon. I need to go to the washroom.” I don’t wait for an answer. Turning away, with my hand over my mouth, I run-walk toward the ladies’ bathroom. I barely make it before I puke. Hayden is dead.
Simon thinks he’s sipping whisky in Dublin. But I know the truth. As I expel my breakfast, Cyan’s voice echoes in my mind. “See you soon, Aria.”
Six
“I wear my mask so well, even the devil forgets who I am.”– Cyan MacBrady.
As I step out of Cannonics Enterprises Corp., the late afternoon haze blankets Boston. The city hums around me, horns blaring, conversations overlapping, and the distant sound of a police siren. Once, I thrived in this chaos. Now, it only amplifies my need to return to Crescent Bay. Beside me, Salvo, my driver and head bodyguard, walks with his usual silent efficiency, flanked by more of my men. My mind should be focused on vengeance, but today it’s different.Dammit,she’s distracting, those doe-brown eyes lodged in my mind. That fucking laugh and that body. Hayden is dead more for touching her than for the fucking money he stole.
The discipline I’ve perfected over the years wavers with every memory of Aria Concetta Boschett. She shouldn’t consume my thoughts, but she does. When she took off that dress, her curves wrapped in lace, I wanted to break my own rules. Usually, I prefer tall, leggy women. The slight bite of her lip as she met my gaze.Fuck.Get your head straight, MacBrady.
The ironclad self-control I prided myself on was tested when I let her out of the car. No woman has ever affected me this way. Usually, I fuck when I feel the need, Aria pulls at something in me I can’t name.Why?I haven’t figured it out yet. Her scent of sweet hibiscus mixed with a hint of coconut tugs at me. Protecting her isn’t logical, yet the thought of someone else laying a hand on her burns through my veins. I have never been interested in learning more about anyone outside my chosen family. When Troy almost shot her, my reaction was immediate and violent. It took all my control not to act as the fury surged through me in that moment.
My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen.Don Lorenzo, the current head of the American Syndicate.Hatred simmers beneath my skin like a slow burn, threatening to consume me. He did what this city couldn’t, dragged my thoughts from her and straight into the inferno of my past, where the memory of my sister’s carefree laugh once lived. Ciara was long dead thanks to him. My Da’s words flicker through my mind, clear as day.“We live in a society, Cyan. Rules exist for a reason. You follow ’em.”Same sermon every time Collin got hauled home for cracking someone’s skull. The look of hopelessness, that shuddering cough, before Ma took her last breath.
Blinking away the past, I swipe right and bring the phone to my ear. “Don Lorenzo.”
“Cyan, my boy. I need you in New York.” A command, not a request.
“Understood.” The line goes dead. I clench my jaw, locking down my bitter hatred. Not yet. But his day is coming.
Don Lorenzo, the celebrated kingpin of America, the man who commands crime families with a flick of his wrist, marked my family for death. I still see their sightless eyes, and their lifeless bodies. Da, Mam, and Ciara. Guilt coils around me like a snake. It whispers the same question over and over: Why? One day, I’ll have my answer. One day, he’ll beg for mercy he won’t receive. I turn to Salvo. “Have someone bring my car.”
“Yes, Capo,” Salvo replies then turns to get it done. I pull up my contacts and dial Trent. He picks up on the first ring.
“Yo, C. What’s up?”
“I’ve been summoned to New York.”
“What do you need?” His easygoing tone vanishes. He knows what that means.
“You and Liam. Get him up to speed. We leave tomorrow.”
“Done.”
