Page 74 of Sinful Bride

I step outside, into the cold night air, and call Cormac back. He answers on the first ring. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I'm at the opera. What's wrong?"

"The shipment to the Capettis. The one you offered to help with. It went bad."

My blood runs cold. "How bad?"

"All but one of our men are dead. The Capettis are fine—minor injuries, no casualties. But our guys..." His voice cracks. "They're gone, Declan. All of them."

I freeze in place, my pulse loud in my ears. "What happened?"

"Ambush. Someone must have known about the shipment, knew our guys would be there. They waited until the Capettis were clear and then opened fire."

"Where are you?"

"The warehouse district. South Side. You need to get here."

"I'm on my way." I hang up and stand there for a moment, trying to breathe. All but one of my men are dead.

Because I offered to help. Because I was trying to build an alliance. Because I thought I could do this differently.

I head back inside. Elena is standing by the bar, her champagne untouched. She sees my face and sets the glass down. "What happened?"

"I have to go." My voice sounds distant. "There's been an attack. I need to—I'm sorry. I have to go. I'll send the car back for you."

"Declan—"

"Please, Elena. Just... go home."

I don't wait for her response. I'm already heading toward the exit, pulling out my phone to call the driver. The night I planned, the effort I made, the discomfort I endured… it all feels meaningless now. Because my men are dead.

And it's my fault.

—

The warehouse is in the industrial district on the south side, in a sprawling complex of buildings that we use for storage and distribution. When I pull up, the scene is chaos. I park and get out, my legs unsteady. Cormac meets me, his face pale.

"How many?" I ask.

"Seven dead. One critical. He might not make it."

Eight men. Eight of my men, sent to help with a shipment because I thought it would build goodwill, because I thought I could do things differently.

"The Capettis?"

"Minor injuries. Cuts and bruises. They were in a different part of the warehouse when it happened. Our guys took the brunt of it."

Whoever planned this wanted to send a message, to show that the Irish don't belong in this world. That we're expendable. "Who did this?"

"We don't know yet. But the Capetti men said the attackers were shouting about the Irish and Italians working together. Said it was an insult to tradition."

Tradition. The word tastes like blood in my mouth. I walk toward the bodies, under sheets that are stained red. I can see the outlines of the men beneath—men I knew, men I led, men who trusted me to keep them safe. And I failed them.

"Declan." Cormac's voice is quiet. "You shouldn't⁠—"

"I need to see them."

He doesn't argue.