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PROLOGUE
LIAM
The brisk wind off the Boston Harbor tugged at the lapels of my tailored suit, its salty tang mixing with the unmistakable scent of the sea.
Lifting my chin, I looked around. The harbor lights shimmered like diamonds on the water. The distant honk of a car horn, the gentle lapping of the waves against the dock, and the cries of seagulls flying overhead accompanied my solitary stroll through the docks.
I navigated through the maze of crates and barrels, watching as a group of dockworkers unloaded cargo from a ship that had just docked.
It wasn’t our cargo, at least not this time.
The clatter of machinery, the shouted instructions, the rhythmic thud of heavy crates hitting the wooden dock—it was organized chaos.
I felt at home here.
As I neared the end of the dock, a sleek yacht named “Serenity” came into view. It bobbed gently in the water, its polished exterior gleaming under the harbor lights. Without pause, I stepped onto the yacht.
I was here to do a job.
As consigliere to the Murphy family, it was my duty to see to it that the yacht was safe. It had been given to the Murphys as a gesture of good will from Eduardo Ramirez, kingpin of the local branch of the Colombian cartel here in Boston, but we couldn’t be too careful.
This could be a token of war, our very own Trojan horse.’
My eyes flicked over the polished surfaces and lavish décor. Rich mahogany accents complemented plush, leather furnishings. Soft, ambient lighting cast a warm glow on intricately designed fixtures, and the air carried a subtle scent of eucalyptus and citrus.
It had to have cost someone millions of dollars.
The muted hum of the yacht’s engines accompanied my cautious steps as I meticulously combed through its opulent interiors, searching for signs of danger—a ticking bomb, a concealed trap, anything that might threaten the safety of the Murphy family. The rhythmic creaking of the yacht beneath me underscored the gravity of the task at hand. It took me hours, but there was no being too thorough.
This was a matter of life and death.
Moving through the dimly lit corridors, I reached the entrance of the master suite. The door swung open with a soft creak, revealing a room cloaked in shadows.
I turned on the lights.
For a moment, time seemed to hang in suspension. My breath froze in my chest as my eyes fell upon a blond woman bound and gagged on the bed. There was a black hood over her head, and I reached out, ripping it off in a quick flash.
Fuck.
Her piercing blue eyes met mine with pleading desperation and obvious guilt and I stopped short.
I knew her.
I knew herverywell.
Her name was Kelsey Byrne.
Just last night, I’d had her bound to my bed, her bottom spanked bright pink from my own hand. I’d sunk so deep into that perfect little body as she writhed beneath me, screamed my name, and called me daddy just like a good little girl should.
There was a note lying beside her.
I took a deep breath and warily picked it up.
Liam Shelby,
The woman bound before you is not who she says, but I have faith that you and the Murphys will find out who she truly is. Do not be deceived by her lies. She is not your friend.
Eduardo Ramirez
