Revenge.
We’re mafia. When someone hurts one of our own, we set our grief aside, and we take our revenge. Our payback. A life for a life. Whoever stole my son from me will get what’s coming to them, and they’ll wish they’d never been born.
I extricate myself from Amelia’s arms and sit up. “I’m sorry. I never wanted you to see me like this.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Declan.”
Her voice is so gentle that I could curl up in it and lose myself until this all goes away. But that would be the coward’s way out, and the Byrnes are not cowards. We’re better than that. My son was better than that.
Was. No parent should ever have to speak about their offspring in past tense, even when they’re born into the mafia.
I stroke her cheek with my knuckle. She’s the most beautiful thing that has happened to me since I met my wife, but this—losing my son—is proof that what we’re doing is wrong. God saw, and he struck me down for it in the worst way imaginable.
I don’t kiss her. Even though I want to, more than she will ever know.
“I need some time alone.”
She swallows, disappointment written across her beautiful face. “Are you sure? What can I do to help?”
Bring my son back.
Allow me to switch places with him so that I’m the one lying on a mortuary slab.
Show me a world where the Murrays and the Byrnes could live together in harmony.
“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do to help. I must handle this myself.”
She watches me closely, no doubt assessing my state of mind. Then, “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. I’m here for you. Whatever you need, whatever you want from me… All you have to do is ask.”
I can’t swallow the lump of grief in my throat. “I don’t want anything from you, my sweet Amelia.” My voice is hoarse. “You’ve done more than enough.”
She stands up and goes to the door where she hesitates. “I’m not going anywhere, Declan.” She keeps her voice low. “You were right about one thing. I know my worth. But I also know yours.”
The door closes behind her, and I’m alone inside my head with the grief that I must keep on standby. For now. Until I’ve avenged my eldest son’s death.
I want to follow her. I want to pour what’s left of my heart out for her, to make a fool of myself when I tell her that I can’t bear the thought of letting her walk out of my life. But I do none of these things. My son is dead, and I have work to do.
On the inside, I’m still the hungover wreck that I was when I woke up in my room earlier. On the outside, at least I look presentable.
I shut myself in my study and make some calls.
Ruairi was killed on his way to meet with Caleb Murray. When I tried calling him in the wee hours, he was already dead. He trusted the process with the Murrays. He attended the meeting without backup as requested. And he paid for this decision with his life.
A single shot between his eyes. Assassination precision. A life cut short because a rival family didn’t want to share their slice of the Big Apple with us.
Sure, I’ve ended lives. But never for greed. Never for a fucking power struggle. I’ve pulled the trigger when the target deserved it, when I knew the world would be a better place without them.
Ruairi did not deserve to die. He had ambition. Courage. Strength. He was the heir to my family’s business. With his foresight and determination, we’d have been untouchable. The thought of him lying in a mortuary three thousand miles away makes me want to smash everything in my path.
But instead, I channel that energy into something positive.
Ending Caleb Murray’s life.
I half-fill a glass with brandy from the spare bottle that I always keep on the cart, and down it in one. It burns all the way down but at least it gives me clarity. Hair of the dog. Works every damned time.
I sit in my seat, face the window, and call Eoghan. Why would the fuckers call it a day with my eldest son when they could take them both? I breathe again when he picks up.
He’s safe. For now.
