PART ONE
TREACHERY
1
DECLAN
If my uncle opens his mouth again, I’m going to put a bullet through it. I would never understand why my father demanded on his deathbed that his idiot brother serve as my second in command. I was convinced he’d only given Lorkan so much power, even temporarily, to test my patience. That and to push me to find a bride sooner rather than later. Because, naturally, the main thing on my father’s mind was chastising me for not finding love yet. My father, the former fuckingmafia boss,cared more about whose bed I would share for the next few decades than how I would take over the family legacy. I suppose I had spent my entire life working toward the latter, whereas the former had never felt like a priority. The list of women who wanted to be married to a Don was never-ending, so I never considered it a pressing issue. When the time came, I would find someone kind and loyal enough to have an heir with. Until then, my priority would be maintaining the Irish Mob’s control over Boston.
My father’s rule was responsible for overthrowing theItalians. Though I wasn’t around to see it, from the stories I’ve heard, the war was an absolute blood bath, one that left the city in such disarray that no one dared fuck with us after that. Especially after we rebuilt from the damage and made sure to help support political campaigns that would ensure our control over the city would go unthreatened. It wasn’t too hard to get most of the city officials on our side, either, given that the Italian’s drug trafficking had started to take its toll on the community.
“God, it’s so sterile and dark here. What happened to all the artwork that used to hang on the walls?” my uncle complains.
“They probably took them down given the circumstances.”
“Well, it makes this place feel like a hospital basement. Or like someone died,” my uncle mutters under his breath in Irish.
My hand twitched, desperate to reach for the Glock tucked in my coat jacket. “Someonediddie, Uncle,” I spit out, “that’s the whole reason why we’re here.”
Loyalty was never something my father would compromise on. The Persians weren’t on anyone’s radar forty years ago. Still, somehow my father caught wind of the spyware they had been developing and selling to anyone willing to buy it, including your neighborhood housewife who had an inkling that her husband had been cheating on her. My father knew nearly nothing about technology, but he did know that he hated rats. So when Naser Ahzimi approached my father with evidence that his head of security, and second cousin, had been feeding information to the Greeks for months, he felt forever indebted.
In that moment, Naser not only gained my father's trust but also a lifelong friendship. With my father’s support, Naser built his own empire in Boston’s Little Tehran, and the newlyminted Persian Mafia became our strongest ally, which remains to this day.
Their friendship also lasted the length of both of their lives. In their final moments, Naser used his own chest to block the bullet that was meant for my dad. My father made sure I knew it. Made sure his best friend’s loyalty would never come into question, as he bled out from a stray bullet that had ricocheted off the banister and into his gut—a message from the Italians for messing with their business.
“Well, it wouldn’t have killed them to at least spruce up the place, a bit. Make it feel like a place where we would want to have dinner instead of feeling like we’re headed to watch an autopsy,” my uncle scoffs, looking at the bodyguards blocking the massive wood-paneled door in front of us with disdain.
While it doesn’t surprise me to hear such vile language coming from my uncle, he is a Made Man after all, I can’t stop the rage that fills me at how cavalier he is. The last time I stepped foot in the massive mansion that sits alongside the south shore of Massachusetts, it was covered head to toe in traditional Persian adornments and the most elegant paintings and sculptures I’d ever seen. Now the walls and rooms are barren sans for the furniture, as if even the home itself is mourning the death of its owner. I know their mourning all too well, know they are grieving not only the loss of their boss’s death, but also the death of my father.
Which is why I refuse to tolerate any disrespect. I turn my head to my uncle so that he can see the rage in my eyes. The jokes he made earlier would be the first and last pass I give him today. He keeps his back straight, attempting to appear unfazed, but I know better. I watch as a bead of sweat trickles down his neck, and I can practically smell the fear coming from him.
“Declan, it’s good to see you.” Arman, Naser’s head of security, is the first to speak. The man next to him is familiar to me as well.
“You too. Though I wish it could be in better circumstances.”
I get a nod in response.
“I guess I finally get to meet your new boss. Never understood why Naser was so hellbent on keeping us apart.” As close as our fathers were, and the sheer amount Naser used to boast about how incredible his only child was, it always surprised me how he had never introduced us. It was a puzzle that had always bothered me. Our dads were best friends, and Naser viewed me as his own child, yet I never met his son.
Arman gives me a smirk in response. “Probably because he knew the two of you together would unleash hell on earth.”
“Incredibly likely. You would think that’s what he would want though, no?”
“It can be hard to let go of what you know. And who you love.”
The truth behind Arman’s words rocks me to my core, freezing me in place. For a second, I see a look of mutual pain flash over his eyes. He breaks the moment by speaking again, “You can bring in one gun. Anything else has to stay behind.”
The house rules are second nature to me now. I hand over the gun that was tucked into my sock and the knives that lined my coat jacket. My uncle scoffs at the request but follows through anyway. Arman and his henchmen pat us down before opening the door behind them and standing aside.
My throat goes dry as I take in the familiar dining room table that stretches the length of the room. Any important meeting, and even the non-important dinners, between my father and Naser happened in this room. All of Naser’s old commanders have taken their seats, and everything feels sonormal that I almost expect my father and Naser to stroll in five minutes late, laughing up a storm about whatever stupid prank they decided to pull. For a moment, the tightness in my chest releases, until my uncle sits in the chair I would normally select, abruptly bringing me back to reality.
As I take my father’s seat,myseat, everyone’s eyes are on me. Well, everyone except for the person to my left, who is feverishly typing endless lines of code on their computer screen. It’s all gibberish to me, always has been, yet I can’t stop myself from staring at the string of numbers and letters. The rhythmic typing of the keys gives me something to latch onto as my eyes move from the screen to the keyboard, and the delicate manicure is responsible for me practically falling into a trance.
Cyrus, Naser’s second in command, is the first to break the silence. “We appreciate you joining us today, Declan. Now more than ever, it’s crucial we discuss the terms of our alliance and ensure justice is served to those who dared to threaten our control over the city and stole our family from us.” He gestures for the staff to pour our drinks, officially opening our meeting. Naser always insisted that negotiations needed to happen with a clear head while drinking hot tea from Iran, his home country. While my father was always charmed by his musings, my uncle is not.
“You’ve wasted enough of our time, Cyrus, and I won’t have you waste any more. We came here to speak to the new boss. Naser’sheir. Not his friend who always rode his coattails,” my uncle spits, and I do my best not to strangle him then and there. His mouth is about to get him in trouble.
“His heir is present, Lorkan. I would have never started this meeting otherwise. To do so would be an insult to everyone in this room.” Cyrus’ tone carries a level of lethality that causes several men at the table to grip their weapons—ready tofollow through on any command he gives against my uncle. Cyrus waves them down.
