His war was with us. Not them.
But that would’ve been too kind.
And Luciano Giovanni has never been known for having an ounce of compassion.
He rose to our level.
Wanted to play our game to destroy us and claim what’s ours in retribution for a sin that isn’t ours to bear.
The Megalley Syndicate is bound by blood, related or not. Once you pledge your loyalty, there is no escape but death. If it takes blood to get in, blood is the cost to get out.
What we do means nothing if our family isn’t by our side. And the only reason my father and I are still breathing is to carry out the plan we’ve so carefully crafted. To keep the heart of our operation still beating, even if we wish ours weren’t, because we failed to protect the two things more precious to us than our narcotic, illegal weapons, and money laundering operations.
Our silence for the last five years hasn’t been because we’ve given up.
Oh no.
Our strike will be violent. Bloody.
When I was younger, my mother would stroke my cheek with her fingers and speak words of admiration, telling me how proud she was that, though I was born to rule a dark world, I still had compassion.
Not a hint of that man remains.
The only thing that might give me peace at the end of this is smashing my fist through Luciano’s chest cavity to feel the final beats of his heart cease in my hand. I might even use it like a stress ball as the healing process of losing my mother and sister finally starts after years of observing. Surveillance. Carefully collecting any information that can give us an edge to end this once and for all and take out the leader of the Calco Cartel. The don of the Italian Mafia, whose borders are slowly leaking across the southern states and near our territory.
Carter’s voice barely registers through the hammering pulsing through the gym. “I thought you’d be in here.”
I fight through the distraction, sinking my naked fists into the synthetic leather of the boxing bag, soaking up my aggression. The late morning light beats down through the wall of windows facing the gardens that stretch out beyond, before it meets the rocky beach of the Atlantic Ocean. My hot, sweaty skin and muscles are burning from the relentless heat of the sun. Beads of sweat trickle down the valley between my pecs andalong the ridges of my spine, further drenching the waistband of my gym shorts.
I observe my best friend, my right-hand man, break through the threshold of the gym in the reflection of the mirrors in front of me. He moves further into the room, watching my movements with an attentive gaze.
I’m twenty-nine. He may be three years older than I am, but we’ve been inseparable since my father saved him when he was twenty and gave him a job. A home.
He pulls his fingers through his ruffled black hair, cropped short on the sides, then tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Rowan and Cathal touched base. The shipment is thirty minutes out from the marina.”
I place my hands on my hips to rest, the inferno in my lungs raging. My breath is rapid as I meet his dark eyes in the mirror. “They’re late. They were supposed to arrive two days ago. They know how I fucking feel about punctuality.” One of the reasons I’m taking out my anger this way is to tame my inner beast that’s hungry to plant my fists through some facial bone the moment I see Rowan and Cathal to prove my point.
He swipes a tattooed hand over his nape and shrugs. “They said they had to reroute due to a tropical storm.”
I turn slowly, narrowing my eyes. “For their sake, I hope we have the AIS data to back that up and validate their course.”
Carter notices the water bottle on the floor and bends down, grasping it before he tosses it to me. “Consider it done. I’ll head to the marina now.”
I uncap the bottle, taking a long swig to quench my thirst, heaving a sigh. “Thanks. But don’t touch anything until I get there.”
It’s not Carter’s fault. He just happens to be here to witness my frustration with the situation that’s had me on edge since we lost contact with one of our commercial lobster boats. A boatthat was bringing back one of the several narcotic shipments we receive throughout the month, which arrives straight to the docks of our harbor.
Lately, I haven’t been a very trusting person. This is the third month in a row where several bags of our fentanyl and cocaine have gone “missing.” Though they may be small amounts that might slip past someone who is unobservant, I am not one of those people.
Neither is Arden, my father.
We’re thorough.
We’re also not naive enough to think they are low-balling us with the amount we are paying our cartel partner in Mexico.
There’s something else transpiring, we’re just not sure what it is yet.
However, if anything is missing from this new shipment, corrective actions will need to be taken. And both Rowan and Cathal might find themselves at my mercy. My blood sizzles in exhilaration just thinking about it. It’s been a while since I’ve taken such violent measures. It may be on a few men in my mob, but this world isn’t for the faint of heart. If we ask questions, they should be answered promptly, and that applies to everyone. If not, we use our favorite methods to get people to talk.
