I swirl the vodka. William’s face appears again… flushed cheeks, that mix of shock and desire when I told him I hadn’t dismissed him yet. The way his body responded to my authority like it had been starving for it.
Maybe the life without my brothers doesn’t have to be completely empty. Maybe there’s space for something real. Something fierce and sweet and mine.
I finish the drink in one swallow, slam the glass down, and stand. The night air greets me again as I step outside. My steps feel surer now. Tomorrow I’ll handle business. Consolidate power. Make moves.
But tonight? Tonight I let myself imagine William showing up at the library again. Same time. Not a second late.
And what I’ll do to him if he is.
The thought brings a dark smile to my lips as I disappear into the shadows of the city that now belongs to me.
* * *
The walk back to my apartment takes longer than it should. The city blurs at the edges, streetlights smearing into soft halos as the vodka works its way through my system. I’m not blackout drunk—yet—but the edges of my control feel pleasantly fuzzy.
I’m tipsy enough to dull the constant roar in my head, not enough to make me sloppy.
I punch in the code for the private elevator in the converted warehouse building I’ve claimed as my own.
Top two floors. Secure. Isolated.
Exactlyhow I like it.
The door clicks shut behind me with a heavy finality. Silence swallows the space. No soldiers waiting for orders. No Padraigcracking jokes. Just me and the vast, half-empty loft that still doesn’t feel like home. I shrug off my suit jacket, toss it over the back of a leather chair, and head straight for the kitchen.
The refrigerator light spills cold and sterile across the dark marble counters. I stare inside. No food. Just rows of bottles: vodka, whiskey, a few imported beers. A half-eaten takeout container from three days ago that I don’t even bother checking.
My stomach growls, but I ignore it. My appetite left me months ago and hasn’t been seen since.
I grab a bottle of beer, twist the cap off with my teeth, and tilt it back. The cold liquid rushes down my throat in one long pull. I down it and reach for another without thinking.
Down it goes too.
Faster this time.
The alcohol hits harder on top of the vodka from Shotgun Corner. My head swims nicely now, a warm haze settling over the sharp edges of the day.
I stumble toward the massive sectional couch that dominates the open living area. My shoes get kicked off somewhere along the way. I collapse onto the cushions, legs sprawled, one arm draped over my eyes.
The ceiling fan spins lazy circles above me, the blades cutting through the dim light from the city skyline pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Before the darkness can pull me under completely, my gaze drifts to the only personal touch in this entire sterile fucking apartment. The single framed photograph on the low shelf across from the couch.
Me and my brothers.
It was taken years ago outside the old laundromat downtown—the first legitimate business we bought with our dirty money. A front, sure, but it felt like a victory back then.
Milo stands in the middle, arm slung around my shoulders, that cocky grin splitting his face. Loren on the other side, quieter, arms crossed, but with the faintest smirk like he already knew we’d own half the city one day. I’m the youngest, barely twenty, still carrying that wild Young Menace energy in my eyes.
All three of us in front of the faded sign, suits sharp even back then, looking like we owned the world. And for us, that’s how it felt back in the day.
A small smile tugs at my lips. For a second, the memory feels warm. Real. The three of us against the whole damn city. Blood thicker than water.Unbreakable.
Then the rage hits.
It builds fast, hot and vicious, twisting in my chest like a knife. Those smiling faces. Those strong shoulders I used to lean on. Gone. Shot to pieces in a fucking warehouse like animals.
My brothers. My blood. Taken from me while I was too slow, too late.
