“Aye. Púca ain’t hard to track. That red beard of his is a dead giveaway.”
Five shadows stretch long across the alley mouth. I lift a hand—five fingers. Their footsteps echo closer.
Five...
Four...
Three... Trent grips his semi-automatic gun with a suppressor; it’ll be nice and quiet.
Two...
One, Trent fires headshots, and bodies drop like puppets with cut strings.
Liam lunges; he’s a blur of motion. With a sick crack, a neck snaps. He doesn’t wait for the man to fall; he already takes hold of another one, blades flashing, slashing into a shoulder.
“Don’t kill him.” Liam withdraws his blade and steps back, leaving the man gasping and clutching his bleeding arm. “Bréaga?”
The man spits at my feet. “Feck off.”
“Wrong answer.” I smirk, draw my gun, and fire. He crumples. I need only one messenger. Trent’s got the last man by the throat; the barrel of his gun lodged in the man’s mouth. “You will tell the head Bréaga that they dared tread on American turf. They will learn Don Lorenzo’s reach extends far. The Púca is coming for blood.”
The man’s eyes go wide. He jerks a nod, his whole body shaking. Sweat tracks along his temple, black streaks in dirt. I signal Trent to release him. He stumbles back, then bolts, shoes slapping pavement, never daring a look over his shoulder. The alley mouth swallows him. I take out my phone and fire off one terse message to Tommaso.
Clean up Mercer’s Alley.
Three dots blink for less than a second before his reply comes in.
On it...
***
Three hours later, I’m on our private jet to Ireland. Outside the windows, New York’s glow fades into the Atlantic. I run a hand over my face. “Something felt off with Lorenzo today.”
Liam leans forward. “Lorenzo didn’t get to the top by being stupid. If he knows anything, he’d have killed us.”
Trent leans back, rolling a toothpick between his teeth. “Then we don’t give him anything to suspect. Focusing on Ireland, the Bréaga need to know we’re not playing.”
I nod. “Exactly. That’s why I let one of those bastards walk. Seal the right alliances, and we’ll have firm ground when it’s time to move against Lorenzo.”
“You’ve got the patience of a monk to play this role all this time. The man values you more than his son.” Liam says.
“Which is why the long game works; I’ve already mapped the moves. When I take the king, Lorenzo will never see it coming.” I stare out at the darkness as I plot Lorenzo’s downfall; another thought takes root. I need to call Troy. There’s a new project he needs to oversee in my absence, and, more importantly, I need someone watching Aria.
Eight
“Even the prettiest gifts can feel like handcuffs once you know who sent them.” – Aria Boschett
Since Simon dropped the bomb about Hayden, my workload has tripled. The moment he smugly informed me of the extra client files dumped into my online workspace, I knew this was his version of a punishment. Too bad for him... it’s a blessing in disguise. Numbers are the only predictable thing in my life right now, keeping me grounded, anchored in logic while the rest of my world spirals into chaos. If I keep my head down, drowning in spreadsheets and profit margins, I don’t have time to think about Cyan.
I work late every night, pushing myself until exhaustion claims me. It’s the only way to avoid obsessive thoughts about Hayden’s death, or the disturbing, unwanted dreams of the man currently threatening my life.
A few days later, I’m halfway through my tuna sandwich when Judith breezes into the break room. The second she spots me, she beelines straight over, eyes gleaming with fresh gossip. I like her, I do—but I’m not in the mood. My life is already a soap opera.
“Oh my God, Aria! Did you hear what happened between Terry and Jamie? You won’t believe it!” She drops her butt in the empty seat opposite me. I don’t get the chance to respond before she launches into a full-speed breakdown of their secret romance, messy workplace drama, and the supposed engagement ring hidden in Jamie’s drawer. Judith is a natural talker. The type of person who knows everything about everyone. Which means if anyone knows about Cyan, it’s her. I weigh my options. How do I get her talking without raising suspicion?
“Hey, Judith, I wanted to ask you something. I bought something at the woodcarver’s booth at the Harvest Festival. There was a mix-up, and I think I got the wrong item. It belongs to a guy named Cyan. Any idea where I can find him?” Judith gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as she leans in dramatically, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper.
“O...M... G. You met a MacBrady.” She pauses for effect. “And not just any MacBrady... the head of the family.” My pulse stutters. Judith is already spinning this into something it isn’t. If she tells anyone else, the rumor will spread like wildfire through the office. She grins excitedly. “Well, good thing Hayden is out of the picture! You just hit the jackpot, girl.” The weight of Hayden’s name settles like lead in my stomach. I force the guilt down and keep my focus on Judith rattling info. “I forgot you’re new in town. Remember, I told you about the MacBrady Clan being eye candy to women! There are ten of them that live on the compound on the hill; they’re not all related, but they act like they are. You’re so lucky...”
