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When the grief finally loosened enough for me to breathe, I whispered goodnight to my husband and promised our son I would return the following week, even though neither of them could answer.

CHAPTER TWO

Late fall 2024, New York City

My father left the brownstone before dawn with a single suitcase in one hand and the expression of a man who expected the world to stay exactly where he had put it. He told my mother he had business out of state. He told me nothing at all. He kissed neither of us before the front door closed behind him

From the stairwell, I watched his taillights vanish down the street.

Relief came first, bright and shameful. Guilt followed so quickly it felt like part of the same breath.

Living with my father had taught me that safety was often measured by his absence.

“Did he say where he was going?” I asked when Mom joined me in the foyer. She tightened the belt of her robe and stared at the door as though thirty years of marriage had taught her to read whatever lingered after he left.

“Louisiana, I think, though he never actually said.” Weariness softened her voice. “He told me not to wait up, as if I would.” Neither of us knew we had just watched him leave that house for the final time. All I understood was that his departure had bought me a few days of breathing room—a few days without wondering whether he could somehow smell my son’s name hidden beneath my skin. Two hours later, that fragile relief collapsed.

Uncle Sal arrived with Duncan, Cian, and Cormac behind him. Tyran Fitzpatrick entered beside him rather than behind him, as he always did. He was Uncle Sal’s best friend and right hand, the one man trusted to stand close enough to challenge him without weakening his authority in front of everyone else.

They entered without their usual noise, bringing in cold air and a silence that belonged to hardened men who had already decided a locked door would not stay locked for long.

“Where’s Nolan?” Uncle Sal demanded before Mom had finished closing the door. He kissed her cheek out of habit, but his attention stayed fixed on the hallway leading to Nolan’s office.

“Good morning to you too, Sal.” Mom folded her arms over her robe and planted herself between her brother and the rest of the house. “My husband left before dawn, and he didn’t ask my permission before doing it.”

“Where did he go, Caity?” The edge in Uncle Sal’s voice sharpened the question. He carried the authority of the man who ruled the Boston Irish and expected every Irishman from Massachusetts to New York to remember it.

“This isn’t the morning to test my patience.” The growl from my uncle slipped out between his clenched teeth.

“Then take your impatience outside.”

Mom never raised her voice, which made the challenge more effective. Uncle Sal’s jaw tightened. His sister was one of the few people alive who could speak to him that way without fearing what came next.

“He mentioned Louisiana. That’s all I know.”

Duncan and Mac exchanged a look. Beside them, Cian’s expression darkened. No one explained what they were thinking, but suspicion settled over the foyer all the same. For a moment, I felt like a child again, standing at the edge of a conversation I was not meant to understand while powerful men spoke in glances, silences, and everything left unsaid.

Tyran remained at Uncle Sal’s shoulder, his attention moving from Mom to the hallway. He did not ask what Nolan had done. The way he watched Uncle Sal told me he already knew enough to expect the worst.

“We need his office,” Uncle Sal said.

He tried to make the words sound gentle, but nothing in his tone made them a request.

“There are things happening in New York that Nolan should have reported,” he continued, “and there are men missing who should have answered to us.”

Mom studied him for several long seconds before stepping aside.

“You break anything, you replace it,” she warned. The tremor in her hand betrayed that she understood this had nothing to do with furniture.

Mac had Nolan’s office unlocked in less than a minute. The lock surrendered with a soft click. Mom flinched as though the sound marked the failure of something more sacred than a marriage that had already been dead for years.

Tyran followed Uncle Sal inside and began sorting through the contents of Nolan’s desk with the quiet efficiency of a man accustomed to turning his best friend’s orders into action.

I stayed near the stairs while they searched, listening to drawers open and papers shift before Cian began carrying file after file to the dining-room table.

I kept my distance because Nolan’s secrets had never contained anything except new reasons to fear him. I should have gone upstairs the moment Cian said Salvatore’s name.

Instead, my body forgot how to obey me. Air moved in and out of my lungs, but none of it reached the part of me that could think, speak, or run.