Prologue

Declan

Boston

One Year Ago

There are moments in a man’s life that determine the person he’ll become. But there’s only one defining moment that will forge the path he’ll follow. He may not even realize it at the time. It’ll breeze by as if it was just another day, another minute, another second. That single moment will be the one that changes everything. Most won’t be prepared for what follows.

I wasn’t most people.

If there was one thing I’d known from the day I was born, it was that someday I’d rule the kingdom my father had built. I was Declan Connolly, heir to the throne of one of the few Irish mobs left in the good ole U.S. of A. The land of the free. The land I’d rule without mercy until every man, once again, feared the Connolly name.

I leaned against the edge of the bar, attempting to focus on the woman before me. With one hand wrapped around my nearly empty glass of whiskey, my other traced the tip of my finger over the smooth, pale skin of her bare shoulder. She took another sip of her martini, a smile playing on her lips. 

I hated martinis.

I hated blonde hair.

I’d probably hate her after tonight. She oozed of wealth and privilege. The spoiled type who didn’t know the meaning of a hard day’s work. My guess: she was here, flirting with me, only to piss off her rich daddy for not giving into her latest extravagant demands. But I was bored, and she was attractive and somewhat entertaining. She’d been coy all night, as if I couldn’t see straight through her.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, then polished off the remnants in my glass.

Her smile grew on her ruby red lips as she placed her drink on the bar. “Depends . . .”

“On what?” I played along, even though I was growing tired of her already. I’d never been a patient man. And the fact she responded as if I’d asked her a question only annoyed me more.

“On whether you can tell me my name.” Her perfectly groomed eyebrow arched toward her platinum hairline.

We both knew I hadn’t bothered remembering it when she first introduced herself. I also hadn’t bothered giving her mine. There wasn’t a soul in this bar, in this town, who didn’t know my name. With a clenched jaw, I moved my eyes from her to the front door that had flown open, allowing a cool night breeze to sweep inside. A large man stepped into the seedy pub and scanned the crowded room quickly before his eyes met mine. Taking a few bills from my wallet to toss on the bar, I stood upright.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Leaving.”

Her face fell with her smile, her eyes darting in confusion from the money to me. “But—”

Not allowing her another word, I moved to leave.

“Wait!” She clasped onto my arm in a desperate attempt.

I briefly lowered my gaze to her hand before lifting my glare to her brown eyes. My warning didn’t need words. She snatched it away and returned it to her side. She’d crossed the line, putting as much as a finger on me after I’d made it clear I was no longer interested. Men had died for less.

She darted away this time, scurrying through the crowd back to her high-society friends. Just as well. She saved me the trouble of handling her myself. From the look on our clan chief’s face, waiting for me by the door, I had more important things to deal with. There was a thrumming in my veins that told me this could be that moment that changed things forever.

* * *

“What happened?” I growled as I climbed into the car with Patrick.

Looking into the rearview mirror as he pulled the vehicle away from the curb and into the lane, he responded, “A shipment exchange didn’t go as planned.”

Those were the only words said between the two of us as he drove me to my father’s estate in record time. The front door slammed against the wall as I barreled through. I was met by more of my father’s soldiers standing solemnly in the foyer. Immediately, I strode in the office's direction until Patrick tapped my shoulder, stopping me short. He shook his head and jutted his chin toward the stairs.

My confusion was brief before I took them two at a time in a hurry to get to his bedroom. It didn’t take a genius to know this wasn’t a normal grazing of a bullet or a small knife wound.

Two more men stood guard outside his door in the hallway. I didn’t bother acknowledging them or knocking as I gripped the handle and entered the room. The clan doctor was at his bedside with a grave expression on his weathered face. Sweat rolled from his gray hairline. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, his posture defeated.

“Get out,” I demanded.

He waited for a nod from my father before standing from the chair and gathering his things. A fit of coughing escaped from my father, forcing us both to rush to his side.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, his voice hoarse as he shoved the doctor away.

It was obvious he wasn’t. The blood-soaked bandages across his chest were evidence enough. He was dying. But there would be no argument from me or any other man in this house. Dying or not, he was still the boss. There were things we needed to discuss, and time wasn’t on our side. 

Reluctantly, the doctor left us, closing the door behind him. I took the seat he’d vacated and leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees as I assessed my old man.

My father wasn’t a weak man. He’d lived through more battle wounds than most would believe was humanly possible. In all my twenty-five years, I’d only seen him break one time—the day my mother died.

“Who did this?” I said through clenched teeth.

His eyes squeezed shut, his breathing still strangled as he reached for my wrist. With a firm hold on me, he rolled from his back to his side. Another coughing fit. This time with some blood. I handed him the already blood-stained handkerchief that was on the nightstand near an untouched glass of water. It was a few more moments before he worked up the strength to look me in the eyes and speak.

“Our biggest mistake was forming that damn alliance.” Another cough. More blood. “Find out what happened to your mother and make them pay.” His grip tightened, his face a stern warning. “Trust no one.”

Those were his last words to me before his hold loosened and his eyes rolled back into his head. My heart nearly stopped beating with his as reality set in. The burden he’d placed on me with his final command was one I was more than willing to carry.

Pay they would.

“Rest in peace, Da,” I whispered, giving his hand one last squeeze. I swept my other over the lids of his eyes, closing them for the last time.

I bowed my head, allowing myself only a moment to mourn. Then I walked into the hallway where half our clan stood in waiting. My eyes moved from one man to the next until landing on Patrick. “I want details. Fucking names. Now.”

“Declan, we need to be smart about this,” Patrick argued as he stepped forward, chest boldly lifted, holding his palms up like he was trying to calm a wild beast. There was no calming me. “You’re upset,” he continued. “Now is not the time to seek vengeance.”

Without hesitation, I pulled the Glock at my back from its holster and shot him square between the eyes. His body went limp and fell to the floor with a thump. “Anyone else have an opinion?” I asked.

Not another word was spoken. Yet, their intelligence was still to be determined. My father’s final words would be the words I lived by. I’d trust no one. Least of all his former clan chief. My father should’ve never been on that drop. The only reason he’d show his face there would be at the urging of Patrick. I had no doubt that questioning me soon after my father took his last breath was his attempt at challenging me for the position of boss.

“I want every man who was present at the exchange in my father’s office in ten minutes or their families will pay for their incompetence.”

Heads would roll for the death of my father. And the Italians weren’t the only ones responsible.