DIRTY LEGACY

A DARK FORCED MARRIAGE MAFIA ROMANCE

BB HAMEL

Copyright © 2026 by B. B. Hamel

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover design by Coverluv Book Designs

Cover photo copyright Wander Aguiar Photography

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

This book includes potentially difficult themes. Your safety is important to me, so please check this warning before reading: explicit sexual content, strong language throughout, organized crime, a forced marriage, a hero who has secretly surveilled the heroine for years, an unplanned pregnancy, graphic on-page violence, multiple shootings, revenge-porn blackmail by an ex-partner, a mother with substance dependency, parental abandonment, survivor trauma and claustrophobia, and heavy alcohol use. Full-length novel and a guaranteed HEA.

Careful with those attachments… or not, whatever.

1

ANGIE

Sorry, babe, but you fuck like you’re making a spreadsheet.

I stare at the text message as I click send on an email to the Big Boss.

I’ve read this same line over a dozen times in the last two days and I’m constantly moving from agonizing heartbreak to psychotic fury.

Years of my life vaporized in one casual message.

Right now, I’m in a downswing and feeling pathetic.

It can’t be true though, right? The sex thing, I mean. I don’t have a ton of experience, since Brad was the first guy I ever slept with. He seemed like he enjoyed it though, especially considering half the time he finished in like five minutes and left me to handle what was left of my own personal enjoyment.

I really tried with him. Like way more than he deserved, especially in retrospect.

But like with everything in my miserable life, I wasn’t good enough.

I open a folder hidden on my work computer titled Stock Photos (real clever, I know) and scroll through dozens of sexy pictures I took for him over our two-year relationship, photos which he was constantly begging me for. It was annoying at first, but I started to like it. I got good at lighting, outfits, poses, all that stuff. I flip through a particularly hot series involving nothing but a fluffy vest and fake handcuffs. I look goddamn good and he should’ve been worshipping at my feet every day and thanking the Almighty I ever let him touch me.

The rat bastard.

Bad at sex, my sweet ass.

“Angie, I can hear your teeth grinding again.”

I pop my head up and look over the wall of my cube. My best friend Nadia’s watching me from her area, one station down, on the other side of an older guy named Rick (who exhales through his nose and puts on headphones trying to drown us out). We both work in the accounting department of Washington Tow and Salvage, which isn’t glamorous, but the hours are good and I can’t complain about the pay.

“I’m fine. Honestly. Totally fine.” I click out of the sexy folder angrily, smashing the mouse with my finger. “Totally, absolutely, a hundred percent fine.”

“You’re abusing office equipment.”

“I’m fine!” I slam my hand down on the keyboard and rub my face with a groan. “Okay, sorry, you’re right.”

“That computer didn’t dump you for another woman. Pretty sure that was Brad the Douche.”

“Seriously, listen to this. It’s not you, but maybe it is a little bit. You organized my underwear drawer, you know what I mean? I love you, babe, but I want to live, and I don’t think I can if I stay with you. What the hell does that mean?!”

“Did you really organize his boxers?”

“He threw them in a bin under his bed! Honestly, Nadia, he can’t live with me? So he had to leave me for freaking Lavender Lane?”

“She does have an absolutely monstrous name.”

“Right! The most unserious human in the entire world!” Now I really am grinding my jaw thinking about Lavender. I’ve known her since grade school. She was always a pretty, flighty, outgoing, adorable party girl, and she hasn’t changed one bit over the years. The total opposite of me in every conceivable way.

Now we’re twenty-two and we’re supposed to be adults. Except Lavender spends all her time streaming on TikTok and trying to sell herbal supplements to men who only watch in the hopes they’ll see her hard nipples through her obscenely thin baby doll t-shirts.

And Brad would rather be with that?

“I’ve been saying it for a while.” Rick pops an earbud out, eyebrows knitted. “You should’ve dumped him a year ago.”

“Thanks for the insight, Rick,” I grumble and slump back down into my chair.

Where the heck did I go wrong?

Two years with Brad.

Two of my prime years, the best years of my life, the earliest of my early twenties, dumped down the drain for that loser.

Even Rick could see it, while I’ve been blind this whole time.

As I mutter angry curses to myself and plan elaborate revenge murder schemes, ideally live on Lavender’s stream, I get a text. I check my phone, halfway thinking it’s Brad the Douche, but instead my mom’s name pops up.

Dawn: hi hi can u bring home soap?

Me: Uh, sure, what kind of soap exactly?

Dawn: hahahaha great question!

Me: So what kind?

Dawn: laundry!! Stain remover!!!! For that cute romper you have? The one I stole hahahaha.

How is this my life? Another chore from my mother, who texts like a teenager but is in her late fifties, and of course she also ruined a piece of clothing I like. It’s fine, I was going to the store anyway, since Dawn Bellandi is mentally and emotionally incapable of taking care of herself, but it does annoy me that she assumes I’ll do whatever she asks.

I’m frustrated about it for ten seconds before moving on because that’s our relationship.

She fucks things up and I clean the mess.

Always been that way, always will be.

The day drags past. I have about ten thousand spreadsheets that need updating (shut the hell up, BRAD) and can’t seem to concentrate for more than a few seconds. I keep looking at Lavender’s socials, which is extremely bad, and flipping through pictures of me and Brad, which is probably worse. The office starts to empty out.

“Still here?” Nadia posts up at the entrance to my cube, her bag slung over her shoulder. She’s a few years older than me, started here at WashCo before I did, and is maybe the coolest person I’ve ever met. Her blonde hair has pink highlights and she dresses like she’s going to Paris fashion week every day, even to a dump like this. Today it’s combat boots with slacks and a vintage top that’s borderline inappropriate, but she pulls it off with a slubby cardigan.

“Unfortunately.” I spin around and lean back, clicking a pen manically. “You’re done already?”

“Yeah, you know, because I actually work during office hours. Come on, get out of here and have a drink with me.”

“I really can’t. I’m slammed.”

“You’re a data entry monkey. You move numbers from one chart to another.”

“Thank you for that.”

“It’s true. WashCo will be fine if you cut out and finish up tomorrow. You need some time off.”

She’s right. Nobody would notice or care if I left and wrapped all this up tomorrow.

But I can’t do it. I told my manager Robby I’d get this data off to the Big Boss and I still haven’t finished it all.

“Tomorrow. I promise.”

Nadia lets out a breath and shakes her head. “How are you going to meet your next man if you’re stuck in your cube all the time?”

“Tinder? Craigslist. Facebook Marketplace. I have options.”

“You’re sick but I love it. You sure you won’t change your mind?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Love you, girl. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.” Nadia gives me a tight smile before stomping off, her boots clomping on the carpet.

I watch her go. What’s the matter with me? This data stuff isn’t even that important. There’s no way the Big Boss even looks at whatever I send him. I’m about the least important person in this place, while the Big Boss built WashCo with his bare hands, if the story is true. I’m not sure how much I believe about the lore around here, but everyone swears Big Boss turned what was once a tiny little towing operation into one of the most lucrative in New York City, all before he turned thirty. Now he’s an ancient thirty-five, thirteen years my senior, and he’s done more before forty than I’ll do in my entire life.

I could blame Brad, or my mother, or Lavender Lane, but the truth is I’m stuck in my rut, trapped wriggling around like a worm in my narrow patch of dirt, and I’ll never get free.

I push on for another twenty minutes when I get an email. I’m ready to ignore it until I notice the name. It’s a reply to a message I sent hours earlier, and it’s from him.

Connor Maguire.

The Big Boss himself.

He has never written me back before. In all the time I’ve been here, which isn’t really that long, but still, I’ve never gotten anything from his email address. Part of me thought it might be fake.

But there he is, waiting in my inbox. My heart skips a beat as I remember the last time I caught a glimpse of him. Surprisingly tall, dark hair, thick brows, a shocking number of tattoos for a corporate CEO. Obscenely handsome in a way that even makes Nadia stutter like a little girl when we talk about him.

I eagerly read the message, afraid I screwed up somehow, and my stomach sinks down to my knees.

Ms. Bellandi, please come meet me in my office. I know you’re still here.

Nothing else. No explanation. No signature. Just, he knows I’m here, and he wants me immediately.

What the hell is happening?

My mouth goes dry as I push myself from my desk. How does Big Boss even know I haven’t left yet? Probably because I’ve been sending him a steady stream of bullshit reports, the last one ten minutes ago. My knees feel weak as I step into the hall and check both ways. Everyone’s gone though; the office is desolate and quiet, almost creepy. I wish Nadia were here. Heck, I’d even take Rick right about now.

I try not to breathe as I walk to the back corner of the building where Big Boss has his huge space. I’ve seen the door, but never been past it. Nobody has, not that I know of, at least. Big Boss comes in, does whatever he does, and leaves again, barely acknowledging the workers around him. He’s more myth than man, a beautiful creature that haunts the halls. Nadia says he’s shady. She also says Bigfoot is real and the Chupacabra is the Jersey Devil, so I don’t put much stock in that.

I try to get myself under control as I approach his door. This shouldn’t be happening. Is he going to fire me for being late with my reports? Did I make some horrible error bad enough that he’s going to toss my ass to the curb?

Wouldn’t that be perfect. Dumped and canned in the same week.

But I can’t lose this job. The pay is too good, even if the work stinks, and I’m the one paying rent on the apartment I share with my mom, buying groceries, restocking soaps, basically doing everything an adult should do but that my mother is incapable of handling herself.

Crap, crap, crap. Gotta pull it together. I take some deep breaths before knocking on Big Boss’s door. A voice calls from inside, low and resonant, strangely sexy. A chill runs into my toes. Come in. I get the feeling I shouldn’t be anywhere near here, like this is the start of a scary movie or something.

The interior of the office is surprisingly nice. There’s a large set of windows to the left, a simple modern carpet on the floor, and a big wooden desk in front of a massive abstract painting. The gold and silver trim screams elegance and seems so out of place for the rest of WashCo, which is about as corporate bland as possible. The lighting is muted and there’s a pair of chairs alongside a couch to my left.

I take a step inside before stopping. Behind the desk is a man. I know him from glimpses, but seeing him now, sitting there in the flesh like a king, it strikes me how he doesn’t fit in with this place. Everyone at WashCo is so normal and boring, while this man looks like he wandered in from a modeling job. His dark hair’s perfectly messy and curly. His jaw’s square and his green eyes are startling and sharp under his heavy brows. His dress shirt is open at the top showing off the dark tattoos scrolling along his tanned skin. Muscles everywhere, shoulders to forearms, to chest and down. His lips are full and pressed flat, and I can’t read his expression at all.

We call him Big Boss for a reason. It’s not just that he’s the owner and the CEO—but also because he’s massive, physically imposing, while his presence is also strangely charming and obsessive, like a painting meant to catch the eye.

I don’t want to gawk at him, but I can’t help myself.

“Uhm, hello, Mr. Maguire. You wanted to see me?”

He leans back. His chair creaks. I get a better view of him then, the way the shirt pulls across his defined chest muscles. His tattooed fingers steeple in front of him, the tips pressing against his pouty lower lip. My core clenches at the thought of that mouth on mine, of those powerfully strong hands gripping my hair⁠—

Stop it, Angie, this is your boss. It’s an HR violation to objectify him like this!

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Ms. Bellandi.” The way he says it sounds illicit somehow. Maybe it’s my dirty mind.

I stand there awkwardly waiting for him to say more. It takes a lot of effort not to start twirling my auburn hair. That’s my nervous gesture and my mom always says it makes me look like an idiot. Her exact words are about as smart as a cat in heat.

The moment stretches. Big Boss stares at me, drinking me in, and I want to scream. What’s going on? What did I do wrong? Is he angry right now? I honestly can’t tell. His face is a mask, caught somewhere between boredom and annoyance.

Finally, I break. “Was there something wrong with one of my reports? I’m sorry, I double check everything, but if I made a mistake⁠—“

“Actually, yes, it was one of your emails.” His head cocks to the side curiously. “You work in accounting, isn’t that right, Ms. Bellandi?”

“Yes, that’s right.” My cheeks flush red with embarrassment. Oh my god, I’ve been so distracted by Brad the Douche that I’ve totally screwed myself. Now the sexiest and most terrifying man I’ve ever seen in my life is going to fire me.

“Do you enjoy your job?” He sounds genuinely curious, and it’s not the question I expected.

“Ah, um, it’s good, yes,” I manage to stutter. “I like numbers.”

I like numbers.

Jesus Christ, Angie, what the hell is wrong with you?

“That’s good. I’m glad you like numbers.” Connor reaches for his laptop. “I get a lot of emails, Ms. Bellandi, but most aren’t interesting. They’re numbers, as you said, and while they’re important, they rarely catch my attention. But something you sent me earlier this afternoon broke through the noise. I’ve been staring at it for hours now.”

I feel like I might be sick. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Maguire. If I messed up that badly⁠—“

He turns the screen to face me.

“Did you mean to send me these?”

My jaw drops open. The world goes blank. All I can see is the image glowing like it’s the damn sun.

It’s… it’s me.

I’m sitting on my desk chair at home in front of my full-length mirror. I’m in a pair of cute purple panties with lots of lace. They’re my favorites. My legs are spread. The lighting is dim, but it makes my pale skin seem almost tanned. I’m topless, pressing my tits together, my pink nipples stiff. My mouth is open, my tongue pressed against my teeth. My expression is unmistakably: come fuck me until I scream.

Oh, no.

Oh… oh, god, please, no.

Connor taps the edge of the screen, his voice softening. “There’s a lot more where this came from, but I liked this particular shot. Let me ask you one more time, Ms. Bellandi, since you don’t seem able to reply.” He leans forward, gaze smoldering into mine. “Did you mean to send me an entire folder of nudes earlier today?”

Fuck.

I sent my terrifying boss Stock Photos.

And now my life is over.

2

ANGIE

My brain glitches and skitters around desperately as I try to come up with something to say. Deny it all? Pretend like I was hacked? Make some lame excuse?

Cry. Start crying. That might work? Unless he’s into weepy girls…

But something he said nags. I’ve been chewing on it for hours now. And he’s not saying he’s upset or acting like he’s embarrassed for me at all, but instead he seems like he’s trying to figure out if I meant that nude-photo dump as some kind of awkward attempt at flirting.

Looking at the guy, he seems like this might not be the first time a woman’s thrown a bunch of nudes at him out of nowhere.

“I don’t… I didn’t…” I start saying, but my cheeks are burning and I can’t breathe, and I’m looking at myself and myself is looking right back, tits out, legs spread.

Connor seems to understand. He turns the screen away from me again. But I notice he doesn’t close the image. “You aren’t in trouble, Ms. Bellandi. I’m only trying to understand what happened. I’m not upset.”

“I’m so sorry,” I finally manage to blurt out, which is probably what I should’ve led with. “I’ve been having a really hard week, and I’ve been busy with those expense reports, and I guess I attached the wrong files⁠—“

He holds up a hand to stop my flood of explanations. “Why do you keep these images on your work computer?”

I cover my face, ready to implode out of existence. “My mother.”

“Your mother?”

“She snoops on everything. There’s no such thing as privacy.”

“You’re an adult, Ms. Bellandi. Your mother can’t punish you for photographing yourself.”

“No, you don’t understand. I wouldn’t get in trouble. She’d want to offer advice, which is way worse. Please, Mr. Maguire, I’m so sorry.”

He leans back in his chair again with a sigh. “So it was a mistake then.” He sounds… strangely disappointed.

I nod, feeling small and stupid. “I know that sort of thing is inappropriate in the workplace. I never should have kept them on my work laptop. I’ll delete the folder, I swear.”

“That’s a shame.” He crosses his arms. My eyes catch on them, on the ink visible, the veins and the muscle. Two words in black, wrapped in ivy and flowers, cut through with a sword. Family-Death.

“What’s a shame?” I ask, lips numb, chest heaving.

“Deleting all these pictures. You’re very good at photographing yourself, Ms. Bellandi. Exceptional.”

“Thank… thank you.” I bite my lip, aware that this is straying into dangerous territory. He should not be saying anything remotely like that. HR would burn him to the ground and he’s practically begging for a sexual harassment lawsuit.

And yet… my cheeks are flushed red and his praise is like a fireworks display in my heart.

After Brad dumped me for Lavender Lane, I’ve been feeling like a slug smashed into a messy pulp. My self-esteem is practically in the gutter.

But if a man like Connor Maguire finds me attractive…

No, stop, this is stupid and weird!

“I’m aware of the situation we’re in right now, Ms. Bellandi. There is a… power imbalance in this room.” He says those words like he enjoys them. His lips tug into the barest hint of a smile, but his eyes remain hard. It’s terrifying and arousing all at once. I lick my lips, hands shaking. “I’m going to ask you something, and if you say no, you can turn around and leave this office with no repercussions. Your photos will be deleted. The email will disappear. It will be as if this little mistake never happened. Do you understand?”

I nod, a whimper deep in my throat. I know what’s coming next. I know what he wants by the way his eyes graze down my body, simmering with heat and lust. He glances at the screen again, and I know what he’s seeing. That’s me, my breasts, my mouth, my legs.

He looks back and I know he’s comparing, weighing, judging, wondering: does she really look like that under all her frumpy clothes?

Under that too-big sweater? Those thick dress slacks? The ugly shoes?

Yes, asshole, I really freaking do.

“What do you want to ask me, Mr. Maguire?”

I don’t know why I say it. Like I’m challenging him. Like, screw you, asshole, I really am hot. I can be sexy! Sometimes! Under the right circumstances! And sure, maybe my ex told me I give head like I’m trying to clean a drain with my teeth (whatever that means) but he can kick rocks and screw himself.

Connor Maguire’s hands press against his desk as he stands. Crap, I forgot how tall he is. Big and broad, a massive hulking brute of a man. How does he even fit in this room? He’s so out of place in an office, it’s like a joke. He should be in a ring beating another man to a pulp or something, covered in blood and brains, reveling in death and broken bones.

“I have an hour open in my schedule this evening. Would you like to recreate one of these poses for me, Ms. Bellandi?”

Oh, shit.

I knew it was coming. Maybe not that, exactly, but something like it.

This man wants me.

There’s no denying the lust-dripping hunger in his eyes.

And maybe under other circumstances, I’d be repulsed, but not tonight. Not with Connor Maguire. And he’s right, there’s a power imbalance… but for some sick reason, that makes this so much hotter.

It’s wrong. This situation, it’s everything I should hate.

I’m a good person. I follow the rules. I do the right thing, always, a living contrast to my nightmare of a mother, to my deadbeat father, to my loser ex-boyfriend.

Good girls don’t get themselves into situations like this one.

Good girls get the hell out of the office when the Big Boss propositions them.

But I’ve been good for a long time, and it hasn’t gotten me anything but dumped, abused, taken advantage of, and ignored.

Right now, for the next hour, good can go ahead and screw itself.

“Which were you thinking?” I whisper, heart racing wildly, right up into my throat.

Connor’s expression barely reacts. It’s like he knew what I’d say.

He comes around the desk, his body shockingly powerful and well-built. I step back, afraid he’s going to touch me and also desperately wanting him to, but he moves past, to the door, and turns the lock.

It clicks home with a sharp thud.

Oh, god. For a brief moment, I think I’m stuck. Trapped again. Metal all around. Heat, screams, broken glass, blood. No, I’m not there, I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m safe.

He pauses, going still, brows tugging down. “Are you alright? I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, Ms. Bellandi. I’m only making sure nobody interrupts.”

“It’s okay.” I drift to the couch and sit on the edge. “I have trouble with enclosed spaces sometimes.”

“Should I open the lock?”

“No, no, it’s really… it’s okay.” I drag in a stumbling breath through my nose and smooth my palms over my thighs. “You were going to tell me which image you like best.”

His smile is wicked. It’s delicious, filled with promise, and terrifying. I want to laugh and scream. Who is this girl right now? I don’t recognize myself reflected in his gaze.

“The one I showed you. Stay right there. Top off. Legs spread. I want you to look at me the way you looked at that camera. Was that photo for a boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend.” I don’t move, heart pounding, adrenaline spiking. “Are you going to…”

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

I look down at my feet. “I mean, are you going to take my picture?”

“No, angel, I won’t.”

I stiffen. Nobody calls me angel. “Just Angie.”

“You keep calling me Mr. Maguire. Whenever you’re ready, angel.”

Asshole. I look up again, dizzy with excitement and nervous energy, and it’s now or never. I have to make a call. Get up, run away, maybe always regret never having a shot at being with a man like Big Boss⁠—

I reach down and tug my sweater over my head.

One smooth motion. I toss it aside, trembling with nerves.

Connor watches from across the room, rapt. His attention is intoxicating. I unbutton my slacks, kick off my shoes, and lift my hips. Slowly, I take my pants off.

And show him the purple panties.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his mouth open.

I can’t stop the smile. Yeah, sometimes life works out. I don’t normally wear the sexy stuff to work but I forgot to do laundry.

“Your lucky day.”

“You have no idea, angel.” His voice is laced with desperate want. It’s incredible, hearing a man like him talk like that.

Like I’m worth wanting. Like he’s going to collapse if he doesn’t see more of me.

Boring, good-girl Angie.

His angel.

Confidence floods me. I’ve never felt this way in my life, not a single time. I’m a nothing girl from nowhere New York, an anonymous nobody with a two-year degree and a dim future. I should never, ever command the attention of a man like Connor Maguire.

Except he’s almost shaking as I continue to strip.

Arousal burns into my core. I’m so wet I bet he can smell it. That should mortify me, but it doesn’t. Instead, I let my hair down, shaking it out like in the photo, pretending like I’m back in my room and preparing to get naked for another series of pics. I slip off my undershirt and unhook my bra. Connor’s mouth falls open and he stands as still as a statue.

“It’s okay, Mr. Maguire,” I whisper, not even sure where my voice is coming from, how I’m saying anything at all right now when I’m this afraid, but it’s like I’m buzzing with new energy, like I’m someone else. “You can come closer.”

He lets out the most erotic, sexy groan I’ve ever heard.

I sit on the edge of the couch. My clothes are tossed around me. I look at him and slowly spread my knees open, showing my purple panties, and press my tits together like in the photo. The pose is simple, one I’ve done a billion times; but for some reason, it breaks him.

Connor Maguire unbuckles his belt.

My mouth opens in surprise. I grip my thighs, motionless. He moves closer, unzipping his slacks. One powerful hand slips down the front… down into his boxer briefs (black and simple)…

And he grips himself.

He grips… his hard cock.

Holy fuck. I catch a glimpse of him. Massive, thick, a huge outline under his cotton underwear.

“You’re incredible, angel. Fuck, you are beautiful.”

“What else do you want, Mr. Maguire?”

I’m fully in the role now. Good-girl Angie’s dead and gone. I’m his angel now, and she’s a filthy slut.

“Turn around. On your knees.”

I smile to myself. Another classic. I know exactly what he wants. I shift my weight, getting up on the cushions, my elbows on the back of the couch. I keep my knees spread, back arched so my spine looks long and my ass is pressed out, and turn to look over my shoulder.

“Like this?”

He moans, stroking himself. “Just like that. Fuck, where have you been hiding?”

“Accounting.”

“One hand on your ass.”

I touch myself the way he’s asking. “More?”

“Move that hand slowly… like that… slowly around your hips and down between your legs.”

I shiver, staring as he keeps stroking. His slacks sink down his hips, down to his knees.

His thighs are covered in ink.

His cock is rock hard and huge.

It doesn’t take much convincing. I let him watch as I reach around my hips, find my pussy, and place my hand over myself.

I’m burning hot and dripping wet.

“Like this?”

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “Look at you, angel.”

“Do you like to watch me, Mr. Maguire?”

“Yes, I fucking do.” His eyes burn with need. He comes closer. “Do you like this, angel? Do you like that I’m touching my cock while watching you right now?”

“Yes,” I say and really, really mean it.

“Stroke yourself. Slowly. Do it now.”

Oh, god.

I obey, because I desperately want to. My hand presses as I move down my pussy, pressing against my lips, palm then fingers grazing against my swollen, aroused clit.

“Like this?”

“Just like that, angel. Up and down. Does that feel good?”

“So good,” I say, a moan escaping my lips. It’s so dirty and I shouldn’t be making noise like that, but I also shouldn’t be letting my boss watch me like this, so it’s time to let go. I stroke a little firmer. “Oh, fuck, Mr. Maguire.”

“You dirty girl,” he groans. How the hell am I making him come undone? Just by touching myself? “Hand inside your panties now.”

I do it eagerly. I’m so freaking wet it’s amazing. My fingers slide up and down and I moan louder. “Mr. Maguire,” I whimper. “You’re staring.”

“Fingers inside. Deep inside.”

I gasp, arching, as I do it. I sink them in, shoulders balling, chin to my chest. “Fuck.”

“Just like that. Look at you, angel, you’re trembling. You’re so beautiful it makes me want to ruin you.”

“Please,” I whisper.

I look over my shoulder. He’s closer, stroking himself faster. “Please, what?”

“More.”

“More, what?”

“I want… I want more.” I bite my lips, whimpering, moaning as I touch myself. “Don’t make me say it.”

“But you have to, angel. Tell me what you want. Obey me.”

I gasp at that word, obey, and cry out with pleasure. “I want you to fuck me, please.”

He lets out a growl of need, pure lust and animal want. He crosses to me, his briefs coming off, getting kicked aside. My eyes widen at his cock—it’s thick, vein-covered, massive. Ink comes right to the edge of his shaft, some spilling onto the bottom. Roses and flowers. How much of him is covered in tattoos?

His hand grabs my wrist, the one between my legs. I whimper, breathing fast, afraid. Connor Maguire is huge. His cock is enormous. He could break me. No, he’s going to break me. I’ll be ruined after this, but I don’t care. Nothing matters, not anymore.

Only him.

Slowly, he pulls my hand from between my legs, and lifts it to his lips.

I almost scream, it’s so sexy, as he licks my fingers. He sucks them, his tongue soft and warm, low growls in his throat like he’s loving it. “Honey, salt, heaven,” he says against my skin. “You taste so fucking good.”

“Mr. Maguire…”

He puts my hand back on the couch and tugs my panties down. I yelp, breathing hard.

“Tell me you want me to fuck you now, angel.”

“Do I have to obey?”

His palm grips my hair and tugs my head back. I gasp in surprise at the sudden, powerful display of control. “Yes, angel, you know that. You don’t get what you want unless you do as I say.”

“Please, Mr. Maguire.”

“Tell me you want me to fuck you now.”

“I want you to fuck me now.” My eyes lock on his, daring him, pleading with him, afraid, aroused, on the edge of breaking already, ready for him to pull me to pieces. “Please, Mr. Maguire.”

He moans, spits in his hand, rubs it all around his tip, and then⁠—

Sinks between my legs.

Fuuuuck. He’s so big. He slips inside me, slowly at first. His moans are heaven as I’m stretched to my limits, on the verge of breaking completely. It hurts, feels good, feels like I’m so full I’m going to scream.

“Good fucking girl, angel,” he whispers in my ear, kissing my neck. His grip on my hair tightens. “You’re going to take every inch, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Maguire.”

He moans, strokes deep into me, and slowly slides back out.

“I’m going to fucking break inside you, angel,” he says, tone trembling. “God, you’re so sexy, it’s wrong.”

“It’s wrong,” I agree, and shimmy my hips. “But I want more.”

He gives me everything. His cock sinks in with a thrust and I’m gone, I’m done. I can’t breathe. His masculine groan of bliss destroys what’s left of my self-control. I grind into him as he fucks me on the couch, driving deep into my pussy, one hand in my hair and the other on my hips. I’ve never been more broken, never been flying closer to the edge. I cry out his name, moaning it, gasping. Mr. Maguire! And he likes that, it makes him fuck me harder, his teeth sinking into my shoulder.

“God damn it, angel, you feel so fucking good,” he says, nipping my neck. “I’m so close. I can’t hold on.”

“More,” I whimper, greedily, grinding into him. “More, please, more.”

He thrusts again, and again, until I feel my core clench down tight, the tension reaching peak.

“Come for me, angel, while I fill you to the brim.”

My trigger pulls and I shatter. I break for him, just like he wanted, and I feel his desperate thrusts, his grip tightening, his moans getting wild. I feel his warmth as he comes, sending my orgasm into the next level, my skin flushed, sweat dripping down my body, my vision tunneling into black. I’m left gasping for air, pinned against the couch, boneless and weak as he leans over me and pulls my head to the side⁠—

And crushes his mouth to mine.

Our first kiss, I think stupidly. His tongue is bourbon and mint. It’s sweet and dark, oaky and warm. I kiss him back, maybe too eagerly. He stays inside me for a beat, forehead to mine, breathing in deep.

“You feel so fucking good, Ms. Bellandi,” he says gently, voice shaking. “Can I ask for one more favor?”

“You want more? Aren’t you getting greedy now, Mr. Maguire?”

His grip on my ass tightens. “You don’t know how greedy I can be, Ms. Bellandi.”

“What do you want?”

“Three pictures from your folder. Three and no more.”

“You don’t want them all?”

“Fuck,” he moans. “If I keep more, I’ll spend the rest of my life beating my cock to a pulp. I have work to do, Ms. Bellandi. I can’t afford a distraction like you.”

“Then three is acceptable, Mr. Maguire.”

He slips out and moves away. I turn, flushed, happy, still floating from the orgasm. He stands in front of me like a god, tattooed and beautiful, more man than I’ve ever seen. His cock’s still half hard and it’s enormous, swollen and lovely. I have the impulse to kiss the tip, but I don’t. Instead, I shimmy my panties back into place and start getting dressed.

“You don’t have to worry,” he says, doing the same.

“It’s fine. You said we have an hour. How long was that?”

“I lost track,” he admits, checking his watch. It’s a shiny silver Rolex. “Damn.”

“I should get going.”

He adjusts his shirt and buttons it. “You don’t have to.”

“Really, it’s fine. This was—“ I don’t even know how to describe it. Insane? Reckless? Incredible? I walk over and kiss him on the cheek. “Keep the pictures if you want. I don’t care.”

“Only three.” His hand presses to the small of my back. “I won’t ask for more.”

I hear the implication. There won’t be a second round.

And strangely, that’s okay with me.

It’s ideal.

This man’s all wrong. Everything about him screams danger. Nadia’s right: he’s shady as hell in ways I’m not sure I’m ready to understand.

And while I can be his filthy angel for an hour, that’s not who I am, not really.

I pull on my pants, tug on my undershirt, and slip into my frumpy sweater.

I’m boring, good-girl Angie, and always will be.

“How do I look?” I ask, pulling my hair back into position.

His gaze is longing. He tears it away, back to the laptop. “You look perfect, Ms. Bellandi.”

“Then I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, Mr. Maguire.”

“Oh, and Ms. Bellandi? One more thing.”

I unsnap the lock on his door and look back. “Yes, sir?”

He shivers at that.

“No more dirty pictures in my office.”

I do my best not to smile. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

3

CONNOR

“Why do you keep looking at the door?” Marcus cranes his neck with a grunt. He glares back at me, head cocked to the side. “Have you heard anything I’ve been saying?”

“I always hang on every word, you know that.” I lean back in my chair and sip from my glass of bourbon, trying very hard not to stare over Marcus’s shoulder like I have been for the last half hour of this so-called strategy meeting.

My best friend scowls but decides to let it go. He snaps shut his portfolio and goes to pour himself a drink. That’s Marcus: no fun until the work’s all done. It’s what makes him annoying but a fantastic top lieutenant.

“Then you’re on board? We expand the real estate holdings? I’m telling you, Connor, those apartments are going to be profitable. That whole neighborhood’s gentrifying.”

“They’ve been saying Bushwick’s turning over forever. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“If you’d look at the numbers—“ He taps his glass against the edge of my desk. “Connor? You fucking kidding me, bro?”

I grimace and force my eyes off the goddamn door.

She’s not going to walk through it.

“Leave the papers with me. Nothing digital.”

“You realize this is an actual investment, right? Nothing illegal?”

“Doesn’t matter. Can’t hurt to be paranoid.”

Marcus laughs at that and throws back his drink. He’ll be satisfied for a few days, at least until he decides I’ve had enough time to make up my mind, then he’ll be back in here jamming his ideas down my throat. Which is fine, I can handle him, and I need men like him pushing the family into the future. That’s how I’ve managed to take the Maguire crew, barely more than a smattering of car thieves and burglars, and turn it into one of the largest and most thriving families in New York.

There’s always more business to do. WashCo’s one thing, but the Maguire holdings are expanding. It’s a dangerous game, getting big in a city like this, but I thrive on the competition. Let the other families worry. Let them dream of putting a bullet in my head.

Can’t kill me if they’re all dead.

“Seriously, what’s got you so distracted?” Marcus slumps back into his chair. Now that the portfolio’s on my desk and his pitch is finished, he can go back to being my friend. A clear division of labor.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Heard that before. You worried about the Whelans? They breathing down your neck again?”

I shake my head. “I got a meeting with Declan in an hour but I’m not worried about it.”

“Then what’s the deal?”

Angie’s the fucking deal. The three images still on my hard drive. My dick’s sore from how many times I’ve beaten myself off to her in the last twenty-four hours, ever since I took her on my couch ten feet away.

“Business,” I grunt at him, which is clearly not true, but Marcus decides to let it pass.

He knows me too damn well. When I decide I’m stubborn about something, there’s no changing my mind. My mother, God rest her soul, used to kiss my cheek and tell me I’d better learn to roll or else get smashed like a rock in the road. I think it made more sense in Gaelic or something.

We finish our drinks and Marcus lets himself out. I skim the proposal and have to admit it’s tempting. I’ll want to meet with the other investors, speak with the property manager, tour the building myself, but Marcus already did most of the groundwork. By the time I’m done reading, I have fifteen minutes to get over to the Whelan house.

It’s late, well past eight at night, and the office is empty. Even still, I swear there’s a light on in accounting. If I close my eyes, I can hear Angie typing, hear her laughing with that Russian friend of hers, Natalia or whatever. I can taste her again, feel her moans against my tongue, and I force myself to get the hell out of there before I end up on my knees sniffing the seat of her chair like a pathetic dog.

Wouldn’t be the first time, either.

I’ve been so good for so long. It was easy, back in the day. Angie was young back when I first got involved in her life. But she’s grown up, and I’ve tried to keep seeing her as that teen hero who deserved more than she got, but I couldn’t do it. Angie morphed into a beautiful young woman against my goddamn wishes.

That resolve shattered when I saw the email.

I swear, clicking that attachment, I had no idea what I was about to find. I would’ve deleted the fucking thing if I had known. It was like a crack addict getting a fresh hit after being clean for a few months. Looking in that folder and seeing Angie’s sexy face gazing back at me, her body twisted and posed, partially covered and fully bare, it straight up ruined me. Broke whatever was left.

I never should have responded. I almost didn’t. I stared at her all day, fighting with myself, until the words came out on their own.

Fuck, and now that it happened?

What the hell am I going to do?

I’m already desperate to see her again.

But Angie’s not part of my world. She brushed against it once, a long time ago, and I owe her more than she realizes, but I won’t risk drawing her closer. Bad enough, giving her a job at WashCo, but this is my legitimate side.

If I started seeing her regularly? If my enemies ever found out about her?

No, there’s a reason I don’t get involved.

By the time I park near the Whelan family manor, I’ve managed to push Angie to the back of my head. She won’t stay there; that girl is like a wolf prowling at the bars of its cage, and she’ll break out sooner or later. Alone, late at night, she’ll come to me in a flash, and I’ll have my fist around my cock, eyes fixed on those three fucking pictures like a junkie.

How long can I last like this?

“Connor! Declan told me you were coming and I almost didn’t believe it.” A beautiful woman with thick auburn hair greets me at the front door to the Whelan house. It’s a massive brownstone in Hell’s Kitchen, though they have properties all over the city.

“Hey, Casey. It’s good to see you.”

I hug my boss’s wife. She beams at me, and I have to admit, she looks fantastic, like she hasn’t aged a day since we first met ten years ago, back when I was first coming into control of the Maguire clan.

“Declan’s in his study,” she says, leading me into the foyer. “You know the way. I’d stay and chat but⁠—“

“Mom!” A kid’s voice echoes from further in the house. “Where’d you go?”

Casey sighs and smiles at me. “Homework,” she says. “And of course she left it to the last second.”

“You’d better go before Nora revolts. I’ll stop by and say hello to the little terror before I go.”

“She’d love that.” Casey’s smile falters. “Everything’s good, right? I mean, with you?”

“Sure, of course, why wouldn’t it be? You know me.”

“Right, I just mean—“ She looks toward her husband’s study. “Have you spoken with him yet?”

“With Declan?” I frown, not sure where this is going. Casey’s marginally involved in clan business, though I’ve always suspected she knows more than she lets on. “Not for a few weeks. He told me to show up.”

“Right, right, okay.” She lets out a breath. “Typical Declan. I swear, it’s like he forgets…” She trails off.

“Forgets what?”

“Mom! Come on!”

“Sorry, it’s nothing. Don’t worry, alright? It won’t be bad.” She squeezes my arm. “Good luck.”

“Hold on, Casey, what’s—“ But she’s already walking off. I watch her go, confused.

Am I about to get my skull blown off?

I walk toward Declan’s study, mentally going over all the business I’ve done since the last time we spoke. There’s nothing remotely bad or important going on.

My operation has very close ties with the Whelans. They installed me into power back when my cousin was killed during a war in those days. Now I’m something like an extension of their outfit, though with full independent control of my day-to-day dealings.

There’s no bad blood between us. Me and Declan get along fine.

So why did Casey seem worried?

I knock on the office door and let myself inside. It’s the same as always. Declan prefers a conservative space: rich wood, lots of leather, muted grays and blacks. Books on bookshelves, files in filing folders, and a fireplace filled with ash. Everything’s impeccably aligned, dusted, and polished to a shine. The Whelan boss sits behind a big mahogany executive desk hunched over a laptop, tapping the end of a pen against his square chin. He’s got more gray in his black hair, though it’s still thick and luxurious. His bright green eyes meet mine and the pen stops tapping.

“Connor, glad you made it. Come inside, shut the door.”

“How are things, Declan?” Normally, I’d grab a drink, but I decide to settle into a chair across from him instead. Nerves jangle in my guts. Casey’s got me on fucking edge, but there’s nothing wrong. Can’t be.

“Ah, you know. Shit rises up to me, I shove the shit back down, the whole show continues.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. Declan’s mid-fifties, twenty years older than his wife. She’s closer to my age than to his.

“Sounds like my job.”

“That’s because we aren’t so different.” He closes his laptop lid and gets up. “You want a drink?”

“Always.”

He pours two, which sets me on edge. Normally, I’m the one sipping his good booze. Declan cut back a few years ago. Told me once that his kids made him want to be clear and to live well into his nineties. Always sounded like sentimental bullshit to me.

“Cheers,” I say as he takes the chair beside me. Another big red flag. Declan’s a good boss, but I wouldn’t say we’re friends. He likes to keep his professional relationships professional, and I’ve always appreciated that about him.

“I need to ask you a personal question. Don’t take it the wrong way.” He raps a ring against the glass. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Angie. Fuck. He knows about Angie. But how the hell would he, and why would it matter if he did? I’m not breaking any rules by fucking her. Except maybe some HR compliance bullshit.

“Nobody.” I cover my discomfort by drinking. It’s my usual tactic.

“That’s good. Makes this easier.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the window behind his desk. “Look, Connor, you know how our families operate. The clans are still obstinately old school. We’re modernizing, but slowly, and only when it comes to actual business. Everything else is still handshakes, blood bonds, and marriages.”

A chill runs down my spine. “I’ve kept out of clan politics for a while now.”

“That’s smart. You’ve grown a lot. We’re all proud of what you’ve made of the Maguire clan.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.”

He nods, but he’s not smiling. “But it’s why I have to ask this of you. Connor, you’ve gotten big enough that the other families have noticed.”

“Not sure what you’re even asking here.”

“There are some alliances in our world that need blood. Not a death, but a life, or at least the promise of one. Vows and oaths are a good start. But family is bigger than words.”

I tighten my grip on the glass. The single large cube clatters against the sides. “Come out and say it.”

Declan sits back. His spine straightens and he meets my gaze. This is the boss of the Whelan clan, one of the most powerful individuals in the eastern United States. Most of New York City is his playground, and most of the other crime outfits pay him homage.

“I’m creating an alliance between my organization and the Gallagher family, and I need you to cement it.”

I open my mouth in surprise. The Gallagher family is one of the oldest Irish crime clans left. They’re independent and have never shown any interest in becoming a vassal of the Whelans or anyone else. There’s still money and power wrapped up in their name.

“The Gallaghers? Really? How did you manage that?”

He gives me a wry smile. “Years of conversations. Months of hard negotiations. And a marriage proposal.”

I grin back, sipping my drink. “Marriage? Seriously? You already giving away your kids?”

“Not my kids, Connor. Like I said, I need you to cement it.”

I push my chair back as it hits me. He doesn’t move, his face showing nothing, as the words penetrate. I stand, shaking my head, and take a step back, my blood running into sludge in my veins. “You’re not being serious.”

“Her name is Sinead. She’s twenty-nine, beautiful, and very intelligent. Well-educated, connected to just about everyone, and already said she’s willing, God knows what her father said to convince her. She’ll make a good wife, Connor. Marrying Sinead Gallagher will guarantee my alliance with her family, and it’ll give your operation the biggest boost imaginable. With her by your side and her family’s influence behind you, the Maguires will grow exponentially. We’ll all profit from this.”

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

He’s asking me to marry a woman I’ve never met. It’s a political arranged fucking thing, and it’s a Gallagher. That means access in ways I can’t begin to dream about. It means growth, investments, political favors⁠—

It means never, ever touching Angie ever again.

Shit. Fuck. Even now, in this moment, she slips back into my head. Angie shouldn’t have anything to do with this decision—and it’s not even a decision, more like an inevitability—but a part of me rebels against this nightmare anyway.

Who the fuck is Declan to pick my wife? Who the fuck is anyone to tell me who I marry and who I don’t?

Angie’s face flashes through my mind, the taste of her, the feeling of my dick slipping inside of her, the moans, the gasps⁠—

I’ll never have it again.

“I know it’s a lot,” Declan says, getting up to refill his glass. He brings the bottle over and tops me up. “I know you’re stunned. You’re probably trying to find an excuse to say no. But listen to me, Connor. You have to do this. Not just for me, but for yourself and your family. I know how hard an arrangement like this can be. You still can’t turn it down.”

He’s right.

Damn him, he’s right.

This Sinead Gallagher will change my life. She’ll bring new strength to my people, and that’s what a boss does in the end. That’s my obligation.

I sacrifice for the strength of the clan.

But a small, selfish voice still screams in the back of my head: what about Angie?

“When?” I ask, my voice coming out distant. I take a long drink.

“Two months. You can take a few days to consider⁠—“

“I’ll do it.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“We both know there isn’t a choice here.”

Declan nods and there’s real resignation in his expression. “You’re a good man, Connor. I’ve made a lot of mistakes as the boss of this clan over the years, but you’re not one of them.”

“Yeah, I hope not.” I knock back my glass. Thousand-dollar bourbon straight into my stomach. “When can I meet her?”

“A few days. I’ll arrange it with her father.”

“And the wedding?”

“Everything will be handled for you, don’t worry.”

“Now I know why Casey seemed off.”

Declan sighs, eyes flicking to the door. “She hates this part of the job.”

“Can’t blame her.”

“But you’re doing the right thing.”

“I know. The right thing still feels like shit sometimes.”

He nods and I know he understands better than almost anyone. “Go home, Connor, get some rest. If you have second thoughts⁠—“

“I won’t.” I walk to the door and open it. I pause, only for a second, thinking about Angie, but I have to let her go. She’s not in my life anymore. Not now, not ever. “Tell the family I said hello. I told Casey I’d stop back there and talk to the kids, but⁠—“

“No worries. She’ll understand.”

I leave the office and pause in the dark hallway. The sounds of Casey and Declan’s family echo toward me. A child’s laughter, their ten-year-old daughter Nora, and the younger one Siobhan, an eight-year-old menace. I close my eyes, hand braced against the wall. I see myself with Angie, our kids surrounding us, we’re in a warm and well-lit living room, the little ones are playing with each other and Angie’s leaning against my side, and that was never going to happen, this sick and stupid fantasy, and now it’s dust. I picture it all burning. I shove it down deep somewhere I won’t ever feel it again.

Sinead Gallagher is my future, whoever she is, and Angie’s nothing more than a girl who works for me now.

4

ANGIE

Six Weeks Later

There are certain things I’m really good at not thinking about.

Like those enormous Australian spiders. Or rabid dogs chasing me in the park. Or the way Rick snorts and grunts when his allergies are acting up.

Or how my period’s late. No, I don’t think about that, no way, no thanks.

I have bigger problems as I heft my grocery bags through the apartment building’s front door. The elevator’s broken yet again. I angle toward the stairs already preparing myself for an upward death march, purposefully not thinking, when I spot the landlord Dennis stalking toward me.

Ah, shit, that’s never good. I see Dennis once a month, when I hand over the check. Any other time, and it’s a very bad sign.

“Angelina! Can I have a word, please?”

Freaking Dennis. I turn and give him my best smile, arms getting tired from holding all my groceries. “Sure, what can I do for you?”

He pauses, stroking a hand through his patchy white beard. I don’t know how old Dennis is, but he’s definitely not young. The guy’s always in gray slacks and white shirts, and it’s like he’s a marshmallow person, soft and doughy, devoid of any color.

“There have been some complaints.” He crosses his arms and spreads his legs, getting into a power stance. Please, God, hurry it along.

“What happened?” I ask, although that really means, what did she do now?

“It’s the smoke. I know it’s legal in the city, but we have rules in the building, you know that.”

“I’m so sorry.” I lift one bag, getting a better grip. “I’ll talk to her.”

“I tried going to your mother directly, but you know how she can be. She says all the right things, but I’m not sure she’s really hearing me.”

“I promise, I’ll talk to her.”

“It’s too much, you know? That much marijuana can’t be healthy for anyone.”

He’s got no idea. “She’ll cut back.”

And then hell will freeze over.

“It’s not just the smoking. It’s the music⁠—“

“I’ll have her turn it down.”

“And the drums.”

“I’ll break them. I promise.”

He runs a hand through his thin hair. “I like you, Angelina. Unlike your mother, you’re dependable. I don’t want to cause you trouble, but you have to see my side. I have other folks to worry about. And your mother, her apartment is rent-controlled⁠—“

And he’d use just about any excuse to kick her ass out.

“I understand. I’ll talk to her.”

“I hope so.” He turns away. “Good luck with that.”

I grunt and push open the door to the stairwell with my hip. He didn’t even offer to help me with all this stuff, the bastard.

But I can’t be too mad at him. Dennis wants to get rid of us, but fortunately, he’s incompetent, lazy, and spineless, which means Mom has been able to skate past on her good looks for years and years. The thing is though, without rent control, I don’t know what’ll happen to her. We can’t afford this neighborhood anymore, and there’s no way in hell Mom’s going to move anywhere else, let alone get a job. God forbid she earns a living.

No, that’s been on me ever since I was fifteen years old.

I lug everything up the stairs. The conversation with Dennis gets filed away in the drawer of all the things I don’t think about, like my period being late—but no, nothing, never mind, it’s fine. I fumble with the front door lock and step inside, greeted by the reek of weed and the stereo playing Jefferson Airplane.

“Mom! I’m back!” I sigh with relief when I get the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. I don’t bother waiting for her to come help put it all away. When I’m finished, I find Dawn Bellandi sprawled on the couch in a shawl and a pair of yoga sweats, a joint between her fingers, a stoned smile on her face.

“Hello, darling,” she says and wiggles her wrist in a greeting. “How was—“ She flexes her toes toward the wall. “The outside world?”

“It was great.” I yank open the blinds and crack the window. “You should try it sometime.”

“You know I love fresh air, but alas, my sciatica⁠—“

“I know, I know, it’s okay.” I sit heavily in a chair beside the couch. “Did you eat?”

“Sometime.”

“Recently?”

“I’m sure.”

“I’ll cook.”

“Darling, it’s fine.” She parts her thick, dark curls. Despite being in her late fifties, my mother is still stunning. She’s toned and her skin is immaculate. I swear, she looks like she could be my sister. It’s simply not fair. I don’t know how a woman can sit around smoking weed and doing nothing else for twenty years and not age a day. “You know the universe always feeds me.”

“My name’s Angie, not The Universe,” I mutter at her and stretch my legs. “What do you want? I was going to make some salads⁠—“

“Chicken nuggets.”

“Excuse me? I thought you were a vegetarian.”

Mom sits up abruptly and takes a big hit. “I got a sign! From the stars!” She gestures at the ceiling. “Chicken nuggets, my love. That’s what I need.”

“I don’t have… I mean, are you serious right now?”

“Nuggets.” She falls back on the couch. “Or bust.”

God damn it.

I could scream.

My mother hasn’t eaten meat in three months—before that, she would only have fish—and now she wants chicken freaking nuggets like she’s five years old. And we both know a batch of dino-shaped freezer nugs won’t be good enough. No, she’ll want me to do them from scratch.

And the sick part is, I get to my feet and find my wallet.

“Oh, love, and if you’re going out, we need more toilet paper.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that an hour ago?!”

Her fingers twist in the air. “I didn’t get a sign. And I didn’t notice.”

Fuck me.

“I’ll be back, and you’re going to eat these stupid nuggets, do you hear me?”

“Love you, darling.”

I storm out of the apartment.

This is my life. I slave at WashCo and I run errands for my flighty, pot-smoking mother. I do it all because if I don’t, she’ll starve herself. I’ve seen it happen before, the way the darkness takes over her and she spirals, turning stick-thin and gangly, and I won’t let it happen. If that means going out twice and making stupid chicken nuggets, that’s what I’ll do. At least I don’t run into Dennis.

The city’s alive on a Saturday evening. Our apartment is a cage, but I put up with it because I love Bushwick. It’s my home, always has been, probably always will be. I’ll die pickled of weed smoke probably years before my mother does. But at least there will be motion around me, neighbors on stoops, kids on the playground, young guys and girls on bikes zipping through traffic on the way to make food deliveries. I pause at the corner, waiting for the light, and turn left to look⁠—

And frown when a car pulls out. It’s a black BMW, shiny and gorgeous, not the sort of thing I usually see around here. Parts of this neighborhood are gentrifying, but we’re in a holdout pocket still, though everyone knows it won’t last. I squint at the windshield, heart pattering.

I swear, the man behind the wheel is Connor Maguire.

The light changes. I hurry to cross, head down. That couldn’t have been him. There’s no way he’d ever be in this neighborhood, right? Connor belongs in Manhattan, in fancy Upper East Side apartments and brownstones, not crumbling Bushwick corner stores.

But when I risk a look back, I’m almost positive it’s him.

And he’s watching me.

I shiver with excitement. This is stupid. I’m hallucinating. Too much second-hand weed smoke. I haven’t seen Connor since that evening we shared six weeks ago now. At first, in the days right after, I kept thinking maybe it would happen again. I left him with three images—only three, he promised, and I believed him—and I wondered if maybe he’d come ask for more, or maybe he’d want to pose me against himself, and maybe he’d kiss me, fill me, fuck me, make me feel beautiful⁠—

Except it never happened. Days dragged, turned to weeks, and now I’m sure he’s avoiding me. I haven’t even seen him in the halls.

Nobody knows it happened. I haven’t told Nadia, which is a minor miracle. I’m not sure she’d believe me if I did.

I mean, I couldn’t blame her. Why the hell would Connor Maguire want to have sex with me? A nobody working in his accounting department?

That man is like a beautiful god and I’m about the most boring girl imaginable.

No, it’s a fluke. Connor doesn’t want me. He’s back to being nothing more than Big Boss. And there’s no way in hell that’s him driving the BMW.

Even as it rolls past me, and I swear his eyes are on me through the window.

I duck into the bodega, heart racing wildly.

Is he following me?

Why the hell would he do that?

But no, I’m being ridiculous. Weed smoke. That’s all it is. I’m contact high. Although I can’t imagine that’s true since I must have the strongest tolerance possible by now.

I greet the bored guy behind the counter and pick out what I need. The prices suck but I don’t feel like walking to the better grocery store ten blocks away. I’m about to pile everything on the counter when I pause in the personal care section.

There, down at the bottom, is a pregnancy test.

Cute box. Pink, gray, and purple. A stick, some gloves, what looks like a cup. I don’t need it, right? I’m not thinking about the late period. I don’t think about that, and I don’t think about how Connor fucked me deep and satisfying, the best sex I’ve ever had by a wide margin, and how he didn’t wear protection, and I’m not on birth control, and he finished deep inside of me⁠—

“Find everything?” The guy rings me up, bagging my stuff.

“All good, thanks.”

I hurry from the store. I fall into a flow of walkers and head toward the crossing again. Mom’s waiting. Pot smoke and laughter. It’ll be okay. I’ll cook, make her eat something. We’ll be fine. When the light changes, I walk to the other side, and spot that BMW again.

It’s the same one, rolling slow.

I pick up my pace. I don’t look over my shoulder. That’s not Connor. He’s not following me. I grip my bag tight, nearly running by the time I reach my apartment building. My heart’s hammering and I’m out of breath as I duck inside, peering through the door as the BMW cruises past, moving much too slow.

I catch a glimpse of him. Sinfully handsome. Eyes like storms and mouth like hell.

What in the world is he doing here?

“Forget something?”

I flinch and turn. Dennis stands at the other end of the lobby. He smiles uncertainly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine, no worries.”

I hurry past him, feeling like an idiot.

No, Connor Maguire isn’t stalking me. He’s not waiting in his car near my apartment so he can follow me to the local bodega. That would be madness. And I don’t care that my period’s late, and I sure as hell don’t need a pregnancy test, and my mom’s going to be fine, she’ll cut back on the weed, we won’t get evicted, we won’t end up homeless.

Everything will work out.

So long as I can make these stupid nuggets.

5

CONNOR

Angie disappears into her apartment building and I drive away, stomach a twisted wreck, heart bashing against my ribs.

I’m fucking sick.

Six weeks. I managed to ignore her for six weeks.

Until finally I broke.

I don’t even know what forced me out here. There’s the building we’re looking to buy—but that’s a weak excuse. I’m late to a meeting with Sinead. We’re going over wedding details, which she knows I don’t care about, but she insists on keeping me informed for whatever damn reason. I should be at the restaurant already, but instead, I was sitting in my car near Angie’s place like an addict, craving one tiny glimpse of her.

I’m more than sick.

I’m deeply broken.

She’s not good for me.

Worse, I’m not good for her.

That girl is a decent person. She’s living a normal life in the normal world, and if I keep this up, someone’s going to notice. That will be very bad for everyone.

Sinead’s my future. The Gallaghers are like a shining, beautiful door with the promised land spread out beyond it. All I have to do is marry her, walk through, and everything I’ve ever wanted will be presented at my feet.

Except I’m a fucking sicko scumbag stalking a junior accounting data entry girl for no goddamn reason.

Only I know the reason.

The three photos.

Bane of my existence.

Reason my dick’s sore and my palm’s callused.

Fuck, I have to get it together.

The drive to Luberto’s doesn’t take long. I park a block off and find Sinead at a good table toward the back, catalogs and folders spread in front of her. She’s sitting forward, her long blonde hair hanging over one shoulder, absently clicking a pen against her full lips. I pause, lingering in the dim light, watching my future wife, and again I’m struck at how beautiful she is. Delicate ears, straight nose, shining blue eyes that crinkle when she laughs. She’s in a modest outfit, black top and black jeans, and there’s already a glass of bourbon waiting for me at the setting opposite.

I don’t deserve her.

“Evening, darling,” she says when she spots me approaching. She doesn’t smile, exactly, but she does this thing with her nose where it scrunches and I know that means she’s not repulsed to see me. “You’re right on time.”

“You said eight. It’s eight thirty.”

“I always assume you’ll be late.” She stands and kisses my cheek. “I got your favorite.”

I sit and drink. Misery stabs me in the throat. I really don’t deserve her.

She leans back, eyebrow arched as I take in the materials. Everything’s neatly organized, color-coded, and collated. Even her handwriting is sharp and precise.

“Are you going to pass out? You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I’m fine. It’s been a long night.”

“Oh, yeah? Got something big going on at work?”

“Not exactly.”

She lets out a soft snort and clicks her pen again. “That’s what I like about you, Connor. No bullshit. No conversation. Straight to the point.”

“Most women hate it.”

“I’m not most women, and I’m not marrying you for your personality.” She nudges a folder toward me. “Pick a suit out.”

“I have suits.”

“Good, I’m so proud of you. Pick a new one, please, or I’ll do it for you.”

I take the folder and flip it open. Inside is a series of print-outs on high quality paper showing designer jackets, slacks, and shirts. I choose at random and Sinead seems to approve.

She shuffles some pages as the waitress brings over appetizers. Yet again, Sinead has anticipated my needs, which is a goddamn miracle considering we’ve spoken barely a handful of times. The woman has a steel trap of a mind.

“Now, I know you don’t care about the majority of this stuff, but you’re going to sit there and listen anyway. Do you need anything else before I get started?”

I sit back, sipping my drink. “If half my employees were as efficient as you are, I’d be fucking rich.”

“The world would be a better place if there were more of me around, that’s for sure.” She gives me another one of those crinkle-smiles and begins talking about the wedding.

Every detail is covered. Flowers, seating arrangements, decorations, how long the cocktail hour will last, what will be served, everything. Frankly, she should be a damn general, based on these impressive logistics. I give her as much attention as I can manage, but everything seems to trigger my memory of Angie, and it’s like a kick to the throat each time.

When Sinead comments on dresses, I see Angie in a skin-tight outfit, the back pulled up to show her ass.

Sinead shows me plates, and I’m picturing Angie in her little kitchen, sitting on her counter top, tits out, mouth open, legs spread.

Even a mention of music gets me thinking about Angie’s hips jerking to a rhythm as she rides me, again and again, nearing completion⁠—

I’m a bastard and I know it.

But Sinead either doesn’t notice or she doesn’t care. She continues to talk about the wedding while I picture another woman the whole time. And a part of me wonders who Sinead is thinking about. There’s no way in hell she wants me to stand up there as the groom; there’s got to be someone she’d rather kiss and spend her life with. We don’t talk about that though, because what’s the point?

This is our future. I can keep obsessing over my angel, or I can delete those three photos and move the fuck on.

“I appreciate you indulging me.” Sinead gathers her things after an hour is finished. Neither of us has a full meal. Instead, it’s mostly drinks. “My father says I’m wasting my time. He says you’re a man, after all, but I want you to be informed. And if you have any opinions⁠—“

“I’ll keep them to myself, where they belong.”

She laughs and touches my arm as we leave the restaurant together. “I don’t want it to be like that. We’re partners, right? Yes, I understand that I am doing the vast majority of this wedding, but I’ll listen if there really is something you care about.”

Guilt smashes into me. Sinead is kind. After all this, after my lack of interest, my one-word answers, my half-attention, she’s still trying. Maybe because she’s not stupid and realizes we’d better make this work.

While I’m still resisting.

“I appreciate that,” I say honestly as we linger out front. “I’m being awful about this, I know.”

“It’s fine. Honestly, most of this stuff—“ She lifts her fancy dossier. “I’ve had it since I was twelve.”

“I believe it.”

“You know, Connor, we don’t have to fall in love.” The way she says it so simply sends a jolt of pain into my chest. “I don’t harbor any illusions about that. But at the very least we can be civil with each other. We’re going to be married, right? We’re going to make a family.”

That pain turns to a sick horror.

Goddamn children.

I know what’s expected of me. She clearly does too. Speaking our vows is one thing, but the only way to build a lasting alliance is through blood, and blood means babies. Sinead is already thinking about carrying my offspring and she’s clearly resigned herself to our situation.

The least I can do is try to be in this with her.

“You’re right.” I take her hand. It’s smooth and warm. I’m surprised by the smile she gives me. It’s genuine and she twines her fingers through mine. “Look, I know I’ve been a piece of shit about this process, but I’m here with you. We can be more than civil.”

Her eyebrows arch like she’s sharing a joke. “Are you flirting with me?”

“You’d know it if I were.”

Her other hand touches my chest. “Maybe try it sometime. Like I said, we’re going to be married.” Her palm lingers over my beating heart, and god damn, she’s such a gorgeous woman. Any man would kill to have her like this.

Except I feel nothing.

She lets me go and walks away. I watch her ass sway, thinking, one day that’ll be mine, and I should be excited. I should be thanking god my boss hitched me to such a fine woman.

Instead, I’m only cold.

“Connor! There you are!” Danielle stands in the doorway of my father’s kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I’m only here to see Rowan.”

“She’s up in her room. But listen—“ Danielle comes toward me and I already know I don’t want to hear it. Her hair’s blown out, she’s in full makeup, and her sweatsuit looks brand new. Dad’s been splurging on his much, much younger second wife again.

“Tell me about it another time.”

“That phone you promised!” she calls after me as I hurry up the stairs. “Come on, Connor, don’t be such a stingy prick!”

I grind my teeth but bite down on a sharp reply. I’ve been dealing with Danielle for a very long time, and I’ve learned that it’s better to avoid her than to get into a confrontation. Mostly because Dad’s so pussy-whipped he’ll take her side on just about anything, no matter how goddamn stupid.

Though it’s my fault for telling her I’d upgrade her iPhone. I only said it to shut her up. That’s on me.

Life’s not easy with a stepmom only two years older than I am.

I stop outside a door at the end of the hall with a pink nametag on the front. It glitters in the overheads. I knock and wait until my sister calls out.

Rowan’s on her bed, legs crossed, books in her lap. Half-read manga is scattered all over. Posters of cartoon dudes with huge muscles and massive swords are plastered to the walls. Full Metal Alchemist, Bleach, One Piece, a bunch of stuff I barely recognize. Pop music blares from her laptop speakers and Rowan beams at me, her dark brown hair cut short. She looks like her mom, but she takes after our dad, and I love her so much it makes parts of me want to fall to pieces.

“Did Mom corner you again?” she asks, grinning massively as I slump down into her desk chair. It creaks under my weight.

“I made the mistake of walking through the front door. How’d you know?”

“You look like you hit a deer with your car, that’s how.”

“It’s always a pleasure coming home.”

She throws a pen at me. “You don’t do it enough, dick. Where have you been? Don’t say working. I’m sick of you working.”

“I’ve been working.”

“Yep sounds about right.” She snaps her book shut and stretches. I don’t know when the hell my baby sister turned into a teenager. I still remember when she was little, a rowdy tomboy that constantly drove Danielle crazy. No matter how many princess parties and dresses her mom tried to shove her into, Rowan always ended up with dirty knees and bruises. She was a terror back then, but she’s mellowed these days, and now she’s turning into a young woman.

I study the scar on her face. The jagged line from her temple down to the corner of her mouth. These days she tries to cover it over with makeup, but I’m always telling her to show it off. It makes her look badass, but she mostly wants to be left alone, and marks like that invite questions. She prefers not to talk if given the option.

Seeing that scar makes me think of Angie again, and why she works at my company, and how I’ve been trying like a desperate bastard to ignore her all these years, and I’m spiraling again.

Rowan’s smile fades. “You’re in a hell of a mood, huh?”

“Nah, I’m fine. How was school this week?”

“Boring. Had a math test. Fucking wrecked it.”

“Language.”

“Still English.” She clicks her tongue and winks at me. “You know I learned to curse from you, right?”

“Your mom never lets me forget it.”

She cackles and flips her book open. “By the way, Deck’s waiting for you in Dad’s office.”

I sit up straight, frowning. “Was anyone going to tell me?”

“I just did. And Mom would’ve if you hadn’t run away from her.”

“Good point.” I get up with a groan.

“You sound like an old man.”

“I am an old man.”

“You’re thirty-five.” She squints at me. “Yep, ancient.”

“Later, little sister. I’d better deal with Deck before he burns the house down.”

“Dad’s more likely to do that. Close the door, asshole!”

I leave it open, humming to myself, as Rowan calls a few choice insults after me. The door slams a second later as I’m descending back to the first floor, going as quiet as I can to avoid attention⁠—

“iPhone, Connor!” Danielle shouts at me as soon as I hit the landing. “Look at this thing. Look at it!” She shakes her old phone at me. The screen is cracked on both sides. “I’m begging you. The glass is cutting my fingers!”

“Scroll TikTok less.”

“I can’t. It’s an addiction and it’s not my fault. Big tech is ruining my life!”

“Then we’d better not reward them by buying another one.”

“Connor!”

I wave her off. “Buy it yourself and I’ll reimburse you. Just get out of here.”

“THANK YOU. You’re my most favorite stepson.”

“I’m your only stepson and you hate me.”

Seeing Rowan always puts me in a better mood, but dealing with Danielle always makes it worse, so the two about balance each other out. I storm into Dad’s office, kick the door closed behind me, and pour an extra-large bourbon, ignoring the big man lurking on the couch against the far wall with his boots up on my father’s coffee table.

“You kept me waiting.” Deck grunts at me, hunched with his elbows on his knees. He’s my cousin, in his early forties, with a gruff stare. His clothes are pristine and his back stays straight. He turns down my offer of a drink. “You know we had a meeting, right?”

I swallow a curse by downing more bourbon. “I’d never forget about my favorite lieutenant.”

He grunts and lifts a folder he’d kept hidden on the couch next to him. “We need to talk numbers.”

“It’s always numbers with you.”

“Knowing our business is why we’re successful. Sit down, this won’t be long.”

“Better not be. You know, you and my future wife would get along well. You’re almost as organized as she is.”

His eyes settle on me. “You ready to talk?”

“Yeah, Deck, I’m ready, only trying to have some casual banter first.”

“Not interested.” He flips to the front page and turns it to face me. “You got payroll decisions to make.”

What follows lasts approximately one hour, two bourbons, and more than a few targeted curses. If Marcus is my ideas man, then Deck’s the one who gets it all done. He’s ruthlessly efficient and keeps the operation ticking over, but he’s also stuck in the old ways and stubborn as hell. It’s always a struggle keeping him from blowing shit up because it’s not properly formatted.

Still, he’s right to keep me on track. I’ve been distracted lately. Between Angie and Sinead, I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I’ve been able to zone out thanks to having men like Deck behind the scenes. I’ll show my appreciation another time, but for now, I’m relieved when he packs up and leaves me sitting behind my father’s desk, exhausted and trying not to think about Angie.

My father slips into the room. He gets himself a drink and lowers himself down in the same spot where Deck had been, but he doesn’t say a word. My old man’s in a button-down shirt, top two buttons undone, a gold chain around his neck. He’s heavyset, thick but not fat, face always an unnerving shade of red. Gray’s streaked in his thick, black hair. We drink in silence for a few minutes. It’s a rare down moment and I soak it in, but I can’t seem to keep my mind still for more than a few seconds at a time.

“Let me ask you something,” I say and he looks over, his bushy brows lifted. “How’d you do it twice?”

“Be more specific.”

“You met a woman and got married. You did it twice. How’d you pull it off?”

He lets out a low rumble from his throat and takes a long drink. “Still wondering that myself.”

“I was handed over to Sinead. I almost can’t screw it up even if I wanted to, and believe me, I’m sure I’ll have my chances. So how’d you make them both last?”

“Patience.”

“That’s it?”

“Bourbon. Communication. Indulgence. With your mother, it was all about apologizing, and afterward, vigorous lovemaking.”

“Fuck’s sake, Dad.”

“You asked.”

“God damn it, I regret that now.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “Make sure Danielle gets that stupid phone. It’s on me.”

“You’re a good son.”

“Yeah, bullshit. And Rowan needs new shoes. Her old ones are falling the fuck apart.”

“What would that girl do without you?”

I tilt my chin to the ceiling and close my eyes.

Without me? She’d be fine.

But without Angie?

That girl would be dead.

6

ANGIE

“Honestly, I never thought this moment would come.” Nadia drags me by the wrist into a moderately crowded bar. “You’re always hurrying back home after work.”

“I need to check on my mom, you know that.”

“Your mom’s a grown woman.”

“With a crippling dependency on marijuana and the uncanny ability to set literal fire to her life.”

“Both fair points, but come on. You’re young. Drinks after work is practically a God-given right!”

She steers us toward a booth in the back. It still has old, half-empty glasses, but Nadia’s got this effortless way about her. Instead of complaining, she stacks everything neatly for the runner to handle when he gets a chance. The waitress comes over and Nadia asks for wine, but I stick with a Diet Coke, which earns an annoyed look from across the table.

“Come on, it’s drinks after work, not sodas.”

I smile sheepishly, heart racing. My palms are damp and I feel like I’m going to crumble to pieces.

And she’s got no idea.

Nobody does. Not even my mom, and I kept trying to tell her, but it was never the right time. Instead, I’ve been carrying around this weight like an anchor around my throat, dragging me into inky darkness.

Nadia chats amiably, carrying the conversation until our drinks arrive. I take the chance to clear my throat, sitting up straight, panic threatening to make me black out, but I have to tell her. I’m desperate to tell someone.

Holding this inside has been a living hell ever since I found out.

“I took a test,” I announce, slipping my hand into my work bag and finding the paper-towel wrapped bundle.

“Really? What kind? Is that why you’ve been so weird lately?” She brightens and raises her glass. “You got your diagnosis, didn’t you?!”

I pause, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“ADHD? Right? That’s why you’re always…” She trails off, face falling. “Oh, shit. That’s not it.”

“We’ll talk about that later.” I want to vomit but I can’t get distracted. If I let her knock me off course, I won’t ever find the courage to say it out loud.

I place the small bundle down on the table between us.

“What’s that?” She puts her glass down, all humor gone as I unwrap it. “Angie? What am I looking at right now and why do I hate it?”

“I took this a few nights ago. Actually, I took like four of them. And they all say the same thing.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I’m pregnant, Nadia. I’m really, really, really freaking pregnant, and I don’t know what to do.”

Silence falls on the table. The room buzzes around us. Other young professionals are out with their friends and peers, laughing, clinking glasses, talking loudly about earnings calls and reports, while in our little bubble, it’s like my world is coming to an end.

Pregnant.

I can’t believe this is happening. I shouldn’t be so stunned—but it’s like I always imagined other girls ended up in this situation, not me. I’ve always been safe, careful, to the point of being overly strict. Me and Brad never once had sex without a condom, not even a little bit, not even the tip, not even when he begged and acted like a total fucking baby about it.

“I have to ask, and please don’t be mad, but—“ Nadia leans closer. “Is Brad the father?”

I lower my chin, blinking away tears, and shake my head. “It’s not him.”

“Oh, thank fucking Christ.” She lets out a relieved groan and laughs awkwardly. “God, I was terrified you were carrying that halfwit moron’s child and I was going to have to pretend like the baby’s cute and smart when really it’ll probably be ugly and dumb⁠—“

“Nadia!”

“Okay, sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous. Just, holy shit, Angie. You’re pregnant. Do you… do you know…”

I put my face in my hands. “You won’t believe it.”

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” She comes around the table and slides onto my side of the booth. Her arms wrap around me and she hugs me tight. “I know this is hard, but you’re going to be okay, I swear.”

That finally breaks me. I sob against my friend’s shoulder, feeling like an idiot doing this in public. I hoped that telling her around people would keep me from losing my shit, but nope, clearly that was wrong.

How did this happen? That’s what I keep thinking, over and over again. How? How? When I’ve tried so hard to do everything right. I did my best in school, kept out of trouble, got a job, struggled to keep my mother afloat. I’ve sacrificed so much over the years, and I make one mistake, one stupid mistake with my gorgeous, nightmare of a boss, and this happens.

“I’m going to end up like my mother,” I whisper, getting myself under control. People are watching now and I don’t want to draw more attention than I already have. I force myself to smile and wipe my face with a napkin, dabbing to avoid smearing my makeup. “No, I’m going to be worse. She’s a stoned hippie. I’m a child having a baby.”

“You are nothing like your mother, Angie, and you know it. Don’t do that to yourself.” Nadia takes my hand tightly between hers. “You’re going to be okay, you know that? My cousin went through this a while back.”

I perk up. “Really? She did?”

“She was twenty, made a mistake, got pregnant. We talked a lot about it and I went to the clinic with her⁠—“

I jerk away as if burned. I don’t know why and I hate the way Nadia looks at me like I slapped her, but those words, the clinic, they’re seared into my brain. I shake my head rapidly, hugging myself tightly, on the edge of melting down for a second time.

“I’m not doing that.”

Nadia puts a hand on my shoulder. “Whatever you want. I’m not pressuring you into anything. I’m just saying, when she found out, she was destroyed. But the clinic was amazing, she said the procedure wasn’t a huge deal, and now⁠—“

“No, Nadia, I’m being serious. I’m not… I’m not going to…” I clear my throat and reach for a drink, but find only a Diet Coke. God, I wish I could have something stronger. But I can’t anymore, right? Now that I’m pregnant. “I’m going to have this baby.”

“Okay, okay, that’s your choice and I respect it. I’m just saying, there are options. You’re going to survive.”

She doesn’t understand. I don’t even know if I can explain. There’s not a religious reason to keep this baby, at least not for me. I respect anyone who holds those beliefs, but they aren’t mine.

“I want to believe that,” I say quietly, eyes on the table, looking anywhere but at my friend. “It’s just, I’m not going to change my mind. I’m not going to take care of this baby. I mean, I’m going to take care of them, but I mean⁠—“

“I know what you’re saying.”

I bite my lip to keep from crying. “I don’t want to be like my mother. And somehow that makes me want to be a better person, you know? Part of that means owning up to my mistakes, and yeah, this baby is a mistake, I’m not ready to be a mother, I’m not financially stable or with a partner or anything like that, but this is my baby. It’s also a chance to prove to myself that I’m not just a slower-cooking version of Dawn. Is that insane?”

“I don’t think it’s insane at all.” Nadia sits close and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “But listen, you don’t have to have this baby just to prove to yourself that you’re not an asshole.”

I nod miserably, because I know she’s right, but it’s so much more than that. I’ve been let down by my mother my whole life. She’s barely been a part of it, even though she’s always been there. I’ve always resented her for being such a bad parent to me, so how could I justify being the worst parent imaginable to my own child?

“Mostly I don’t know how I’m going to afford anything. I mean, I’ll have to get another job⁠—“

“Slow down. You’re so far away from that stage. But you know you have options, right? I mean… there’s the father…” She trails off, studying me.

I rub my face with both hands. “I don’t think that’s happening.”

“You didn’t get yourself pregnant, you know. He’s got responsibility here too.”

“Right, but seriously, Nadia, if I go to him, it’s going to ruin everything.”

“How? You don’t know that. He might step up and do the right thing.”

“Like what, marry me?”

“No, like be in this baby’s life, help pay for things, take two weeks of every month, that sort of shit. You don’t have to be in love to be good co-parents, right? People make it work all the time. You can do that too.”

That’s the first thing she’s said so far that helps. Because she’s right, people really do make this situation work.

“I’d have to tell him first, but I don’t think I can.”

“Who is it? I’ll help, I swear.”

“Nadia…”

“There’s no judgement. You just got out of a serious relationship. A little rebound sex is practically mandatory.” She hesitates, nudging me with her hip. “You do know his name, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know his name.”

“And you can contact him?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Then tell him. You have to tell him. Because maybe he can help, and maybe⁠—“

“Nadia, it’s Connor Maguire.”

She stops talking. Her jaw drops and she pulls away from me, her eyes wide with shock. A smile starts to cross her lips. “Big Boss? You’re joking, right? Seriously, Angie⁠—“

I lower my head to the table and groan. “I’m not joking,” I say, and I tell her the whole story, from the email to getting called into his office, but I leave out most of the steamy details. When I’m finished, she’s chugging her drink and looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” she says, fanning herself.

“It’s not funny!”

“I’m not kidding either. Our sexy as hell boss got you pregnant with one blast of his massive⁠—“

“Stop it!”

“Okay, okay, but wow, Angie, Connor Maguire?! Holy shit.” She rests her head back against the booth and cradles her drink in both hands. “I can see why you don’t want to tell him.”

“Right?!” I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes. “I can already hear how he’ll react. I bet he’ll try to drive me to the clinic himself.”

“I don’t know. Big Boss is grumpy and mysterious, but he doesn’t come off like an asshole, does he?”

I waggle my hand in the air. “A little bit.”

“Look, okay, I admit it’s a crazy situation, but you still have to tell him. Mr. Maguire’s a grown man. He can handle this. Hell, he can run WashCo, what’s a baby matter? The man has resources that can help you.”

“I do not want his money.”

“But you do want his help and his support. Come on, I know he’s terrifying, but you’re carrying his child. You have to tell him.”

“You make it sound so easy.” I squirm in my seat, recalling the way he fucked me that day, how beautiful I felt, how wanted. The idea of being anywhere near that man again… “He hasn’t spoken to me since it happened.”

Though I think I saw him stalking me.

“Have you tried initiating? And can you blame him? The guy probably thinks you’re going to sue his ass for sexual harassment.”

“I would never!”

“I know that, but he doesn’t.” Nadia hugs me one more time before returning to her side of the booth. She sits with her back straight and gives me a hard look. “You have to tell him. There’s no other option.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Damn it, Angie.” She smacks her hand on the table. “This isn’t the time to be unsure, okay? Tell him the truth. You’ll regret it forever if you don’t.”

We keep talking for a while after that. Nadia has another drink and I sip my soda, intermittently reminded that, yes, there’s a baby growing inside me, which is wild to think about. Before we leave, Nadia gives me an extra-long hug, and promises to help me with anything I need, and I believe her.

The apartment stinks like weed when I get home. I sigh, kicking off my shoes. Is second-hand marijuana bad for unborn children? Probably, and I have no idea what I can do about it, short of telling my mother, which feels even harder than telling Connor. I toss my keys in the tray and find Dawn lying on the couch, that reality show about expensive yachts on TV, a still-burning joint between her limp fingers, the end dangling dangerously.

Her eyes are closed. She clearly passed out. I hurry over and snatch the joint away, stubbing it out in an ashtray. I keep telling her to switch to vapes or gummies but she refuses to change. I step back and take her in, my mother, her messy hair, her chest rising and falling, and that’s me.

Or it could be me. One day, sometime in the future, after years of raising a child all alone. Miserable, with nothing and nobody, broken and confused and failed, all because I screwed up.

How can I be my best self for this baby? If I have nothing, no future, no prospects?

A hard determination floods me. I’ve never been more sure of something in my life, but standing here in our rent-controlled apartment, looking at the mess of my mother, I’m positive about one thing.

I will never become like her.

I won’t be a wreck of a single mother.

I’ll be the best damn mom in the world, even if it kills me.

And that means making some hard choices and having some impossible conversations.

7

CONNOR

“What the heck are you doing here?” Rowan peers into my father’s office where I’ve been hiding for the last hour.

I raise a glass of bourbon. “Fortifying myself.”

My little sister’s nose wrinkles. She slips inside and shuts the door behind her. “Everyone’s leaving soon. Shouldn’t you be at the church already?”

“Probably.”

She glides over and does a twirl, holding out the skirt of her dress. “What do you think?”

“You look great, kid. Almost like a girl.”

She snorts and flops into a chair across from me. “And you look like a creep. Where’d the suit come from? A dead French guy?”

I look down at myself. “Sinead picked this. Well, it was one of her options. It’s designer.”

“Oh, well, if that’s from Sinead, then it must be perfect.”

I laugh and throw a pen at her. She deftly snatches it from the air and twirls it around her fingers, smiling at me. The scar on her face twists in a way I’ve always loved, even if it reminds me of how much pain she’s been through. I didn’t think anyone could make me smile today, but leave it to Rowan to pull it off.

“You should go find Dad and your mom before they leave you behind.”

“No way that’ll happen. You know how they are. Ever since the accident, Mom’s a helicopter parent.”

“She can be a little… overbearing.”

“You think? I went to hang out in the park with my friend last week and Mom legit followed me the whole time. She was like a freaky stalker.”

“Want me to talk to her?”

“No way, that’ll make it worse.”

I don’t mention that I’ve had men keeping an eye on her for years myself. That would only piss her off. “If you want, you can ride with me.”

“Speaking of which—“ She gets up, reaching out, and plucks the bourbon from my hand.

“Uh, you’re too young for that.”

“Yeah, and you’re driving today.” She places it down on the bar cart. “You sure you’re okay?”

I run a hand through my hair, probably messing it up, but it doesn’t matter. Sinead probably has a team of stylists waiting at the church to primp me into perfection like a freaking F1 pit team.

“I don’t want to bore you with adult shit, kid. My problems are my own.”

“Yeah, true, but your problems are so much more interesting than mine.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t like Sinead? I know you two aren’t in love, I’m not a moron, but she seems great.”

“She is great.” My eyes go to the books, not sure how to explain it to a teenager. Sinead’s fantastic, and that’s exactly the issue.

I don’t deserve a woman like that.

I’ve fucked my way through half the city. I’ve filled, choked, spit on, kissed, and spanked dozens and dozens of women. And not once have I ever cared about them. Not once have they ever stuck in my head.

Until Angie came along all those years ago, and she infected me in ways I still don’t fully understand.

Sleeping with her unlocked that hungry yearning. The vicious, wild need churning in my core.

How can I reasonably marry Sinead, knowing I want someone else?

Knowing I break everything I touch?

Dominance. Control. Blood and pain. Those are all I’ve known for a very long time.

What’s a good woman like Sinead want with a ruthless, heartless monster like me?

I can’t tell Rowan any of that though. She knows I get around, but the other stuff?

I don’t want her to start looking at me like everyone else does.

Like I’m the boss. Like my word is death.

“You should be happy then. Come on, cheer up, idiot. We all know you don’t deserve her, but it’s happening, and you might as well enjoy it.”

“Wow, your pep talks are incredible.”

“Thanks much, I’m fantastic.” Her mouth pinches when her mother calls for her from the other room. “Welp, I’m being summoned. Got to go. I assume I’ll see you at your own wedding?”

“I’ll be there.”

“You better. God, imagine if you weren’t?” She snorts, hopping to her feet. “The freaking shitshow that’d be? Actually, skip it, I want to enjoy the show.” She waves over her shoulder as she marches out of the office, leaving me alone.

I give her ten seconds before I’m up and grabbing my drink again.

All this self-pity is worthless. I’m marrying Sinead in a few hours and that’s the end of it. Like Rowan said, I don’t deserve my future wife, but I might as well try to enjoy it.

She is beautiful. Tall, willowy… long blonde hair, full lips… a tight, athletic body… she clearly keeps in shape. And since there are kids in our future, I’ll get to sample it…

But when I close my eyes to picture my bride’s perky tits, all I can see are those three photos I have hidden deep in my computer’s file system like an addict’s last hit of crack.

Dad, Danielle, and Rowan leave not long later. I wait until they’re gone before emerging from the office, enjoying the quiet. I check my phone and find a couple texts from Sinead, reminding me to show up on time, and a message from Marcus, wondering if I’ve drank myself into oblivion and if I need a ride. I reply to them all to let them know I’m fine and turn to the door.

When my phone starts to ring.

I answer, figuring it’s Sinead. “Yeah, don’t worry, I’m on the way. You don’t have to panic.”

The line’s quiet for a beat. Then an unexpected voice sends a jolt of shock down my spine.

“Uh, Mr. Maguire? Hi, sorry, this is actually Angelina Bellandi? I’m so sorry to call you on your cell like this. I got the number from your assistant? I had to tell her it was an emergency.”

My jaw feels dislocated. I have to physically rap my knuckles on my forehead to knock sense into my skull again.

“Angie, hello. Is everything okay?”

Another pause. This one laced with anxiety. “Yes. I think so. Mostly. Actually, I know this is strange, but is there any way we can meet and talk today?”

I close my eyes, one hand pressed against the wall. Fuck, I’ll drop anything, for any reason, to see her again.

But I’m marrying another woman in a few hours.

“I can squeeze you in,” I hear myself say, my voice husky with emotion, and what the fuck is wrong with me? Stop talking, Connor, shut the fuck up—“Are you free now?”

“Oh, right now? I mean, yes, absolutely, that’s great. I mean… where should I…?”

In my bedroom. Tied to the posts. Legs spread, dripping wet.

“There’s a coffee shop called Third Rail. Can you be there in fifteen?”

“Sure, yes, I’ll make it happen. Thank you so much, Mr. Maguire, I really appreciate your time.”

“Connor. Call me Connor.”

“Right. Connor. Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

She hangs up.

I stand alone in my father’s foyer, my phone still in my hand.

This is fucking stupid. I don’t have time to meet with Angie, not when I should already be at the church. I’m walking down the aisle in three hours… I’m pledging my life to another woman…

I’m selling myself for the good of the family.

Because that’s what I’ve always done. That’s all I know how to do.

Only this is Angelina… this is my angel…

I owe her more than she’ll ever know.

And I’m desperate to sit across from her one last time as a single man.

We’ll do it in public where I can’t cross the line. I’ll hear what she has to say, watch her quirky lips, try not to laugh at the way her nose wrinkles and twitches, or the way she brushes her hair back from her ears, or the way she walks pigeon-toed, which I find goddamn adorable.

One last time and then it’s done. She’ll be just another employee.

I hurry out the door, telling myself I can handle this, over and over, and knowing I’m fucking lying to myself.

The Third Rail is a hipster place around the corner from my father’s house. Lots of wood and glass. It smells good, like freshly baked bread and chocolate. It’s not too crowded at this time of the day after the morning rush but before the lunch crowd. I get there first and stake out a spot near the back. I order a double espresso, hot and dark. I need the caffeine to help counteract the bourbon. I grab a latte, exactly the way she likes it, and place it down at the seat across from me.

This’ll be easy. No problem at all.

It’s normal that I know her coffee order.

I get another text from Marcus, a call from Sinead, and a text from Rowan. I let my sister know that I’m coming, but I’m delayed. Otherwise, I ignore them, and I’m thinking this won’t be that big of a deal, at least until Angie slips in through the door.

And I realize I’m fucked.

She’s in jeans. I don’t see her in jeans often. She dresses formally at the office even though our dress code leans casual. Her hair’s up in a messy bun and her make up is simple, and she’s practically glowing as she chews on her thumbnail until she spots me. She jolts when our eyes lock and her cheeks flush red, and I think about the look she has in my favorite picture, one of the three I kept: eyes sparkling with amusement and arousal, mouth open, thumb between her teeth. I kept that shot for that look more than even her incredible body.

I stand to greet her. She awkwardly offers me a hand. I lean in and kiss her cheek. “How was getting here?” I ask as she takes her seat.

“Uh, no problem, I took an Uber.”

“I’ll reimburse you.”

She waves a hand. “No, no, that’s totally fine. Is this for me?” She takes a sip of her drink and laughs. I love how genuine it is. “It’s really good.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“How’d you know I took my coffee like this? Actually, never mind, doesn’t matter.” Her smile fades and she takes a deep breath. “I should just say it, you know? I need to spit it out and get it out in the air before my head explodes.”

A drop of dread spills down my spine. “Say what, Angelina?”

Her eyes meet mine. Her back goes straight and she folds her hands together in front of her. For a moment, she reminds me of Sinead: serious, strong, and proud.

A woman any man would die to have.

“We slept together. A few weeks ago. You remember, right?”

“That’s not something I’d forget.”

“Right. Good. And we didn’t… you know… use protection.”

The dread thickens and spreads. “Not that I recall.”

“I want you to know that I’m not doing this to punish you… and I don’t even know what I want, if anything at all… but I thought you needed to know.”

“Know what, angel?” I say quietly, but I already feel it. I saw it the second she walked through those doors. I felt it in my heart.

“Connor, I’m pregnant, and you’re the father.”

8

ANGIE

I’ve never been more nervous in my entire life.

The Third Rail is a fancy coffee place in a good neighborhood. Ladies in yoga pants walk their fluffy white dogs and linger in the parks in a place like this. No homeless guys stand on the corner shouting about Jesus and begging for change. It’s not like home at all, and I feel awkward and out of place when I step foot inside. It smells like chocolate and flowers, which I like, and I chew on my thumbnail as I look around for Connor.

I physically flinch when I see him sitting alone at a table in the back. I didn’t expect him to be here already.

It takes some effort to keep my jaw from dropping open when he stands to greet me. He’s wearing a dark designer suit and looks fantastic. It hugs his impressive frame, emphasizing his athletic, muscular chest and his incredible arms. The man looks like a model and it kills me, seeing him like this, but I have to keep remembering why I’m here.

This isn’t going to be fun.

I awkwardly offer him a hand, trying to treat him like my boss and not like the guy who fucked me into sweet oblivion and left a gift/curse behind, but he leans in to kiss my cheek instead. A tingle runs down my spine at the feeling of him.

“How was getting here?” he asks as I drop down into my seat, already knocked so off-guard I can barely think.

“Uh, no problem, I took an Uber.”

“I’ll reimburse you.”

Panic slides into my core. Am I seriously already taking from him? “No, no, that’s totally fine. Is this for me?” I stupidly grab the cup and drink—only to find my exact normal order. It’s so familiar and helps to ground me, and I smile despite myself. “It’s really good.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“How’d you know I took my coffee like this? Actually, never mind, doesn’t matter.” The nerves return and I have to steady myself. “I should just say it, you know? I need to spit it out and get it out in the air before my head explodes.”

“Say what, Angelina?”

His face is blank like he’s already bored of me. What the hell am I doing here? Connor Maguire’s a successful, powerful man. He’s attractive, intelligent, driven, everything I’m not. This man doesn’t want anything to do with me and this baby growing inside of me.

But no, I’m not going to back down. I’m not going to be a coward. Because I’m not here for me. My life isn’t my own anymore.

I’m here for my child.

I fold my hands and straighten my back, lifting my chin.

“We slept together. A few weeks ago. You remember, right?”

His mouth twitches. I think he’s frustrated. “That’s not something I’d forget.”

“Right. Good. And we didn’t… you know… use protection.”

“Not that I recall.”

“I want you to know that I’m not doing this to punish you… and I don’t even know what I want, if anything at all… but I thought you needed to know.”

“Know what, angel?” he whispers, and it’s that nickname again. It sends my stomach into a chaotic mess, twisting and churning, and I have to say it before I lose my nerve.

“Connor, I’m pregnant, and you’re the father.”

The words hang in the air, thick like molasses. I take another drink—seriously, how does he know my order—just to give my hands something to do.

His expression doesn’t change. He shifts his weight, leaning closer. “Have you been to a doctor yet?”

I shake my head, looking down at my hands. “No, but I took a few tests. I’m sure.”

“When did you find out?”

“Only a few days ago.”

His face darkens. His hands rub together like he’s working something between them. A low, angry snarl escapes his lips, and I feel like my life’s coming to an end.

He hates me now. And how can I blame him?

I’m blowing up his life, just like he blew up mine. But this baby is happening and he’s the father, and how could I look myself in the mirror if I didn’t at least try to talk to him?

Now’s the part where he screams at me; where he threatens me; or worse, where he offers to pay me off. He might even ask me to get an abortion. The idea makes bile roll up the back of my throat. Connor’s jaw works, and I wish I were anywhere else. I feel numb and light, floating through the sky. Only my coffee’s keeping me pinned in place.

He’s going to tell me to get rid of it now, and I’m ready to hear him say it, but I know it’s going to kill me.

“You need to make an appointment with an OB,” he says, taking out his phone. “I’ll reach out to a friend. You’ll see the best.”

Fuck, there it is.

He wants me to see his private doctor to have this baby ripped out.

My shoulders slump. I look down at the table. Tears fill my eyes, and I hate him and hate myself. “I’m keeping the baby, Connor.”

He reaches out. I think he’s going to hit me, but no, that’s insane. Instead he puts his hand on mine, leaning forward, face still dark with anger, but his eyes also shining with something else.

“Of course you’re keeping our baby, angel. I’d never fucking ask you to do anything else.”

My mouth opens. Again, I can barely find the words. “You… you want me to keep the baby?”

“Our baby.” The way he says it makes my heart skitter and jump. The possessiveness, the anger and fierceness. Like he’s a lion. “You need to start going to regular visits, taking vitamins, I don’t know, doing all the pregnant woman shit. And there will be diapers, changing tables, an entire world of baby-related stuff we’ll need⁠—“

“Slow down, Connor. Nobody said anything about we.”

His grip tightens on my fingers. “That’s my baby, Angelina. You think I’m letting you walk out of here as a single mother?”

“No, I mean, I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m only telling you⁠—“

“I want this. I want you. I want that baby.”

I’m shocked by the obsession in his voice. He looks manic, almost psychotic, and it’s scaring me. “We’re not together… I mean, I don’t need you to step up and do the right thing. If you want to be in the baby’s life, that would be amazing. We can co-parent together. I know this is a lot… it’s complicated and we barely know each other… but I’m really not here to hurt you, Connor.”

“You don’t understand.” His voice is low and menacing. He reaches one hand into his jacket pocket and I think he’s going for a gun or a knife, but that’s irrational. Why am I so afraid right now?

But what he brings out is so much worse.

He lays a diamond ring on the table between us.

I yank back from him, stunned. “What the hell is that?”

“We’re getting married today. I’ll make some calls. By this evening, you will be my wife.”

I shake my head wildly, waving my hands in the air. “No, no, no, no, that’s not happening. There’s no way we’re getting married! And why the hell are you carrying around a ring like that?!”

He ignores my question. “I’m not giving you an option, angel. You don’t understand what you just walked in to and I don’t have time to explain everything. We need to get married today, right now, or I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Safety?! What the hell?

“You’re really freaking me out.”

“There’s no other way. Fuck, I wish I could explain without making this worse, but please, you have to understand. I’m under constraints… constraints I don’t want… and there’s a clock ticking. I should be there right now, but…” He slams a hand palm-down against the table. I flinch, wrapping my arms around myself in terror. “Fuck. This is the worst timing possible.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shrinking down, losing my internal battle.

I knew he’d hate me.

I knew I wasn’t good enough.

“You have nothing to apologize for, damn it, but we have to get married.”

I shove back from the table. “I can’t do that.”

“Angie—“

“No, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Angie!”

I turn away, shaking as I hurry off. I almost run to the door, heart pounding, brain looping in a nasty refrain. Ugly, failure, not good enough, never good enough, doomed to be just like your mother. I breathe desperate gulps of fresh air but that doesn’t help⁠—

Connor catches my wrist. I turn, pulling to get away, but he holds on like iron.

“Listen to me, angel.” He sounds desperate, but I don’t want to hear it.

“You’re only doing this because you feel bad. You think I’m some loser idiot who’s going to ruin your kid, and honestly, I don’t even blame you. But please, Connor, let me go.” Tears stream down my face. “You’re hurting me.”

He looks down at his hand like he’s only now realizing he’s holding onto me hard enough to leave bruises. He releases me and I stagger a couple steps, bumping my hip into a parking sign.

“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes wide with surprise. “I didn’t mean⁠—“

“I don’t care, okay? God, this was so bad…”

“Angie, please.”

“We’re not getting married. I don’t even want anything from you. I just want you to be in the baby’s life, that’s all, okay? I want to be a better mother than I ever had. Please, we can talk more later, when we’ve both calmed down, okay?”

His hands ball into angry fists. His shoulders tighten as his eyes bore into me and the rage comes back. Fear slides down my spine as I back away from him.

“There is no later,” he says quietly. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what I have to do.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re not making sense. This was too much. We’ll talk later.”

I turn and run.

It’s not dignified. I’m not proud of myself. But I’m sure he’s going to beat me into a rotten pulp if I stand there for a second longer.

I cry as I go. I can’t believe that happened. The way he looked at me… his insane marriage proposal…

It’s like I broke him.

Like the idea of raising a baby with me destroyed his mind.

What a nightmare.

That was mortifying. So much worse than I ever pictured.

And I still have to make this work with him… somehow.

9

ANGIE

Ifeel like I got dragged behind a car for ten miles by the time I get back home.

I skipped the Uber. I partly walked, partly took the bus. Now I’m sweaty, exhausted, and emotionally drained. I texted Nadia because she was waiting to hear from me, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her how awful it was.

Nadia: I’m so, so proud of you, Angie. I know that was hard, but you did the right thing.

God, she’s got no idea.

I keep thinking about Connor’s face on the way back to the apartment. The way it darkened, turned black, like he was filled with so much loathing and hate for me that he couldn’t contain it.

And that ring. Where the hell did he get that ring?

Like he knew I was coming and was ready for it.

I’m shaken when I step into the apartment. The place reeks like weed yet again. I open a couple windows and set up a fan to circulate clean air while my mother lounges in her bedroom, one leg hanging off the mattress, a lump of hair under her blankets.

She probably woke up, got stoned, and passed out again.

It wasn’t always like this. When I was little, Mom kept it together. The apartment was never neat, but it worked. I got fed, I made it to school, I had friends. Mom wasn’t coming to birthday parties and taking me to soccer practice, but she helped with homework sometimes and talked me through my first period. She wasn’t the best, but she wasn’t the worst.

That changed in high school. She’d always been a flighty hippie, but she got worse and worse as I was able to take on more responsibility. It was like she knew I could bring in money, take care of the house, essentially do everything she hated doing, and she crawled into herself. Or maybe she reverted back to what she’d always been, I don’t know.

Now she’s a spineless echo of the woman I knew when I was small.

Nadia texts a few more times but I ignore them. I start cooking lunch, making sandwiches for me and Mom, since she’ll be hungry soon. I hear her drag herself from bed not long later, using the bathroom, puttering around before stepping into the hall, her eyes bloodshot and sleepy, her hair messy. She smiles at me, another joint dangling from the corner of her lips.

“Morning, darling. Where’ve you been?”

“Had a meeting.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Someone’s got to work.”

She snorts and waves a hand. “The fucking man’s got enough little biddies to do his dirty work.”

“I do data entry for a salvage company, Mom.”

“Damn right you do.” She jabs a finger at me, eyes smiling. “You think they don’t know it? You got no other options.”

Unlike you, I don’t have a daughter to mooch off. “Do you mind not smoking in the house?”

She considers the joint quizzically. “This stuff? It’s all natural, you know that.”

“I know, but, Mom—“ I stop myself from saying, it’s bad for the baby, because she doesn’t know yet. “We’re going to get evicted if you keep it up.”

“Nah, it’s legal now. That fucking landlord scumbag has no legal standing. You hear me?! No legal fucking standing!” She waves a fist at the wall.

Someone pounds on the door.

I yelp in surprise. Mom’s face pales, her hand lowering. She gives me a sheepish grin.

“Guess he was listening,” she says, marching to answer the knock.

“Wait a second. At least put out the⁠—“

I hear the chain pull back and the bolt snap. “Well, hello there, and who would you be?” Mom sounds delighted, which means that’s not Dennis here to answer her challenge.

“Hello, you must be Dawn, Angelina’s mother. My name is Connor Maguire⁠—“

Holy shit.

I drop the knife I was using to cut a sandwich in half. It clatters to the floor. How long has it been since I left the coffee place? An hour? Maybe two? I took my time getting home, but he’s already here. What the hell is happening right now?

“—if you’re her boss, she’s got a better job than I realized,” Mom purrs as I wheel around the corner, wiping my hands on a towel.

I stop short. Connor’s in the hallway looking as incredible as he did when I left him. Mom’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, doing her pouty/flirty thing, which is gross and I’m not thinking about that. Connor’s eyes latch onto mine, and I feel like a fox in a trap as I try to think of some way out of this.

But there’s no escape.

Connor’s going to kill me.

“Do you mind if we come in? I have something very important to do with your daughter.”

“Not at all. Does he work with you as well?” Mom squints past Connor. “I didn’t know Catholic priests needed day jobs, but it’s no shock in this economy.”

Mom saunters past me, winking, mischief all over her face. She slumps onto the couch and relights her joint.

Connor follows her in, looking like sin, sex, and hell. Behind him is an older man, heavier, wrinkled, gray hair parted to the left. He’s wearing a gray jacket, black slacks, and a typical white priest collar. He peers at me nervously from behind his glasses. A Bible’s clutched against his chest.

“What’s going on right now?” I back away into my living room.

Connor takes in the space with distaste. His eyes drift to my mother and his expression hardens. “Put that out, please.”

“Put out what?” Mom exhales a plume of smoke. It hits the fan and drifts away.

“You can’t smoke around your daughter. You can’t smoke around my⁠—“

“Okay! That’s enough! Mr. Maguire, I appreciate you making an unexpected house call, but maybe we can go talk in private?”

Connor ignores me. “Put it out, Dawn.”

“Okay, now you’re starting to annoy me. This is my house. This here is legal.” She waves the joint in the air. “Didn’t we just go over this, Angie? What’s with this guy?”

Connor stalks over to my mother, ignoring my protests, stoops down, and rips the joint from her hand. He jabs it out in an ashtray. Mom cringes back in terror and shock, her hands held up like claws in a defensive posture.

“You don’t smoke around your daughter anymore. Do you understand me?”

“I don’t… what the fuck…” She starts to stand. “You mother⁠—“

“Mom, I’m pregnant.”

I have to shout it so everyone hears. Mom’s anger fades as surprise takes over. Her face pales.

“You’re… what? Are you being serious?”

“She’s pregnant with my child,” Connor clarifies menacingly. “And you will no longer smoke around her. Do you understand?”

“God damn it, Mom, I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.” I scrub my hands through my hair. “Connor, can we please talk in private?”

“Angie, is this real? You’re pregnant?”

“It’s okay, Mom, we’ll talk later. Connor?”

He turns back to me. “Two minutes. We’re in a hurry. Father Charles, would you mind?”

“Not at all. Take your time.”

I grimace as the priest stands quietly in the corner. I’d forgotten all about him.

“Please, Father, help yourself to the sandwiches in the kitchen. There’s soda… water… Mom can make you tea… we’ll be right back.”

I grab Connor’s hand and pull him down the narrow hall. I’m extremely aware of how small and dumpy our apartment is. The place is cramped and old, and about the only good thing it’s got going is the rent control. Without it, even this much space would be unaffordable for us.

I slam my bedroom door closed. Connor looks around curiously. He lifts a photograph on my desk of me and some friends from the high school soccer team. I snatch it from his hand and toss it on my pillow.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I told you earlier. We’re getting married.”

I throw a hand at the door. “Is that why you brought a freaking priest?!”

“Father Charles is a good friend of my family. He agreed to take care of the ceremony and all the paperwork.”

“Connor. Please listen to me.” I rub the tension spot on the bridge of my nose, gritting my teeth. “We. Are. Not. Getting. Married.”

“Yes, we are.”

“I know you’re doing the whole knight-in-shining-armor thing, but please, I’m begging you, stop. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want that sort of relationship. We can co-parent, we can be friends and partners, but we are not getting married, okay?!”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, you clearly don’t. I told you today because it was the right thing to do, not because I wanted to force you into making some grand gesture. And honestly—“ I bite my lower lip, looking him up and down. “You look amazing. It means a lot that you’re doing this and taking it seriously and it’s sweet in a freaky sort of way. But we are not getting married. We just can’t. It’s bad enough you told my mom. That’s enough damage for one day.”

He stands silently listening. When I finish, he moves forward, stalking toward me. I back up until I hit the edge of my bed and end up sitting on my ass, eyes fixed on the massive beast as he looms over me, all his amusement gone.

Replaced by pure menace.

“If you’re done, now it’s time for you to listen.”

“You ass⁠—“

He drops to a knee. One hand snakes out and grips my hair. I gasp in shock, it happens so fast. Pain flares in my scalp, but he doesn’t pull too hard. I try to push away, hands into his chest, against his warm muscles, but that only makes the pain worse.

“Time to listen. I don’t want to force you like this, but there’s no other option. I’m supposed to walk down the aisle with another woman in about two hours, and unless I have a very good excuse for not being there, all hell is going to break loose. As it stands, marrying you is going to cause a lot of trouble, but it’s the only way I can think to protect you through everything.”

I gape at him, stunned. His fist in my hair is forgotten. Mom and Father Charles and everything disappear. There’s only Connor down on his knees, looking me in the eye, and I realize something.

His anger isn’t rage—it’s desperation.

The suit he’s wearing is his wedding suit.

“The ring,” I whisper, hoarse and confused.

“Meant for another woman. I’ll get you something better, something special for you, but it’ll have to do for now.”

Fuck. Another woman.

What the fuck is going on?

“How… I mean… were you…”

His grip on my hair loosens. “I was not engaged when we slept together. I didn’t even know her at that time.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. We had sex like almost two months ago.”

“There’s a lot about my life you don’t know, angel, and I don’t have time to explain everything.”

“You can’t blow past this.”

“My relationship with Sinead was platonic. We were arranged to marry each other by our families. She won’t miss me and I won’t miss her.”

“Arranged? Seriously?”

“I told you, there’s a lot you don’t understand.”

Pieces begin to drift together. His low, menacing tone coalesces.

He’s in trouble.

“Look, I don’t know what’s happening right now… I don’t know what your deal is with this Sinead woman… but I’m not going to break up your marriage. No way.”

“Angel, darling, I’m trying to do this the right way. I’m trying to be patient. But people are going to start looking for me soon, and they can’t find me until after you’ve said your vows and Father Charles has made it official. Otherwise, they’ll make sure we never see each other again, and I’m wed to that other woman.”

“This is crazy.”

“I know. I’ll make it make sense soon. What you need to know is you are going to marry me, right here, right now, whether you want to or not. You can do it easy or you can do it hard. Father Charles is prepared for both options.”

“A priest is going to let you force me to marry you? That’s not possible.”

“It’s real. It’s happening. I don’t want to make you, but I will. This is for your protection, angel. This is for our child’s safety.”

“You keep saying that, but I don’t understand.”

He releases my hair reluctantly and puts his hands on my thighs. I hold his eyes, terrified. He’s so close I could kiss him. His breath is warm and his body is enormous. We’re at equal level, and I’m so afraid, but no part of me thinks he’s going to hurt me.

“Sinead’s family. They won’t allow a child of my blood to survive for long, not unless it’s also Sinead’s child.”

I stiffen and shove his hands off me. “Someone’s going to hurt our baby?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, angel. I don’t want to scare you, but unless I’m married to you, they will make sure I go through with my arrangement, and they will ensure only my children with Sinead can act as my rightful heirs.”

“Which means they’ll kill my baby,” I whisper, whole body ringing with the absurdity of this situation. “You’re talking like… like… you’re some ancient Roman lord or something.”

“That’s exactly what I am.” He rocks back and stands.

Connor looks like a prince in that suit. He looks like a god. His eyes are sharp and gorgeous, his lips full and soft and pressed into a hard line, his muscular body poised and graceful. He could break me in half, there’s so much power in his massive shoulders.

I want to scream… I want to kiss him… I want to get the hell out of here.

“Marry me, Angelina,” he says, holding out a hand. “I’ll protect you. I’ll keep our child safe, no matter what it costs, this I swear.”

I don’t believe him. His story is too bizarre and fantastic. But why would he make it up like this? Why would he be so desperate right now if it weren’t true?

“I can’t,” I choke out, fighting tears, unable to believe any of this is real.

In my world, life makes sense. There are rules. There are ways of doing things.

And this?

This is pure fiction.

Connor lets out a long breath. “The hard way it is.”

He moves fast. I try to jerk back but he grabs one arm, turns his hips for leverage, and hoists me up. I scream, kicking my legs and thrashing my arms, but he pins me and holds me over his shoulder like a caveman claiming his prize.

“Put me down! Connor, what the fuck⁠—!”

He kicks open my bedroom door and carries me into the living room. My mom’s standing in the kitchen, frozen in shock, as I’m thrown mercilessly onto the couch. I land heavily with a gasp, try to leap up, but Connor pushes me down again, pinning me with a hand against my chest.

“Father Charles. We should begin.”

“What the hell are you doing?!” Mom comes rushing out of the kitchen. “This is fucking crazy. I’m calling the cops.”

Connor reaches into his jacket. This time, he really does draw a gun.

I gasp, covering my mouth, as he turns and aims it at my mother’s head.

“Father Charles,” Connor repeats calmly. “The ceremony, please.”

“What… the fuck…” Mom stands very still, going pale. She looks ten years older and so frail. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t hurt me.”

Hurt you?! What about me?!

Father Charles flips open his Bible and clears his throat. “I apologize for this, I truly do, but Connor here impressed upon me the nature of the situation⁠—“

“Father, I’m holding my future mother-in-law at gunpoint. Let’s skip the preamble.”

Father Charles turns to me and tries a nervous smile. “Yes, ah, yes, of course. Ahem, well, let’s skip past this… and this…” He flips a few pages. “Yes, here we are. In the name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Ah, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”

“We have,” Connor says.

“Fuck no! This is insane!”

“Very good.” Father Charles looks back down at the Bible as if I didn’t speak. “Will you love and honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?”

“I will.” Connor sounds like he truly means it. “Angie, say it.”

“Hell no, please, don’t do this!” I look at my mom in a desperate panic, but she’s pinned to the spot, not moving a muscle. “We can’t seriously be doing this?”

“Wonderful.” Father Charles licks his finger and turns a page. “Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your right hands and declare your consent before God and his Church.”

Connor switches the gun to his left hand and drops to his knees in front of me. He takes my right in his, gripping tightly, the pistol still pointed at my mother. He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, and my heart goes wild, racing a mad rhythm against my ribs.

This can’t be happening. I can’t find this exciting. There’s no way this is legal.

“I, Connor Maguire, take you, Angelina Bellandi, to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you—“ He kisses my wrist. “—in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health—“ He kisses each tip of my fingers. “—to love you and to honor you all the days of my life. I swear it on my heart and by my soul, to death.”

Silence falls. Mom’s mouth moves like a fish. Father Charles watches me expectantly.

The world flattens to Connor. His words ring in my ears, but not only what he said, but how he said them, like each was a prayer, a divine pact written in blood, and this all becomes real, all of it. The gun, the marriage, the baby, the threats, the fear. It’s real, it’s happening, and I’m going to be his wife. There’s no stopping him.

“We can skip—“ Father Charles starts.

But I cut him off. “I promise to be your wife,” I whisper, choking out the words. “If you protect our baby to your dying breath.”

“I will,” he says.

And I believe him. “Father. Finish the ceremony.”

Father Charles clears his throat. “Not the traditional vows, but good enough. What God has joined together, let no one put asunder. Ring now, please.”

Connor cuts his eyes to my mom. “You move and you bleed.” He places the gun on the floor and takes out the ring again. I watch, horrified, fascinated, as he puts it on my finger. It’s slightly too big, but it fits close enough. “Beautiful,” he says, kissing the stone one more time.

“I now declare you husband and wife.” Father Charles snaps the book shut. “Ego coniungo vos in matrimonium, in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

Connor wraps me in his arms and kisses me.

I melt against his mouth. His taste is sin, honey, death, and hellfire. It’s the end of me and I know it. Whatever I’ve done, whatever I’ve gotten myself into, there’s no way out, there’s no escape, not from a man like Connor.

I break as I kiss him, the sweetest kiss I’ve ever tasted, both poison and cure at once, and I know my life is over, even as it’s just beginning.

10

ANGIE

I’m bundled into Connor’s Mercedes. Mom is left behind with a warning: call the police and her apartment will burn to the ground while her corpse is left in the bathtub. Father Charles pretends like he doesn’t hear any of it, smiling the whole time as though he completed a successful homily.

“I need clothes,” I say as Connor steers the car away from the only life I’ve ever known. The ring on my finger feels like fire, like there are ants crawling under my skin. “I left my phone in the kitchen. I need my computer⁠—“

“Everything will be provided for you at home.”

“Home? What home? I don’t even know where you live.”

His eyes cut to me, dark and roaming my body, no smile on his face. This Connor is all business. He’s the Big Boss, but morphed into a hellish monster. “I have a house in Queens.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. “Queens? Are you crazy? That doesn’t tell me anything. Queens is huge.”

“You’ll see.” His phone starts buzzing. He checks the screen, jaw twitching, but shuts it off and throws it into the back seat.

This is very, very bad.

I don’t fully understand what’s happening here.

I’m married to Connor, all because I got pregnant with his baby, and he apparently left some other woman at the altar for me?

It’s insanity.

Now he’s ignoring phone calls, presumably panicked messages from the wedding he’s skipping.

All because he already got married.

“You’re in trouble, aren’t you?” He doesn’t answer. Only keeps driving, eyes locked forward. “You should at least take their calls. What if that girl you were going to marry is worried? What about your family?”

“None of them matter.”

“How can that possibly be true? Connor, talk to me. You ran out on another woman. This is crazy.”

He says nothing and I want to scream.

Houses flit past as the car drifts further away from sanity. We get on the highway, the Mercedes purring like a cat. Connor changes lanes, slips between a truck and an SUV, hits the gas. I cling to the side panel, nose against the glass, trying to hold it together. Connor goes faster, like he’s trying to get us both killed.

Until he takes an exit, gliding down as the road curves and narrows, down into trees, through streets that don’t make sense, past houses I’ve never seen before in my life. We’re near the water and it’s like the whole neighborhood’s bending toward it. Massive stone structures, villas and Victorians, so different from what I grew up with. It feels like we’re in the rich suburbs, but we’re still in the city.

“What is this place?” I ask, annoyed with myself for not knowing. I grew up in New York and there are still areas I’ve never heard of.

“It’s called Malba. Small community. Not much out here. No bodegas, no cheap bars, none of that.”

“Rich people. That explains it.”

He grunts as the car slows and turns toward a massive stone-and-metal fence, pausing in front of a gate. Connor taps a code into a pad and the gate rolls back, giving me the first glimpse of my future.

The house is enormous. I’ve never seen anything like it in the city before. It’s like we’re in Cape Cod or something. Multiple wings, trees all over, a driveway big enough to park ten cars or more, plus a huge detached garage with space for ten more. There’s a fountain but it’s dry and the concrete looks cracked. Weeds are growing in some of the flower beds, though the grass is cut and tidy.

Connor parks out front and kills the engine.

“This is the Maguire family home.” He says it like that should mean something.

“You live here?”

“I inherited this place ten years ago when I took over the business. I haven’t spent much time in this house though.”

“Why are we here?”

“Because it’s the most easily defensible place in the city.”

“Defensible? What does that even mean?”

He closes his eyes for a beat as if gathering himself and it’s like a different man shifts his body in my direction. “You will not cause trouble. You will be patient. Everything will make sense soon and all your needs will be met. But for now, you will sit tight. Do you understand me?”

“I don’t understand anything, Connor, and you’re freaking me out.”

“Get out of the car.” He pushes his door open and comes around to my side. I flinch away but he doesn’t hesitate to drag me along behind him. I stumble, forced to hurry to keep pace as he strides up steps toward a pair of massive double doors. A simple key unlocks a loud bolt and the smell of must and dust hits me as we step inside.

My mouth opens to complain when his hand clamps onto my wrist but I’m too busy taking in the place to say anything.

The entryway is huge with tall ceilings, a beautiful chandelier, and all hardwood floors. The molding looks original, dusty, but gorgeous. Some furniture is covered in white cloth. An oil painting of a boat on fire hangs on the wall. I want to stop and look, but Connor pulls me up the carpeted stairs.

“This is the East Wing,” he says, turning to the left and dragging me through another set of double doors which open on more hallways.

“How many rooms are there in this house?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never counted. Dozens at least. There’s the West Wing and the South Wing, and you will not be permitted to enter either of them.”

“Why not?” I catch glimpses of rooms through half-open doors, some of them empty, most of them with cloth-covered furniture standing like ghosts in haunted corners. “Seriously, does anyone live here?”

“You do.” He reaches the end of the hall and shoves open the doors to a sprawling bedroom.

It’s the first space that looks like it has been used in the last decade. A beautiful plush rug in front of a fireplace, a sitting area with surprisingly modern chairs and couches, and a truly massive bed against the far wall. There’s an en suite bathroom, fully updated, and a closet bigger than my bedroom back home.

“This is too much,” I say softly, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed. “I don’t want to be here, Connor. I want to be back home with my mom.”

“It’s not an option anymore.”

“When can I see her? She’s freaked out. I need to make sure she knows I’m okay.”

“I’ll message her tomorrow.”

“I need my toiletries, my clothes, all my things. Connor, you can’t just throw me in here⁠—“

His face gives me nothing as he stalks over and takes me by the hips. I yelp in surprise, pushed off-balance, and I stumble back against the fireplace. The stones are rough and hard and hurt my back and he pins me there, one massive hand grabbing my wrists and holding them above my head. He’s breathing hard and fast, a note of chaotic rage playing across his beautiful lips, and he looks like a handsome lion about to lose control. I’m terrified, but when his knee presses against my legs, a pang of desire burns deep into my core.

“You will not make this difficult for me, do you understand, angel? I need to hurry now. I have plans to put in motion and people to protect. Nobody knows what I’ve done, not yet, and if I’m careful, I can get them out safe.”

“Get who out safe?”

“You don’t have to worry about that. But for now, you will stay here, in this room, and you will be quiet.”

“What if I’m not? What if I scream?”

“This house is ten thousand square feet on ten acres of private waterfront property.” His lips bend forward, grazing against my ear. “Nobody’s coming.”

My chest rises and falls rapidly, brushing against him, and I want him to bite down. I want him to rip out my throat, or I want him to kiss me, or I want to throw myself out a window, except I’m worried about what he might do to my mother and I have a baby to protect.

“You can’t just leave me here.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

He releases my wrists and steps away. His eyes hold me, a strange, pleading obsession in them, before he turns his back. “You won’t ever thank me for this and I won’t deserve it. I’ve put you in more danger than you can ever know. But marrying you wasn’t the mistake.”

I rub my wrists as he stalks from the room. The doors slam shut. I count to fifty in my head, trying to steady myself, wondering what he means. Marrying me wasn’t the mistake? But does he mean fucking me then?

I bite my lip to keep from crying, storm to the doors, and try to fling them open.

Locked.

I yank hard. I slam my shoulder against them. I kick, punch, and finally, I start screaming until my throat hurts.

Connor wasn’t kidding. Nobody’s coming.

I check the windows but they’re all a huge drop and I don’t feel confident I can survive it without hurting the baby. There’s no escape in the enormous, gorgeous bathroom either, though I take a long drink from the tap. There’s no hidden hatchway in the closet, no secret path that might steal me away from this place. Only a lovely room like a gilded prison.

I throw myself onto the couch, afraid to touch the bed, and take stock of my situation.

Connor Maguire forced me into a marriage I don’t want, threatened my mother into keeping her mouth shut, and locked me in a bedroom in some creepy riverfront mansion.

All because I’m pregnant.

I don’t want to start crying again. I wipe my face, fighting against the helplessness that floods me. What kind of man could convince a Catholic priest to go along with that sham? What kind of monster would treat the mother of his future child like this?

I knew Connor was terrifying. Everyone at WashCo whispers about him, but I assumed those were all rumors.

He’s handsome and rich. He built a business from nothing and grew it into a big, profitable enterprise. I assume everyone’s only jealous of what he accomplished.

But what if they’re right?

What if when Nadia winks at me and says we’re doing some shady business… she’s not kidding?

Or when my manager once said I’d better learn how to read with my eyes closed… or when Rick sometimes grumbles about numbers not adding up right… or the overheard snippets of scared whispering in the break room.

I don’t know how long I’m alone. There’s no clock and I’m too trapped in my own head to keep track. I’m deep in a self-pity spiral when there’s a bang in the hall followed by the sound of the doors unlocking.

I have a few seconds to leap to my feet, the irrational thought that I might charge and escape jolting into my brain, only for it to immediately fizzle as Connor enters followed by two more massive men in dark suits.

My husband steps aside, sweeping a hand toward me. The older of the newcomers pauses just in through the doors, his face twisted in an expression caught between rage and dismay.

The younger one throws back his head and laughs. “Holy fuck, Connor, I thought you were kidding! But there’s seriously a girl here!”

“My wife, asshole. You will respect her.”

“I don’t even know her name. Jesus Christ.” He wipes his eyes, grinning at me. “Hello there, Mrs. Maguire. My name’s Marcus. I’ve known your husband since long before he became the charmer he is now.”

“Uh… hello? I’m sorry, but who are these people?” I look at Connor for help.

He gestures at the pair. “Marcus is a close friend and top lieutenant. And the quiet angry one is Deck, my cousin, also a top lieutenant.”

“Nice to meet you two?” I rub my hands together like I’m trying to get feeling back in them. What would they do if I started begging? Pleading for them to let me go? Nothing, most likely. A pit opens in my guts. “But what do you mean, they’re your lieutenants?”

“She doesn’t know,” Deck rumbles. He’s a pitted, scarred, brutal-looking man, older than Connor, even more muscular, like a pit bull on steroids. He’s a few inches shorter, but he makes up for that in sheer raw power. His hair’s buzzed short and the suit fits him like sneakers on a pigeon.

“No, she doesn’t know anything,” Connor confirms firmly. “And you both will keep your mouths shut until we’ve spoken. I only brought you here so you understand I’m not joking around.”

“I fucking wish you were. The Gallaghers are going to lose their minds.” Deck throws his hands in the air. “Not to mention the Whelans. My God, Connor, you’ve started a war.”

That word strikes me in the chest. I step back, falling down to sit on the edge of the couch. Marcus is smiling at me thoughtfully, while Deck looks furious, his pale skin turning an unhealthy pink.

“I’m aware of what I’ve done, cousin.” Connor’s tone is pure blackness. He steps toward Deck menacingly. “But that woman is pregnant with my child, and as much as you don’t like it, you will accept what I’ve done. I will fix things with the Whelans. I will handle the Gallaghers. This family has endured worse and it will continue to flourish.”

“Well, fuck me in the mouth,” Marcus says brightly. “You’re going to be a father on top of all this?”

Deck’s jaw works. He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been saying you’re too free with that cock of yours. You need to learn⁠—“

Connor moves fast. He takes three strides forward and slams a fist straight into Deck’s guts before the older man can move to block it. Deck doubles over with a grunt and Connor drives him back into the wall. The house shakes horribly. I cover my mouth to stifle a scream. Marcus’s grin gets bigger like it’s the most amusing thing he’s ever seen.

“Listen to me now, cousin. I understand you are upset. That’s the only reason you aren’t dead. But you will not speak about your boss, or your boss’s wife, with such open disrespect in the future. Do you understand?”

There’s a tense moment. Deck’s eyes are wild and I think he’s going to fight back. But after a beat, he slumps and nods. “You’re right. I crossed the line. I apologize.”

Connor releases him and steps back. “Both of you, leave us. Deck, you need to gather our strength. We’re setting up here in the mansion. This is home base now. Bring as many men as you can. They stay in shifts, full arms, understood?”

“Yes, boss. I’ll get it done.” Deck grunts, turns, and pauses. “You still have one hell of a right hand, Connor.”

“Learned it from the best.”

Deck strides off. Connor watches him go warily, and I jump when Marcus speaks. He’s standing closer to me now, head cocked thoughtfully.

“She’s really not in the life?”

“Not even a little bit.” Connor turns back to us. He rubs his knuckles slowly. “The house needs staff. You’re in charge of vetting them. And my family needs to arrive here discreetly before the Gallaghers know what happened.”

Marcus leans in closer to me, not responding to Connor. “You’re on the far side of the looking glass now. I don’t envy you one bit.”

“Now, Marcus,” Connor says sharply.

Marcus smiles at me, winks, and turns away. “Yes, sir, boss, sir.” He salutes lazily. “No need to punch me. That’s Deck’s thing. Pretty sure he gets off on it.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t talk about Deck and getting off.”

“He’s hard as hell right now. That man loves getting punched.”

“Careful.”

Marcus claps Connor on the shoulder. “She’s beautiful, brother. I only hope she’s worth it.”

Connor holds his eyes grimly. “She is.”

There’s another tense beat between the men before Marcus leaves the room.

Silence descends. The doors are still open, but they might as well be bolted shut and rimmed in steel. There’s no getting out of here, not anymore, and I can see it now.

Connor paces over to the bed and sits on the edge. He slumps forward, looking down. His phone dangles in his hand as he eases open his collar.

I approach tentatively. He doesn’t look up like he doesn’t know I’m still here.

“I think I know what you are,” I say, smoothing my shirt for something to do with my hands.

“What’s that?” he asks wearily.

“You’re mafia, aren’t you?”

That gets a very small laugh. “Mafia is Italian, but yes, that’s close enough. My family comes from a very, very long line of criminals, petty thieves, murderers, and arsonists. I’m the latest in a steady flow of monsters, my angel, and you’re in my world now.” His eyes are dark and heavy when he looks up. “You will learn to obey. You will survive this, I promise, and when it’s over I’ll give you a good life as my wife. Our child will be happy and comfortable. This I swear to you.”

“But what about my mom? I need to call her and tell her what’s going on.”

“I have bigger problems than your mother.”

“But if there’s going to be trouble⁠—“

“They don’t know who you are yet. That won’t last long, but for now, your mother’s safe. I will bring her here before she’s in danger. Assuming you’re good.”

I press one fist into the opposite palm. “You’re blackmailing me? You’re using my mother against me?”

“I’m putting out fucking fires before we’re burned to a crisp. Yes, I’m blackmailing you, and you will not cause trouble. You don’t understand what I’ve done, but you will soon.” He curses as his phone starts to buzz. He looks down and grunts. “I have to go. It’s starting already.”

“What’s starting?”

“Hell, angel, and all the demons are coming for us.”

11

CONNOR

Deck and three guards follow me to the entrance of an upscale Italian place called Dolce Vita.

“You shouldn’t go in there alone.” Deck stands at my shoulder. He’s in a black bomber jacket and jeans, the suit discarded the first chance he got. There’s a vest underneath and at least two guns that I can see, but probably more. My cousin loves weapons.

“Declan’s mad enough as it is. I have to face him alone.”

“You might not come back out.”

“It’s a chance I have to take.”

Deck grunts unhappily. “I’ll secure the perimeter at least. Make sure the Gallaghers aren’t coming.”

“They don’t know yet.”

“How long until they do? Everyone’s aware you didn’t show up.”

“They think I got cold feet. That’s bad enough. They’re angry, but not ready to start murdering.”

“That’ll change when they find out about the girl.” Deck turns away. “Good luck in there, boss.”

I stride through the doors, leaving my men outside.

The interior of Dolce Vita’s handsome and richly decorated. There’s no hostess up front since they’re not technically open yet. A lone waitress sits at a front table rolling napkins. She ignores me as I walk past her, heading to the private room in the very back. The kitchen staff is already hard at work, the sound of music blaring and cursing in multiple languages filtering through the doors.

I find Declan Whelan sitting with his back to the wall, a glass of wine in front of him. Several guards are stationed around the room. The closest immediately closes on me, a gun aimed at my chest.

“Don’t move,” the guard says and starts to pat me down.

I keep my eyes on Declan and submit to the rough treatment. He watches impassively. When the guard clears me, he waves them away. The big men file out, leaving us alone, the table acting as a buffer.

Declan’s gaze is heavy and painful. It’s sorrowful and angry, and I don’t know what hurts most. Knowing I betrayed him, or knowing I’d do it again.

“What’s her name?” he asks, finally breaking the quiet.

“Angelina Bellandi.”

“Italian?”

“I think so. That’s my guess. She’s pregnant.”

Declan nods like he expected it. “When did you find out?”

“This morning before I left for the church.”

“Bad timing.”

“I didn’t plan any of this, boss⁠—“

“No, you didn’t, otherwise, it wouldn’t have been such a fucking nightmare. You didn’t think, you didn’t consider, you only acted impulsively and foolishly, and now here you are, knee-deep in a river of shit with no bridge to either side.”

I blow a breath from my nose and look down at the table. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right. Look at me, Connor.” I meet his eyes, jaw flexing. I haven’t been treated like this in a very long time, but by God, I deserve it and I’ll take it like a man. “I gave you everything. I raised you from nothing, put you in charge of the Maguire clan, and supported every decision you made, even those I thought would not work out. You exceeded every one of my wildest expectations. You have proven yourself smart, strong, capable, and loyal a dozen times over. I had high hopes for you, Connor, and it breaks my heart that I have to do this.”

Wildly, stupidly, I wonder if he really is going to kill me. “She’s carrying my child, Declan⁠—“

“I am Boss Whelan to you now.”

“My baby, Boss Whelan. That means something.”

“It does. Frankly, it’s the only reason you aren’t dead. Killing you would fix this situation. The Gallaghers would be furious, but we’d find a new husband for Sinead and life would go on. Your family would burn, blood would flow, but that’s the cost of business. Instead, you’re still breathing.”

I wish I felt relief, but I don’t. In some ways, dying for this would be easier than living with the shame of what I’ve done. But I keep Angie’s face firmly on my mind, not the terrorized and horrified look she’s had ever since going to the Maguire mansion, but the way she gazed at me when I filled her to the brim that terrible, beautiful evening we ruined each other.

“I will fix this.”

“How?” He holds his hands out toward me as if trying to pull an answer from me. “How could you possibly do that?”

“I’ll handle the Gallaghers.”

“You’re really going to war with them? You think that’s a fight you can win?”

“When they’re broken, they’ll bend the knee to you.”

“That’s a lot of fucking work for an outcome I’d already secured,” he says sharply through his teeth.

“I know. And I’ll bleed for it.”

“You or your men will.”

I curl my hands into fists. Yes, there is going to be blood, and pain, and death, and I will hold it all on my shoulders, because that’s what a man does.

“When it’s over, the Gallaghers will be yours, and I will always be your loyal soldier. I will make this up to you, I swear it.”

“I hope so, Connor, but I will not back you on this. When Padraig Gallagher comes with his soldiers, and his boys Fergus and Lorcan and Cillian come to cut your throat, I will watch from the sidelines. I will not mourn you if they burn your life to ashes.”

“I understand.”

“Good. I hope you do. I hope you’re prepared. I’m going to tell them about the girl in two hours. That’s all I’ll give you for years of service. Two hours and nothing more.”

“That’s all I deserve.”

“You deserve to die, Connor. We’ll see what you get.” Declan lifts his glass, blood red and shining. “Good luck.”

I walk slowly out of the restaurant under the gaze of Declan’s soldiers. None move to speak to me. Deck’s waiting outside and he seems disappointed nothing happened. “You good?” he asks.

“We’re in the woods now. We’re on our own.”

“About what I expected. I figured you’d have a knife in the heart.”

“Upset about it?”

“Depends on how the next few weeks shake out.” He bares his teeth and pounds my back.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood now.”

“Once the shock wore off, I realized I’m headed into a very nasty fight. Nothing makes me happier than the promise of killing.”

The drive back to the house is filled with logistics. Deck’s on the phone relaying my orders to the various captains and lieutenants stretched all across the city. Two hours isn’t enough, but it’ll have to work. We drive the whole time, meeting with a few important men in person to make sure they understand what’s going to happen. I consolidate our territory and oversee the distribution of guns, ammunition, and body armor to our people, and I personally prepare them for what’s to come.

Two hours turn to three. The fact that there hasn’t been some kind of explosion is unnerving. The Gallaghers have to know by now.

I can only imagine their reaction. Old Padraig losing his mind, her brothers apoplectic with rage. Sinead’s angry, embarrassed tears. She always did deserve better.

Marcus calls when we finally reach Malba. There are guards stationed on the house grounds lurking among the trees with rifles and grim faces. “Tell me good news,” I say as I get out of the car, rolling my shoulders.

“I have your family. They’re safe and secure. The little brat⁠—“

I hear Rowan in the background. Don’t be a dick, Marcus⁠—

“She insisted on packing all her shit, which took forever.”

“Tell me you have men with you.”

“Plenty, no worries.” Marcus’s voice drops low. “Danielle is pissed, brother, just a heads-up.”

I shove back against a groan. My father’s wife is always a pain, but I have a feeling she’s only going to be fifty times worse. “I’ll handle it.”

“I bet you will. Lots to handle now.”

I’m surprised to find several young women in dark outfits pulling covers off furniture and dusting. I wrinkle my nose and swallow a sneeze. A vacuum’s running nearby. “Staff’s already at work. Good job.”

“Pleasure’s mine. Got to run. We’re all good here, see you soon. Danielle’s yelling about something. Hey, what the fuck do you—“ The phone goes dead. I shove it into my pocket and stand in the entryway of my house, trying to let the weight of the situation descend onto my shoulders.

This building was never my home. I stay here once or twice a week, at most, but only ever use that master bedroom. The place is haunted by the dead Maguires from years past. I always wonder how the hell they afforded it, considering we were barely more than a bunch of grimy car thieves. But the answer’s obvious: the grime was a distraction and the money was always there, propping up our operations. Only I took what was a disorganized mess and turned it into a money-making flywheel.

Mostly what we do is legitimate. WashCo is an actual salvage and towing operation. The books are mostly real. But there’s the other half of the business, the half that’s a front for drug sales and the catalytic converter trade. Illicit car parts, stripped and boosted, flow across the country from our warehouses, mixed in with the legit pieces. Before I grew our operations, this house was a crumbling wreck. I’ve been holding it up for ages.

But now I have a wife and a child coming, and it’s time to bring it back to its former glory.

The doors behind me slam open. Deck enters, walking fast. “Boss, they’re here.”

The grim tone in his voice sets my jaw on edge. “Where?”

“Three cars. Tons of men. All the brothers. But it’s the girl⁠—“

“Sinead?”

“She says she wants to talk. She comes in peace. Connor—“ Deck’s usual expression twists painfully. “God, fucking hell, you’ll have to see it.”

I step out the door and stand on the front landing overlooking the driveway. My soldiers stand in a wide ring around three SUVs, their weapons leveled. I recognize three men standing near the lead vehicle: Fergus, the oldest brother, built like a tank with a neck like a double-wide, chewing on a cigar angrily, and Lorcan, the middle of them, athletic and handsome and smiling, which is worse, and the youngest Cillian, stone-cold, long hair pulled back, dead eyes watching carefully.

But nobody’s paying attention to them.

Instead, it’s her, standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up at me with a beautiful frown.

Wearing a white wedding dress.

Sinead looks incredible. Her hair’s back in a twisty braid. Her makeup is flawless. She looks like an ancient druidic queen, the sort of woman who rode wolves into battle streaked in the gore of her enemies. The dress clings to her curves, lovely and flowing, conservative while also emphasizing her stunning body. She’s immaculate, the kind of bride any man would happily die for.

Now I see what Deck meant.

“Hello, Connor,” she says, her voice surprisingly calm, given the circumstances. Her brothers look like they’re coming apart, especially Fergus. They’re all still in their wedding suits.

“Hello, Sinead. You look fantastic.”

“Thank you. I had hoped you’d like the dress, but now I’m not sure I care.”

“I don’t blame you.”

Her lips twitch, the only proof that she’s feeling anything at all. Her hands are twisted in front of her, held loosely.

“I came to warn you. Father didn’t want me to, but I insisted. I like you, Connor. You present like an uncaring playboy, but there is more to you than that, and I was looking forward to drawing it out of you. That won’t happen now.”

“No, it won’t.”

“There will be war. That’s what I’m here to say. I tried to talk them out of it, but my brothers won’t let it stand and my father won’t go easy. I know you probably won’t believe it, but I am sorry.”

I incline my head. I feel nothing but respect for this woman. “I’m sorry too.”

There’s a noise behind me. A guard grunting in warning. Footsteps on the floor, and I turn around in time to see Angie step out of the door, blinking against the sunlight, holding a hand up to cover her eyes.

The ring glittering on her finger.

“The fucking whore,” Fergus shouts, stepping forward, one hand going to his belt, and a dozen guns are raised, and there’s a moment when this could all go very wrong as doors fling open and Gallagher soldiers start to spill out⁠—

But Sinead holds up a hand. “Stand down, Fergus, you gave me your word, unless that’s worthless now?”

He snarls, going still. “That bastard is parading his whore around in front of you, Sinead. Let me kill him. I swear, let me rip off his fucking head.”

“Later.” Sinead flicks her wrist at him. “Talk first. Kill tomorrow.”

“Fucking hell.” Fergus stares at me, a smile playing across his lips. “You’ll be lucky to survive the week, you traitor fuck. You’re lucky I love my sister.”

He steps back to his place, puffing on his cigar, the uneasy tension cooling.

“Connor? What’s happening?” Angie’s very still, stiff and terrified. I’m going to murder the guard we posted at her door, but come to think of it, that might’ve slipped through the cracks. I draw her to me, wrap an arm around her shoulders, and hold her against my side protectively.

“Angelina, this is Sinead.”

Sinead’s cool, calm gaze takes my wife in, her lips thinned. “You left me for her?”

“That’s right. Wasn’t in the plan, but it happened.”

“A shame, really.” Sinead’s smile is strained as she inclines her chin toward Angie. “I hope you do better than I did.”

“This wasn’t what I wanted,” Angie whispers miserably, her eyes on the ground.

I nudge her chin up furiously. I grit my teeth. “You’re my wife now,” I say, forcing her to meet Sinead’s stare. “You’ll fucking act like it.”

Angie stiffens, but instead of pulling away in fear, she does as she’s told.

There’s another tense moment before Sinead turns away, her wedding dress glittering and twirling around her. “Best of luck to both of you,” she says, speaking loudly now, clearly meaning for everyone to hear her. “My family is going to murder you all. My brothers are going to take great pleasure in hurting you and everyone you love. If any man here has sense, he will leave this place before sunrise. You have all been warned. Death is coming, and I do not look forward to it.”

She climbs gracefully into the front vehicle and her oldest brother slams the door shut for her. He grins at me and tosses his cigar into the grass. “Be seein’ you soon, Maguire.”

The three brothers join their sister. The remaining Gallagher forces retreat into the cars. Slowly, the caravan drives off.

“Should’ve killed them,” Deck mutters as he storms off.

But he’s wrong. Murdering Sinead and her brothers would’ve only turned the whole city against us. I’m in the wrong here, and if I killed the woman I left at the altar, I’d truly burn every last bridge I have left.

No, I have to win this war, as fair as I can manage.

“She was beautiful.” Angie’s trembling against my side. She clings to me tightly. “You left her for me? What were you thinking?”

“Sinead Gallagher is a pale imitation of you, angel.” I pull her against my chest.

Angie breaks down. She’s probably been holding these tears in for a while now. She weeps into my chest and I scoop her into my arms. It kills me, watching her like this. A shell of a woman.

She deserves so much more.

To hell with anyone watching. Let them see me carry my wife to the stairs, up to her wing, and into our room. She sobs as I place her in the bed, comforting her the best I can, though I’m the source of all her pain.

“I’ll fix it, angel,” I say softly, stroking her hair, though I know she hates me, and I know her life’s in danger because of me, but I can’t change any of that now.

All I can do is win, protect the people I love, and make sure I don’t poison them even worse than I already have.

Angie’s too precious. She’s always been too perfect to me.

Now that I have her, I’ll die to keep her safe, but I won’t ever let my weakness drag her down to my level ever again.

12

ANGIE

I’m left alone that first night. I don’t know where Connor goes after he tucks me into bed and I don’t have the strength to figure it out. I spiral as I study the unfamiliar ceiling, thinking about those people down in front of the house, those men who clearly hate Connor even more than I do, and for good reason.

He betrayed them. He turned his back on a beautiful woman and left her at the altar.

He did it for me.

I wake feeling like I’m hungover. It’s strange, being in this enormous room all alone. I feel like I’m a tiny speck of dust and there’s a vast ocean all around me. I grew up in that small apartment my whole life and I’ve never known anything else, and now my bedroom is bigger than my old living room and kitchen put together and I don’t know what to do with myself.

I take my time getting out of bed. Worries grind into me: Mom all alone, Nadia probably wondering where I’ve been, what’ll happen with Connor, this war, Sinead, everything. I drag myself into the bathroom and face the mirror.

Why me? I’m pregnant, but why would he blow up his whole life for me?

I shower and find fresh clothes in the closet. They’re all designer and I have no idea where they came from. I pick the least obnoxious jeans and simple gray shirt I can find before trying the door, intent on getting some answers.

It’s unlocked.

Which is a surprise. I expected to be trapped. I slip into the hallway, listening to the deep quiet of the house around me.

How big is this place? The carpeting swallows any noise I make. I pause and look into the rooms as I pass, but most of them are empty. One has a piano, half covered in a cloth, and another has what looks like a bunch of oil painting materials, though the canvas looks brittle and I’m sure the paints are all dried up. Who lived here before Connor? Where did all this stuff come from?

I reach the end of the hall and the next set of double doors. I try it, and while the door opens, it immediately bumps into something on the other side.

“What the heck—“ I say, frowning, as I try to smash the door open with my shoulder.

“Apologies, Mrs. Maguire,” a man says on the other side. “But you’re hitting me in the head.”

“Oh, shit!” I back off, heart racing. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea⁠—“

An older man peers in through the crack. He’s got on black sunglasses and is rubbing the back of his skull. His hair’s shaved to stubble and his beard’s bushy. A gun’s tucked into a holster at his side.

“No worries, ma’am. My name’s Colm and I’m your bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” I gape at him, bewildered. “I didn’t know I had one of those.”

“You do now, ma’am.” Colm crosses his big, beefy arms over his chest. “What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping I could go find my husband. If I can get past⁠—“

He doesn’t move an inch. “I apologize, ma’am, but I can’t let you do that. I’m under strict orders to keep you locked down for the time being.”

“Locked down?” I repeat. “You mean he’s keeping me prisoner?”

“No, ma’am. This is lockdown. It’s for your own protection, ma’am.”

“I’m not leaving the house, I just want to find Connor.”

“I’ll send for him, ma’am. In the meantime, are you hungry? I can have the staff bring you breakfast and coffee.”

I touch my belly, glaring at him. “You can’t bribe me with food.”

“No, of course not, ma’am.”

“I’m not staying in here forever.”

“I hope not, ma’am.”

“And I’ll scream if you try to make me.”

“That’s alright, ma’am. It’s a big house and I don’t mind.”

I grimace. He looks like I’m not the first woman he’s heard screaming in rage. “Yogurt with berries and coffee with cream and sugar, please.”

“I’ll send it right up. If you need anything else, only knock. Please don’t hit me in the brain again.”

Colm slips out and the door clicks shut behind him.

I slump against the wall with a sigh. I press my eyes shut, willing myself to wake up. This has to be some kind of nightmare. There’s no way Connor showed up at my apartment yesterday, forced me into some psychotic marriage, and locked me into a crumbling mansion all by myself. This sort of thing doesn’t happen.

Except when I open my eyes, I’m still here, and it’s very real.

I’m exploring one of the extra rooms when a young woman appears in the hall. “Mrs. Maguire?” she says brightly, wheeling one of those hotel room service carts. “I have breakfast for you. Would you like it in your room?”

“Definitely not in here.” I cough as I step over a musty old pile of rugs. “When was the last time this place was occupied?”

“No clue. I’m as new here as you are.” She beams at me and wheels the cart down the hall. “My name’s Lisa, I’ll take care of you during the day. Colm said you wanted yogurt and coffee for breakfast.”

She sets me up in the bedroom near the couch. Light blonde hair, a pretty smile. I watch her work, quietly sitting, wondering how much she’s getting paid. “If I begged you to let me out of here, would you do it?”

“No, ma’am, sorry about that.” She flashes me a sad smile. “I’m Whelan too. Not in blood, but you know how that goes.”

“I really, really don’t.”

She laughs like I told the funniest joke in the world. “Let Colm know if you need anything else.”

She’s about to leave, but I call out and stop her. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. I can’t promise I’ll answer though.”

“That woman from yesterday, the one Connor was going to marry…” I trail off, worrying my hands together.

“Sinead,” Lisa says, her eyes flicking to the door.

“What’s her family like? I mean, I heard a little of their conversation… and I saw her brothers…” I’m not sure what I’m looking for here. Honesty, maybe, or ideally for her to tell me that Sinead’s a nice lady and her brothers are great, stand-up guys, and I don’t have anything to worry about.

But Lisa’s expression goes cold. “They’re powerful people, but your husband is doing the best he can. Will that be all?”

She leaves and I collapse down on to the couch. What the hell is happening here? They’re powerful people? I don’t have any clue what she means by that, or how Connor’s doing his best, or why I’m here or what he wants or why I’m trapped or⁠—

I breathe deep to keep from spiraling.

The coffee’s good. The yogurt makes me feel somewhat less lightheaded. I’m almost human again when the door opens and my husband strides into the room.

He stops near the end of the bed before he spots me. I stare at him, back straight, perched on the edge of the couch. He’s in a suit like always, though not the attractive one from yesterday. This one’s more understated, still black, still perfectly tailored and fitted to his gorgeous body. He looks like a prince, like he belongs in a place like this, while I feel like a fresh stain on the ceiling.

“I was told you were looking for me.” He says it like this is the most natural state imaginable.

“Are you really keeping me prisoner in here?”

“I gave you free rein of the full wing.”

“That’s not much better.” I stand and take a few steps toward him, but I stop myself.

I don’t know much about Connor. He was a fine boss, but there were always those rumors, and now I’m starting to realize they were all true. He really is as dangerous as everyone said.

Which means I’m in deep trouble.

“The staff will handle your needs. This isn’t going to be forever.”

“But for how long?”

“I don’t know. Until you’re safe.”

“That’s not acceptable.”

“It’ll have to be. Is that everything? I have work to do.”

“Damn it, Connor. You can’t do this to me. What about my mother?”

“She’s safe. I plan on bringing her in shortly.”

I throw my hands in the air. “You don’t know her. She might be alive but she can barely take care of herself. She needs me.”

“Your mother is a full grown woman. If she can’t survive two days without her daughter, she doesn’t deserve to keep breathing.”

“You asshole.” I grab a pillow and fling it at him. It hits his chest and bounces away. He doesn’t even flinch. “My friends are going to worry. You know Nadia from the office? We text every day. I bet she’s already sending out the SOS.”

“I can handle Nadia.”

Panic hits me and I wave my hands at him. “No, no, no, that’s not what I meant. Please don’t handle her!”

His jawline tightens. “Do you think I’m going to murder your friend?”

“I don’t know what you’re going to do! This is a lot and you haven’t told me anything.”

He comes toward me slowly. His expression smolders, caught in a strange mixture of hate and desire. I back away but end up bumping into the arm of the couch. I’d topple backward, but Connor covers the last few feet between us and catches me by the small of the back, propping me up, my fingers digging into his arms.

“All you need to know is you are safe here, angel. If you need something, anything at all—“ The way he says anything at all sets my skin on fire with an odd, burning pulse. “I will provide it. You already have clothes.”

“Not my own.”

“You’re right. These are better.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Yes.” His grip on me tightens. “You are my wife. You are not my prisoner. But for your own protection, you have to stay in this wing of the house.”

“For how long?”

“Until it’s safe.”

“And since you define safe, that could be forever.”

“Not forever.” His eyes drift down to my belly.

Down to where our child is growing.

I feel a strange thrill.

“A phone,” I say urgently. “Please, give me a phone at least, so I can call my mom and text Nadia. They’ll be worried.”

“I can’t.”

“I won’t try to call for help, I swear it.”

“That would be useless even if you did.”

“Great, all the more reason.”

He lets out a frustrated breath. “Will you be happy if I give you a phone?”

“Yes. I will.” For now, anyway.

He releases me. I yelp as I lose my grip on him and tumble onto the couch, feet up in the air. I kick them, calling him a jerk, but he’s already gone by the time I right myself.

I pace around and it takes a lot of self-control not to rip the room to shreds.

This is my life now, isn’t it? Connor Maguire will appear, make demands, promise that this is all for my own good, and meanwhile he’ll keep me like some pet trapped in a kennel? It’s a beautiful cage with room service, but it’s still a cage.

But maybe, maybe he’s not lying. I touch my stomach, nerves jangling. I saw those people, I heard what Sinead said. Connor’s involved with some very dark shit, and now I’ve been dragged into the middle of it. Lisa even confirmed it too: the Gallaghers are powerful, and now they hate my stinking guts, not that I can blame them.

The door opens. I flinch, surprised to find Connor holding out a simple silver flip phone.

I don’t move to take it. He stares hard, not happy, but not threatening.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, heart pounding up into my throat.

“If you make trouble, I can’t promise your mother will make it here safely.”

Rage flares in my heart. “You’re threatening an old woman?”

“I’m threatening you, angel. Take the phone.”

I stride forward and angrily snatch it from his palm. He catches my wrist before I can spin away and pulls me into his body. I snarl at him, fingernails clawing against his chest, but his face gives me nothing, no sign of pain at all.

“Let me go.”

“I can’t do that. Not while you’re my wife. Not while you’re carrying my child. You might hate me now, but I will do anything to keep that baby safe. One day soon, you’ll understand.”

“Go to hell.”

He releases me and turns away. “Already a step ahead of you,” he says, quietly enough that I’m not sure he means for me to hear, as he walks off.

I spin and throw myself onto the bed. I feel helpless and weak and I hate myself for it.

I’ve always been the responsible one. My mother’s the flake and the stoner. I grew up fast, learned how to pay a credit card bill, learned how to make sure the rent went through every month, cooked meals and cleaned toilets and washed clothes. Now all the control I built into my life is ripped away… and it feels horrible.

I look down at the phone. It’s not mine, but it’s a phone. With shaking hands, I dial Mom’s number, and I’m afraid as it rings and rings, about to hit voicemail, before she finally picks up.

“Hello? If you’re trying to sell me a car warranty⁠—“

“Mom, it’s me.”

“Angie? Are you okay?” She sounds clear, thank God. “I’ve been worried sick.”

“I’m fine. I’m with Connor at his house.”

“You mean your husband? That psychopath? Hon, tell me what to do, because I’m panicking here. He said if I called the police, he’d burn this place down with me in it⁠—“

I let out a nasty grunt of frustration. “He lied. Look, Mom…” I’m about to tell her to call the cops. Beg her to get some help.

But what will that do?

I graze my hand over my belly and my heart flutters.

Connor’s right. He’s been thinking about this child more than I have, and if I really am in as much danger as he says, I have to ride this out.

At least for now.

“I’m fine,” I say, breathless and curling around myself, hating every word. “Don’t worry, okay?”

“I’m pretty freaked out. He married you at gunpoint. That can’t have been legal!”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m safe and he says he’s going to bring you here too. When he does, don’t fight it. There’s room service.”

A brief pause. “Seriously? Where are you?” she asks incredulously.

“Still in the city. Just do what he says, alright? We’ll be okay if we keep our heads down for now.”

“Alright, hon, if that’s what you think, but this is very, very strange. And screw that man for pointing a gun at me.”

“I’ll talk to him. He won’t do it again.”

She bursts out laughing. I grin too at the absurdity of it all. When we hang up, I don’t feel better.

But I think I’m seeing my situation clearly for once.

For whatever reason, Connor cares about this baby. That makes me important. He’s not going to hurt me, so long as I’m still pregnant. I don’t know how he feels about me, and that doesn’t matter.

We’re both aligned on this one thing: protecting our child at any cost.

Which kills me. I want to text Nadia and beg her for help more than anything in the world.

But right now that’ll only make things worse.

I’ll keep my head down. Shut my mouth. Play the game.

Until the opportunity to escape presents itself.

13

CONNOR

“Isimply cannot and will not live like this!” Danielle storms down the hallway, shaking her head violently, Dad on her heels. “There are mouse droppings in our room!”

“They’re in the bedroom next to ours, darling, and we have an entire wing of the house,” Dad says, but Danielle ignores him. She marches straight to me and gets in my face.

“This is unacceptable. It’s bad enough you ditched the wedding and started a war, but now you’re forcing me to live in this dump?”

“It’s a multi-million-dollar mansion,” Dad says, exasperated.

“It’s falling apart! I hate it!” Danielle flails, glaring at me. “You could have at least made it presentable before dragging us to our new prison.”

“You’re free to leave whenever you like.” I gesture at the door behind me, back the way I came. Colm is visible in front of Angie’s wing, keeping it guarded and my wife quarantined. I don’t know how long I can keep everyone separate, but I’ll figure it out eventually.

“Oh, real funny, and let the Gallaghers shoot me in the face.” Danielle’s eyes cut to me. “You could’ve at least warned us you were going to ruin all our lives.”

“Honey, please stop.” Dad holds her arm and tugs her away. His smile is apologetic. “It’s been a long day, that’s all. She’ll come around.”

“I’ll send the staff to clean thoroughly.” I move past them.

“This isn’t over, Connor!” Danielle calls after me. Her voice softens as I walk further away. “And what’s with you, asshole, not sticking up for me? He’s your son, Cathal, you don’t have to be afraid of him all the damn time…”

I’m smiling to myself as I knock on Rowan’s door. She calls me in and I leave my father to deal with his unruly wife in peace.

“Mom’s livid,” Rowan says. She’s standing on the far side of her new bedroom looking out the window. The space is enormous but there’s not much furniture except for an old armoire, a big four-poster bed, and beautiful built-in bookshelves crammed with as many books as I could find. My little sister turns, beaming happily. “But this place is awesome.”

“Glad you think so.” I run my finger over the windowsill. It comes back dirty. “There’s work to do.”

“You let it go.”

“Hard to take care of a place this big when I’m alone.”

“Is that why you brought us here?”

“No, I brought you here to make sure you were safe.”

“Sure, sure.” She punches my arm. “Or maybe you finally got too lonely.”

I snort and shake my head. “I stay in my apartment most nights. Manhattan’s loud and crowded, you know that.”

“And your apartment’s sad and empty. Come on, this was an excuse to get the family back together. Speaking of which—“ Rowan leans against the wall, chin tilted up. “Where’s your wife?”

“Angelina’s in her rooms.”

“Yeah? Where’s that?”

“That, little sister, is out of bounds.” I flick her in the elbow. “And don’t make trouble.”

“Come on, I want to meet your wife. I mean, you blew up everything for this girl, right? You might as well let me see what the fuss is about.”

“Another time.” I drift to the bookshelf. I don’t recognize most of the titles, but one catches my eye. The Silmarillion. “What’s this Tolkien about?”

“Don’t distract me with hobbits. Come on, tell me about her.” Rowan flops onto the bed with a sigh.

“She’s nice. She works in my finance department.”

“Wow! Sounds amazing.” Rowan props her head in her hand and waves the other in a rolling motion. “Now give me more.”

I snap the book shut. “Angelina’s younger than me. She’s near your height, auburn hair, light eyes, dresses well. Very organized.”

Rowan kicks her legs, grinning. “You think she’s pretty, don’t you?”

“Yes, I think my wife is attractive.”

“Gross.”

“She’s pregnant.” I slip the book back onto the shelf. “It wasn’t an easy decision, what I did with Sinead. But⁠—“

“Shit,” Rowan says quietly. “But Angelina’s pregnant and you had to do the right thing.”

“I’m sorry.” I can’t look at my little sister. My shoulders slump and my fingers dig into the wood of the bookshelf. There isn’t a single person in this world I care about more than Rowan, and she’s the only one I could ever talk to like this.

Outside, I’m the boss. There’s only strength, blood, money, and power. If I show even a hint of weakness, I’m dead.

But with my little sister, I can be a person, and right now, this person is aching over all the ways I’ve fucked this up.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I started a war, Rowan. People are going to die. They’re going to bleed. I put you and Dad and Danielle in danger, all for some girl you’ve never met. I left Sinead Gallagher at the fucking altar, and now even Declan Whelan won’t support me. All because I’m a selfish piece of shit.”

The weight of it hits me. Since I took Angie at gunpoint, I haven’t let the situation settle. But now it’s on my shoulders like a mountain, and I’m struggling to hold it all up.

“You’re not selfish.” Rowan sits up, crossing her legs under her. “Honestly, Con? I’m proud of you.”

I let out a short laugh. “Bullshit.”

“I mean it. You didn’t have to marry Angelina, but you did it anyway. You did the right thing even though it’s causing you hella problems. I respect that.”

“Danielle doesn’t. She’s pissed.”

“Since when did you care what she thought?”

“I don’t.” I turn to face my little sister. “Thank you for saying that.”

“I mean it too. I don’t know all the details about these Gallagher people. You and Dad try to keep me in the dark, but I’m not an idiot. I hear stuff. And I’m telling you, I don’t think you could have lived with yourself if you had gone through with that wedding with Sinead. They’ll get over it eventually.”

“They really won’t.”

“Then you’ll make them.” Her smile is all confidence. “And Danielle will learn to love this place.”

“She definitely won’t.” I move to the door and pause to hold my fist out for a bump. “I’ll check on you again later.”

“Idiot,” she says, hopping up and hugging me.

I pat her back. She hasn’t been very affectionate for a while, not since she started getting older. I remember when she was little, she’d hug and kiss and snuggle me all the time. I adored Rowan back then, and I think I’ve only grown to love her even more as she’s gotten older and come into her own.

But she’s wrong.

I didn’t do the right thing.

Sending Angelina to a clinic then marrying Sinead would’ve been right. That would’ve saved lives, blood, and treasure.

No, I married Angie because I wanted to.

I’m two steps from Rowan’s room when Deck comes hurrying toward me. Dad’s ushering Danielle away and she’s grumbling the whole time.

“Boss, got a situation.” Deck throws a look over my shoulder. “Looks like you’re in the middle of one too.”

“Ignore her. What’s happening?”

“Some guys were caught lurking around the west salvage yard. You want me to handle it?”

“We’ll go together. Grab some good soldiers.”

“You think it’s the Gallaghers?”

“Until this is over, we have to assume everything is an attack.”

“Life during wartime.” Deck shows teeth in a happy grin. “Doesn’t get better, does it?”

14

ANGIE

I’m drifting off when I hear the door to my room start to open.

Panic floods me. I haven’t seen anyone but Lisa and Colm since this morning. No sign of Connor and no hint that he’s coming back. I texted with Nadia, watched the TV, and took the longest, most boring bath of my life.

Turns out, being a prisoner is both comfortable and monotonous.

I push up on an elbow as light streams in through the hallway. A figure moves toward me. I want to cry out, call for Colm, scream for anyone, grab for the phone and call Connor, but I can’t seem to move. I’m in a strange bed in an unfamiliar room and I’m freaking out because a bunch of rich, terrifying mobsters want to kill me.

The light flicks on in the bathroom.

I catch a glimpse of Connor.

His face is pale and deadpan. He’s still in the suit from earlier.

And there’s something red and sticky staining his white shirt.

My guts twist in horror. He closes the door, and what the hell was that? It’s after ten at night. Was that blood? All over him?

I’m not thinking straight when I force myself out of bed.

I go to the bathroom. Am I really worried about him right now? Does it matter if my husband’s stabbed and bleeding all over? But the idea of Connor getting hurt bothers me, like a burr in the back of my throat, and I peer inside to make sure he’s okay.

I find him standing beside the shower. He’s reaching in and turning on the water. It sprays and he steps back, wearing only a pair of dark boxer briefs.

His tan skin is etched with tattoos. Every inch of him is covered: thighs, muscular chest, ripped stomach. Roses cover the backs of his hands. Vines creep along his neck. I remember when he fucked me, but this is the first time I’m seeing this much of him. It’s terrifying, how sculpted he is, how beautiful, and I’m so busy ogling my husband’s gorgeous body that I almost don’t notice there’s more blood splattered all over him.

“Oh my God,” I say, covering my mouth. “Connor, what happened?”

He looks back. If he’s bothered that I caught him half naked, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he runs a finger down his cut chest, smearing the blood, mouth twisting. “Must look bad, doesn’t it?”

I rush to his side, forcing my feet to move. My mouth waters the nearer I get, but I tamp down on the desire pooling between my legs. “Let me look at you.” I reach him and touch his arm, fingers trailing along his skin. Goosebumps rise on my arms. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay, angel.” He touches my wrist to stop me. “It’s not my blood.”

“Oh.” My eyes lock on his. They’re dark and deep, and there’s a reservoir of emotion. It takes me by surprise. Connor comes off ruthless and careless, like the world’s his toy to play with and to break as he sees fit. But there’s an exhaustion in him, in the privacy of his bathroom, covered in someone else’s blood. It scares me, but I can’t move away.

“I had business tonight. Go back to sleep.” His fingers touch the small of my back under my crop top. It’s cold and slick. “I’ll be in soon.”

He nudges me away even though he’s hurting. I can see it so clearly, and maybe he’s physically fine, but something bad happened tonight. He wants to protect me from it, I realize with a sudden intensity, and even though he terrifies me in ways I’ve never felt before, I don’t want to leave him alone right now.

I get the impossible-to-ignore urge to take care of him. I’ve always been this way despite myself. I take care of my mother, of my coworkers, of Brad back when we were dating. And now I want to look after Connor, although I don’t owe him anything, and I’d be smart to listen.

“Get in the water.” I bend down and tug off my shorts, kicking them aside. “I’ll help wash you.”

His eyes widen. His mouth opens, his tongue licking against his teeth. His gaze rakes down my body and I realize the mistake; it’s not like I can sponge-bath him in some asexual way.

But damn it, he needs me, and I can’t pretend like I don’t want this.

I’m already pregnant and we’re already married.

What’s another stupid mistake? If it helps him?

“Angel—“

“I said, in the water.” I reach down and tug my crop top over my head. I’m bare underneath, my nipples stiff with excitement. I cover myself with one arm, looking away, cheeks burning with embarrassment. If he keeps trying to send me away now⁠—

He lets out a low groan. “What are you doing?”

“Helping. Get in.” I look up, meeting his gaze. He looks as desperate and as dizzy as I feel. “Please.”

That word does it. He mutters a low curse, takes off his boxer briefs, and moves under the shower spray.

It’s hard not to look down at his dick. I remove my panties and follow him, water brushing against my skin. Pink and red drips down his lean, muscular body, and holy shit, he’s hard right now⁠—

Stop it, Angie. Stop looking at his cock.

“Turn around.” I nudge him until he complies. One hand leans against the shower wall. I pour soap into a loofah and scrub his back. “Tell me what happened.”

He lets out a low sigh of pleasure, head hanging, water running from his thick hair. “You don’t want the details, baby.”

“Talk to me. You’re tense.”

“I’m hard. There’s a difference.”

My eyes drop. His other hand is wrapped around his base. Fucking hell!

“It’ll help if you talk.”

His shoulders slump. He’s not stroking himself. I move the loofah around, reaching his chest and stomach, pressing myself to his back. My breasts flatten against his skin, my nipples pointing into him. I hug him like that as I wash more blood from his chest.

“They were waiting for us.” He talks low like he’s in a dream. I wring out the pink soap and clean as he talks, taking my time, lavishing him with attention and careful touches. “Deck heard some men were hanging around one of our salvage yards so we went to check it out. I figured it was some Gallagher scouts, and I was only half right. When we got out of our cars, the shooting started right away. Killed two of my men instantly. We only survived because I know that yard better than anyone. I let the Gallagher soldiers chase me and Deck, and the rest of our crew managed to get the drop on them. I killed their last man standing, and I took my time, made sure it hurt, but that didn’t help. Nothing fucking helps and it didn’t bring my men back from the dead.”

He stops talking. My heart’s racing. I’m holding him now, not bothering to pretend like I’m cleaning. “I’m so sorry, Connor.”

“I knew this would happen when I married you. Every single life we lose is on me. They’re on my shoulders. They’re my fault. I did this to them.”

“Connor.” I lean my forehead against his shoulder. What can I say to fix this? My instinct to take care of him burns in my chest. “You did what you thought was right.”

“I don’t regret it. That’s the sick part. I’d do it again and again if I could.”

I drop the loofah. I reach around him, breathing fast, afraid, my mouth watering as I do it. I move my hand down his forearm, down to the rose on his skin, and further to his shaft. He’s still hard, and thick, and covered in veins, and I let out a soft whimper as I stroke down him to his tip.

“You care about your men.”

“Yes, baby, I care.” He lets out a soft moan. “Fuck, I care too much, but I shouldn’t. A boss like me doesn’t get rewarded for caring. Only for strength.”

“But you’re strong.” I grip his cock. He’s still rock hard. “You survived. You won.”

“How many more times?”

“As many as you have to.” I move again, stroking him in a long, unhurried pull.

“Angel,” he moans.

I bite his back and kiss him. I stroke faster, pausing only to spit into my palm. He groans, the sound incredible, on the edge of losing control. His other hand raises to reach over his shoulder, tangles into my hair, and he twists to pull me up to meet his mouth.

His kiss is blistering. It’s needy and I don’t stop. I stroke faster, heart pounding at the danger in this moment. Why am I getting him off? Why am I kissing him? Touching him? Because it feels good, because he’s so hard it makes me dripping wet, because I want to take care of him despite everything. His tongue invades my mouth and he moans, breathing my name, eyes glassy with bliss. “Please,” he says. “Fuck, angel, please, I’m going to⁠—“

He groans as he comes. Thick spurts coat the wall. I pump him, working fast as he finishes, and when he’s done, I roll my palm around the tip and lift my fingers to my mouth. He turns, breathing hard, dick still pulsing as I lick his cum and swallow what’s left.

“We’re going to get through this.” I don’t know why I say it. I’m not even sure I believe that’s true. “You’ll get through it.”

He drags me against him and kisses me forcefully, hungry, dominant, and I go limp against him, unable to help myself. God, he’s beautiful, his seed coating the wall, his dick still stiff. His tongue slips into my mouth⁠—

“We should dry off.” I step away. He looks at me with pure lust and hunger.

“Who said I’m finished with you?”

“I did.” I slip from the shower and grab a towel.

“Why are you stopping?”

“You needed a release, that’s all.”

He turns off the water. “So all I need to do is feel stressed and get covered in blood and you’ll want to touch me?”

“Seems easy when you put it that way.”

I disappear into the bedroom. I’m not sure what I was thinking back there, but it nearly got out of control. I wanted to help him, and I thought making him feel good would ease some of his tension, and it did.

But now he wants more. And what’s worse⁠—

I do too.

That can’t happen. This is complicated enough already. If we start sleeping together, it’ll only spiral.

Once we begin, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop.

I dress and get back into bed. He joins me a few minutes later, smelling like soap and oil. His big body is shockingly warm. I curl toward him instinctively in the darkness, thinking about his shudders and moans of pleasure, of how fast he came only from my hands.

“Can I ask you something?” I whisper, not sure if he’s still awake.

“Go ahead.”

“It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?”

He’s quiet for a long time. I start to think he drifted off, before I hear four words, echoes in the dark.

“Yes, angel. Much worse.”

15

CONNOR

Idream of Angie’s breasts pressed against my back, of her hand wrapped around my cock. I know it happened. I want to live in that moment forever. The way she touched me, washed me, gently and carefully like she truly gave a shit about me.

I’ve never experienced that before.

My men respect me. My friends treat me well. But always I’m the boss. The responsibility sits on my shoulders alone, and no matter what, I’m always separate from them.

Power is mine alone.

But in the shower, Angie treated me like a man. Not like the king of a crime family, not like a cold-blooded killer, but like her husband.

It was intoxicating.

I didn’t know I needed that—until she gave it to me.

Light streams in through the window. It’s early, around six thirty, and I turn to watch my wife sleep.

Except she’s not there.

The bathroom door is open and the sound of someone retching makes me leap from the covers.

I’m wide awake and rushing to her side.

I find Angie perched in front of the toilet throwing up. “Baby? What’s going on?”

“Shit,” she gasps, eyes flicking to me, face slick with sweat. “I’m okay. I didn’t—“ She pukes again, groaning. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What’s happening? What can I do?” I am a man who moves mountains, murders his foes, dominates anyone who gets in my way, and yet I’m brought to a state of pathetic panic at the sight of my wife vomiting.

“Morning sickness.” She slumps back and sits against the wall. “It’ll pass soon.”

The baby. Shit.

“I’ll get you some water.”

She mumbles something but I’m already on the move. I throw on clothes and storm down the hall and into the main house. I find one of my staff members dusting down in the main welcome atrium. “You down there, I need water, and crackers, and some tea, and coffee as well, and yogurt. My wife isn’t feeling well and I need it right now.”

The young female staffer looks around wide-eyed. “Uh, yes, sir, right away.” She rushes off.

I pace at the top of the steps impatiently. I should’ve gone myself, damn it. I’m about to charge to the kitchen when the staffer returns. I rush to meet her and take the tray myself. “I’ll handle it from here.”

I run back to the room, spilling some of the drinks in the process, and find Angie already dressed and brushing her teeth. She looks at me in the mirror, surprised at the state of me, and I check myself.

Messy hair, expression wild and borderline feral, clutching a massive tray covered in drinks and bowls.

“Holy shit, Connor, you look worse than me.”

I open my mouth to snarl at her⁠—

But burst out laughing instead.

She smiles back, spits some toothpaste in the sink, and rinses.

My wife’s funny. I like that about her.

“I brought you some things.” I place the tray gently down at the end of the bed. “I didn’t know what would help.”

“Honestly, I’m fine. It comes and goes and it’s worst in the morning. Guess they got the name right.” She plucks the tea and sips, smiling as she watches me. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“Tell me the next time you aren’t feeling well. I’ll make sure we have what you need here for the moment you’re done.”

“Connor, honestly⁠—“

“I will meet my wife’s needs.” I say it through my teeth, thinking back to the night before, to my soldier’s head crumpling in a spray of bloody mist as he was blown to pieces. I failed him, and I will fail more in the future, but not with her.

I’ll do this right or I’ll kill myself trying.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, smiling. “But this tea is good.”

“Then you’ll have some here every single morning. What else?”

“Crackers. Water. Diet Coke⁠—“

My brows arch. “Really?”

“I know, it’s weird, but I’ve been craving it. Especially straight from McDonald’s? You know how much better it is?”

“I wasn’t aware.”

“I guess this is a pregnancy thing, huh?”

“I have no idea.”

“Right, we’re in this for the first time together.” She sits on the couch near the fireplace, eyes fixed on the mantle. “You know what I wish I could do?”

“Tell me.”

“I wish I could Google what the hell is going on with me.”

My shoulders tense. “I got you a phone.”

“You got me a dumb phone that can barely text. Please, I want my own.”

I take the coffee from the tray and move toward her. My stomach flutters with worry. What if she does something stupid? What if she tries to get help?

But I know better than that. I’m being selfish and controlling. I can make sure her phone isn’t capable of doing anything I don’t know about, and besides, half the NYPD is on my payroll.

She took care of me last night.

Now I can do the same.

“Alright, angel. I’ll get you your phone.” I hold up a hand before she gets too excited. “But I will monitor everything you do on it.”

Her expression falls. “That’s psychotic.”

“I don’t care. It’s for your own good, at least until we trust each other.”

Her hands grip the mug tightly. “Fine. Whatever. Spy on me all you want. Gonna steal all my old nudes too?”

“You already sent me those, remember?”

She blushes, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I want one more thing.”

“Name it. I’m feeling generous. Whatever my pregnant wife wants, she can have. More clothes? Movies? Books?”

“My mother.”

I take a step back. “I told you⁠—“

“Today, Connor. I want you to bring her here today. No more delaying. You showed up last night covered in blood, which means this war thing is real. It’s really happening, and I don’t want my mom to become another victim. Bring her here.”

I turn my back on her. I hate it, but she’s right. I’ve been using the promise of her mother’s safety as a cudgel to keep her in line, but that can’t last forever.

“I have guards watching her right now. I’ll make them bring her in.”

“Thank you. But wait—you’ve been watching her?”

“I’m a monster, angel. I’m not a fool.” I turn to face her again. “Now here’s what I want.”

“I didn’t realize we were negotiating.”

“We’re not.” I step closer and fall to my knees beside her. I take her hand tightly and hold it close against my chest. She blinks rapidly in surprise. “You will take care of yourself. I’ll arrange for a doctor to make a house call. You will do everything the doctor says. Vitamins, bedrest⁠—“

“Pregnant women don’t need to stay in bed all day.”

“Some do. You will if that’s what’s needed. You will not make trouble. You will not harass Colm. You and your mother will stay in this part of the house until I say it’s safe.”

“So we’re still prisoners, then?”

“If that makes it easier for you, yes.”

She tries to pull away, but I don’t let her. “Some marriage we have.”

“You can hate me, angel. I’m prepared for that. But you will survive this war and you will have my child.”

Her gaze is cool. “Fine. Are you done?”

“For now.” I let her go. She shifts so her back’s to me. I stand and step away, frustrated with myself.

There was a moment. A brief one, but last night, in bed, I felt it. The animosity was gone. The hate faded. We were people, man and wife even, and it felt good. I felt normal with her. I want to hold on to that feeling, but it’s already slipping away in the cold light of reality.

She’s my wife, but not because she wants to be.

“Send my mother in to see me when she arrives. I’ll be here.” She looks back over her shoulder. “In my cage.”

I let her have the last word. Some battles aren’t worth fighting.

16

ANGIE

I’m pacing around the room when Lisa brings me lunch.

“Caesar salad and grilled chicken, exactly as requested.” She takes the lid off the plate with a flourish. “Huh? Huh? Pretty nice, right?”

I have to admit the food looks delicious. “Have you heard about my mom yet?”

“I swear, I’ll tell you the second I do.” She gets me set up near the couch. “Now come on. Pregnant ladies need to eat, right? You’re growing a human inside of you.”

“That sounds so weird.”

“But it’s like the most common thing in the world, right? Humans have been having babies forever.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“You think I’m not going to have kids?”

I wave that away. “You’re young.”

“Angie, you realize we’re the same age, right?”

“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about that, but Lisa doesn’t seem upset.

“Look, I know you’re having a rough time right now, and I’ll try to make you as comfortable as I can, but just hang in there. Connor might seem rough around the edges, but he means well.”

“How much do you know about him? My husband?”

“Oh, god, I mean, we’re not close by any means, but we’ve both been in the same family⁠—“

“Crime family,” I correct.

She flashes a smile and nods. “We’ve been in the same crime family our whole lives. Connor’s always been hard. He wasn’t born to lead though, not officially anyway. There was all this fighting years back, like back when I was little, and he ended up taking control. The Maguire family’s been so much better off since then, honestly. He changed so many lives.”

“He feels like everything is on his shoulders.”

“That’s true in some ways. But he’s only one man, you know? From what I’ve seen and heard, Connor’s a fair boss. He treats his people well. He can be generous, but he’s also tough on weakness and doesn’t tolerate failure. Everyone respects him. Honestly, anyone else would’ve been abandoned already.”

“Are people upset? About this war, I mean?”

“It’s split. Some are angry with him. Some think he did the right thing. Others are just happy to get the chance to start killing people.” She laughs like that’s the funniest thing in the world.

“What do you think?”

“I think Connor was put in an impossible situation and is doing the best he can. I think you seem like a really nice person, and I think you’re going to be okay.”

I sigh, spearing some salad. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

“Give it time. Anything else? I should get back⁠—“

There’s noise in the hallway. My ears perk instantly and my back straightens. I chew hurriedly before jumping to my feet.

The sound of my mother’s shrill, frustrated shouting echoes like gunshots in a tunnel.

“Mom!” I hurry past Lisa to find Dawn struggling against Colm. He’s trying to calmly steer her toward the room set aside, but she’s resisting as much as she can.

“Let me go, you overgrown steroidal lab rat! I want my stuff! My freaking smokes, my clothes, get off me—“ She turns as I rush over, exasperated. “Angelina, there you are, they told me⁠—“

I throw my arms around her. Dawn Bellandi has never been a very affectionate person and I’m not surprised when she stiffens, but I don’t care. She squirms and it only makes me hold her tighter.

“I’m so happy to see you.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s okay, hon. You’re fine, I’m fine. This place is wild, isn’t it? Your husband really is loaded, isn’t he?”

I pull back and she’s beaming at me happily. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“This meat pocket here—“ She gestures at poor Colm who silently takes the abuse. “He forced me out of my own home and thinks he can keep me locked in this house for the rest of my life. But that won’t happen. Do you hear me, you tumor-ridden snake fucker? I will not be caged!”

“Sorry,” I say to Colm and steer my mother away, into the room set aside for her. “Mom, please, they’re just doing their jobs. Leave him alone.”

“You’re too nice to people. Honestly, Angelina—“ She cuts off mid-sentence as she looks around her new setup. “Huh. Okay. This isn’t bad.”

It’s not as big as my room, but it’s close. The bed’s huge, freshly made, and there’s plenty of seating. I made sure she had a comfortable lounge and a massive TV plus her own private bathroom with a luxurious freestanding tub. The windows are enormous, let in lots of light, and the ceilings are tall.

“I don’t know how long we have to be here, but Connor says it won’t be forever. There’s some kind of war⁠—“

“No shit, hon. They talk about it on the news all the time.”

“Not that war, I mean, some kind of, like, mafia war⁠—“

She rolls her eyes. “God, men can be so dramatic sometimes. Do you know where my smokes are? Can you get me some? Ask that quivering gelatinous ooze back in the hall⁠—“

“Mom, are you listening?” I’m tempted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “This is serious. We really can’t leave this place. Colm won’t let you out the doors at the end of the hall. There’s room service⁠—“

“You had me at room service.” She flops onto the couch. “Smokes? Please?”

I rub my face, biting back a string of curses. Leave it to my mother to care only about getting her weed. “I’ll ask about it.”

“Thank you, love. I hope this isn’t too long. Dennis probably is stroking his porky little dick thinking about evicting us.”

I sink down beside my mother. It’s annoying but also strangely comforting listening to her complain. I was raised on a steady diet of grievances and axes to grind, and there’s nothing like a rant by my mother to make me feel like I’m back home.

“I’m happy you’re here.”

She squints at me. “Why? I’m definitely not. How do you work this thing?” She jabs at the remote.

I help her get it working. Better she’s alive and bitching at me than dead and happy. Once the TV lulls her back to quiet, I notice a figure standing in the doorway, watching us.

Connor gestures at me with his chin. Come talk.

I’m tempted to tell him off. But the memory of my hands wrapped around his cock—his adorable and desperate attempt at making me feel better this morning—makes it hard to keep hating him. Even when I want to.

“Everything to your mother’s liking?” he asks when we’re alone outside her door.

“She needs, uh… her smokes.” I smile sheepishly. “She’s a hopeless weed addict.”

His nose wrinkles. “I’m tempted to say no.”

“You can deal with her then. She’ll be a nightmare.”

“I’ll have Colm bring her what she needs. Anything else, angel?”

I cross my arms, studying him. “Why are you being so nice?”

“I’m not.”

“You almost are, though.”

“I don’t do nice, angel.” He touches my hip like he’s not thinking about it. “That’s not in my nature.”

I lean into his touch, not sure why. I should put space between us. It’s dangerous, playing this game. Getting close, drawing back, picturing him between my legs⁠—

“Thank you anyway. For bringing my mother here.”

“Anything.” He hesitates, lingering, breathing me in. A shiver runs down my spine with excitement, and I think he might kiss me before he pulls back.

“Connor?”

He pauses, half looking back. “Yes, angel?”

“Are you going to be in bed with me tonight?”

He nods, eyes half-lidded. “Tonight and as many nights after as I can.”

“Okay. Uh, sounds good.”

He leaves and I watch him go, feeling like an idiot.

Are you going to be in bed with me tonight? Really, Angie?!

I don’t think I’ve ever sounded so desperate before in my life.

I’m about to melt into the carpet when I hear my mother call my name in the other room, asking about her damn smokes again, and it’s back to reality.

17

CONNOR

Ipour another bourbon and top off Marcus’s glass. He puts an arm over the back of his chair, my old friend swirling his drink and shaking his head.

“It’s bad out there, Connor. I’m getting calls all the time.”

“I’m aware.”

“No, I don’t think you are. This is the clean side of the business, and it’s not good. Partners pulling out. Deals falling through. Straight up salvage calls are down twenty percent already⁠—“

“I’m aware, Marcus,” I repeat, getting up and prowling across the room.

“Pacing isn’t going to help. Sit down and calm yourself.”

I slam a fist into the bookshelf. An old volume of poetry tumbles out and hits the floor. “Two of my men are dead and they’re only the first. All because I couldn’t do as I was told.”

Marcus lets out a breath and drinks. “How is she doing anyway?”

“Angie’s fine. Bored, but fine.”

“That’s good. I know you’re carrying a lot of weight right now. I don’t want to be up your ass either, but we have to talk.”

I take a moment. It has been a long, stressful day. Getting Angie’s mother settled was only one tiny fraction of the shit I’ve been shoveling. A brawl in one of my restaurant properties, a drive-by shooting that mercifully didn’t come to blood, dozens of calls and angry texts from various important people across the city.

“The Gallaghers are going scorched earth,” I say, getting myself together. I think about Angie’s body pressed against mine in the shower. The warmth of her, the gentle way her hands moved over my skin, cleaning me, going lower⁠—

“No kidding. They’re livid. Can you blame them?”

“Sinead never needed me. She could marry anyone else in the Whelan family and be just as happy.”

“Probably, but you left her at the altar. Maybe if it had happened a few days earlier, you could’ve saved face. But now?”

“Now it’s blood.” I breathe in through my nose and blow it back out. “Tell me who to call. I’ll handle them.”

Marcus taps out a message and sends it to me. “Check your phone later. You know most of those names. I don’t think it’ll take much more than some promises that things will go back to normal soon.” He hesitates, drinks, and looks at me. “It will go back to normal soon, right?”

I sink back into my chair behind my desk. “How do you think this ends?”

He considers, turning toward the window. I’ve known him for a very long time, and I’m positive he’s worried, even if he’s trying to bury it under bravado. He probably thinks I’ve lost my fucking mind.

Marcus is slick. He’s all about deals, investments, and properties. Thanks to his advice, I’ve grown the legitimate side of our family in equal measure to the illegal half.

But he knows what really drives the Maguires. It’s not his dealmaking.

It’s always been fire and death.

“The Gallaghers won’t let it go easily. They’ll want tribute. Probably more than you can afford.”

“If I pay them off, I lose face. I look weak.”

“Definitely can’t do that. But what’s the alternative?”

“I kill them.” I look at my glass, at the light cutting through the amber bourbon. “Burn them to the ground.”

“Maybe,” Marcus says but he doesn’t sound convinced. “They’re too important though.”

“The Gallaghers are old and entrenched, but they aren’t strong. They haven’t been for years. There’s a reason they agreed to marry Sinead off to me.”

He angles his glass toward me. “Fair point. Why sell her so cheap otherwise?”

“Don’t be a prick. The Gallaghers have some sway still, but they aren’t the powerhouses they once were. In a straight fight, I can win.”

“Where will that leave us? We have a good reputation right now. The other families think they can safely do business with us, but if you start murdering the Gallagher brothers in the street⁠—“

I grunt in frustration. He’s right. If Deck were here, he’d be saying we could cut all their throats and nobody would even care, but Marcus is more strategic.

“I am not giving up Angelina, and I am not letting the Gallaghers break me. There has to be a way.”

“We’ll find it.” He takes a long drink. “Probably, eventually.”

There are no answers anywhere as I ascend the stairs of my overly large mansion and pause at the top. I look right, toward where Rowan, Dad, and Danielle are staying. I should visit them, check in, make sure everyone’s alright.

But I know the questions Dad will ask, the complaints Danielle will casually toss my way, and how hard Rowan will try to act like she’s perfectly fine even if this is all a fucked-up mess, and I can’t face it.

Instead, I turn toward comfort.

To my wife’s wing.

Colm nods as I pass. It’s late, nearly midnight, and I dismiss him until tomorrow. Another soldier will take his place overnight. The smell of weed is strong as I go by Dawn’s room and her television is blaring, but all that fades once I’m in my own room, away from the world, heart beating steady and fast as I think about Angelina.

I’ve been looking forward to this all day, since we spoke earlier.

She’s sitting with her back against pillows. Her hair’s up, a few loose strands around her pretty face. She’s reading a book and she looks up, biting her lower lip, smiling like she’s not sure if she’s happy. I don’t move, my eyes fixed on my wife, wondering how in the hell this woman really is here, in my bed, still waiting for me, how I remotely deserve her, how I’ll ruin her in the end.

“Long day?” she asks.

“Too long,” I grunt back and start to undress.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll just—“ She looks around wildly before sinking under the blankets. “I’ll give you privacy.”

I laugh despite myself. God, how am I smiling right now? “It’s fine, Angie. I don’t mind.”

“That makes one of us.”

I do my evening routine in my boxer briefs. I’d usually put on a shirt but I can’t help myself. I want to see how my wife reacts.

Her cheeks turn pink as I climb in beside her. “Lights off?” she asks awkwardly. “Right, yeah, of course, I’m sure you need rest. Lots to do. War to fight and all.” She turns away and flips the switch beside her bed.

Plunging the room into black.

It’s a simple thing, lying in bed. Millions of couples do it all the time. But for me, it’s like a revelation, having Angie beside me. It’s heaven, but it’s also hell, wanting her the way I do, but afraid that I’ll break her the way I’ve broken everything I’ve ever loved.

That’s the curse of being the boss. Anything I get close to burns.

And so I hold myself apart, like always.

“How is your mother acclimating?” I ask the quiet, too intensely aware of her steady breathing.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with her.” Her eyes are on the ceiling, hair spilled around her, and I resist the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. It’s smooth and pretty, and I don’t want to dirty it with my fingers. “She’ll find something to complain about no matter what you do.”

“You two don’t get along?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.” She tilts her chin in my direction. “Sometimes I think growing up I was the adult and she was the kid. She had me running to the bodega when I was eight. I can’t remember the last time she bought groceries, went to the bank, cleaned a toilet, did anything.”

“It’s always been on you?”

“Always, and don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. But if there’s an excuse, she’ll find it.”

“Do you resent that?”

She doesn’t answer at first, but exhales and nods. “She’s my mom, you know? I feel so guilty, resenting her the way I do, but it’s hard not to. I didn’t go away to school, barely had a social life, mostly because I was too busy working to support her. I swear, sometimes I think the only redeeming thing about her is that stupid apartment, and I don’t even need it anymore.” She curses quietly and pulls at her hair, looking over with panic in her eyes. “I didn’t mean that. I love my mother.”

“You have every right to feel like she’s a drain on you.”

“But she’s my mom⁠—“

“And you’re her daughter.” I reach out, breaking the space between us, and gently press my fingers to her wrist. “I know what you feel. I’ve been the boss of our family for over a decade now, and every day I work to make all our lives better. But there are still problems, complaints, people who feel they haven’t been given enough and people who want more. Petty arguments, pettier grudges, and it all falls on my shoulders to handle and to mediate. And I do it, because that’s what a boss does, but there are days when I despise them all and wish I could burn them down.”

“Is that why you married me?” She laces her fingers into mine. “Trying to burn it all down?”

“You’re joking, but maybe that’s it.”

“Honestly, Connor, I still don’t fully understand what you do, but I can imagine how hard it must be shouldering all that responsibility.”

“If I don’t do it, someone else will have to. I carry the burden, I make the hard decisions, I take on the pain and the suffering, so that I can spare everyone else.”

“Wow, and you get nothing in return? Only this massive mansion.”

“And a pretty wife.” I close my hand around hers. “Who should learn to watch her tongue.”

“Going to punish me for talking out of line?”

“I might. Would you like that?”

She wrinkles her nose. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not one of your soldiers, Connor. You don’t get to flog me if I disobey.”

“Flogging you sounds like fun.”

“Easy, boy.”

“I’m only trying to make the point that I know how you feel. You sacrificed a lot for your mother. Sleepless nights working late hours at Rite Aid, a few years at a grocery store, and even though you were accepted into NYU, you still chose not to go.”

She shifts, her brows drawing together. Her fingers slip from mine. “Wait, how do you know all that?”

“The jobs were on your resume,” I say quickly.

But she leans on an elbow. “The jobs were, but nobody knows about NYU.”

I try to think fast. “I researched you before we got married.”

“How would that even come up? Seriously, Connor, how do you know about NYU? I didn’t even tell my mom.”

I roll onto my side, turning my back on her. “Time to sleep.”

“Connor—“

“Sleep, Angelina. You’re getting paranoid.”

Her eyes bore into my back. My heart’s racing and I try to keep myself calm. Fuck, that was stupid, showing too much there. Talking to her relaxes me and I forget myself.

Her side of the bed shakes as she drops onto her back with a huff. I stay still, listening to her, waiting for her to drift off. How much more am I going to reveal?

I can’t keep it hidden forever.

When is she going to realize that I’ve been watching her for years?

18

ANGIE

Ifan my hand in front of my face as I wade through a plume of weed smoke. “Mom, seriously, can you please tone it down?”

“God, darling, I wish I could, but this stuff is so good.” She giggles manically, sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, her heels up on the coffee table and a huge blunt between her lips. “Oh my god, I think it’s the best weed I’ve ever smoked.”

“I’m so glad you’re happy.” I grit my teeth and look around her room.

It’s immaculate. Which is a shock in itself. I don’t think Dawn’s cleaned anything since I turned nine and she taught me how to use a vacuum. But now she’s got twenty-four-seven access to a cleaning service and she’s taking advantage of it.

“Your husband is amazing. I mean truly, Angie, darling, he’s my favorite man in the world.”

“You’re so easy to please.”

“TV, food, all the herb I can smoke. It’s heaven on earth in here.” She beams at me glassily. “You really should try some.”

“The baby. Remember?”

“It’s natural, won’t hurt her.”

I turn away, feeling sick. “I’ll check on you later.”

“Love you, darling.”

I expected to find my mother in a bad state. Getting kidnapped and thrown into a creepy, crumbling mansion is usually traumatic, and I figured we’d have a lot to talk about.

Instead, she’s baked as hell.

I shouldn’t be surprised. A part of me is frustrated, but what was Connor supposed to do? Refuse to supply her with what she wants? No, he’s a crime lord, of course he’s got easy access to weed. Not to mention it’s legal now. He’ll keep my mother high as a kite and smiling like an idiot for as long as she’ll let him, which is probably until the day she dies.

At least one of us is happy.

Ever since last night, I’ve had this strange, nagging sensation. How did he know about NYU? I keep trying to figure it out, but it makes no sense. Even if he did research me the way he said, why would that come up? Would a school keep those kinds of records? Would they share them with outsiders?

I hate being reminded of college. That was the hardest choice I’ve ever made. NYU was my dream school, it’s right here in the city, and it made total sense; but the second I read the letter and started to do the tuition math, I knew it was impossible. Even if I lived at home, there was no way I could’ve graduated with a degree that might pay off the astronomical debt I’d have to take on.

Not to mention taking care of my mother. Trying to juggle housework and homework felt too daunting, and so I left it off, ignored it, until eventually the world moved on.

Instead, I took night classes at Kingsborough Community and earned a two-year degree, and ended up working at WashCo a week after graduating.

He’d know all about that.

But the NYU letter?

It nags at me as I step out of Mom’s room and into the hall, breathing in the fresh air. I can’t spend too much time around her while I’m pregnant. Maybe that’ll be a good thing. I pause, leaning against the wall, and look right⁠—

Only to find the doors to the wing are open and Colm isn’t blocking them.

That’s odd. Bizarre, even. I haven’t seen them sitting wide like that before, especially not without a guard. A bad feeling jitters down my spine and I start thinking about crime families, about wars, about my husband covered in blood.

I take a few steps toward them. My heart’s beating quickly. “Colm? Connor?” Nobody answers. I can see the landing, the stairs, and another set of doors leading to the wing on the far side of the house. Straight through, nothing in the way. It’s strange, after the last few days of house arrest. “Lisa? Anyone?”

No answers. Deadly quiet. I drift closer, heart thudding now. One hand moves protectively to my stomach. I don’t even notice I’m doing it until I’m right at the frame, peering toward the steps.

I could run. Right now. Nobody’s watching. They won’t hurt me. The guards are probably too terrified that they’d injure the boss’s new pregnant bride. If I’m smart and fast, I could make it to the road, flag someone down, scream for help⁠—

And then what?

Connor has enemies. I know it’s serious. I saw the blood. I felt the tension in him, the stress, the worry and fear. What’ll happen to him if I go out there? If I really do escape? He’ll go wild with panic for me. Am I really that selfish?

I didn’t ask for this. I never wanted to marry him, never wanted to come here, but he needs me. Connor talks big, acts hard, carries so much, but who’s there for him? Who’s there waiting to wash him clean when he comes back from hell?

“Oh, hey! There you are!”

It’s a young girl’s voice coming from behind me. I turn, flinching, guilt flushing my cheeks. I open my mouth to say, don’t worry I wasn’t going to run, I want to be here for Connor, he’s the father of my child, but the words get caught in my throat.

She’s a teenager. Skinny, lots of knees and elbows, not much of a figure on her. Cute though, adorable, with bleached hair, dark eyebrows, bright eyes. She’s smiling big, and I know that face. I know the voice too even if it’s different now that she’s older. I recognize the scars, right where I last saw the nasty, ugly wounds sliced down the side of her cheek⁠—

And I’m in the bus again. Eyes closed listening to music on the way home from my shift at Rite Aid. Ignoring the world around me until the impact threw me sideways against the window, the grind and screech of metal, the screams of pain as everything went sideways. The stink of burning plastic. Moans of pain. I remember dragging myself toward the back exit, the fire getting hotter and brighter, but that’s when I first heard her.

She was young back then. I always wondered what she was doing on the bus. I never knew if she was with someone or not. I never had the chance to ask. She was trapped under a body though, a big man who wasn’t moving, her fingers reaching out, her mouth moving, tears running down her face mixing with the blood leaking from her mangled cheek. I could smell fresh air from the back, but I went for her instead. I got you. Hold on. I got you. The guy was so heavy and it took all my strength to roll him off enough to drag her out. She was shaking and so small in my arms. I got you. We’re okay, we’re okay.

What’s your name?

“Rowan?” I take a step toward her. It can’t be the same girl. “Is that you?”

She looks as stunned as I feel. “Oh my god.”

“You’re Rowan, right? Do you remember me? From the bus?”

“Oh my god,” she says again, stepping forward. “This can’t be… this is crazy, I don’t…”

“It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Then she’s running at me, arms spread wide, and she slams against me with a shocking amount of force. I hold on tight, stumbling backwards as she hugs me so hard it hurts. She clings, crying, sobbing against my chest, and I’m weeping too. When did I start crying? She smells like deodorant and shampoo and they’re the same shoulders, the same arms, only grown up.

“I never thought I’d see you again. I went to the hospital… I asked people about you…”

“I asked too, but nobody knew anything. Oh my god, I’m so happy to see you. I’m so, so glad you’re okay. Look at you!”

“Look at me?! Look at you! You’re—“ Her eyes go wide as she pulls back, taking me in. “You’re…” Her gaze unfocuses as she looks at something over my shoulder.

Connor’s voice breaks the moment.

“She’s my wife now.”

I turn, shaking, still holding onto Rowan. I wipe my eyes, confusion washing over me. Colm’s standing meekly behind Connor looking annoyed and chagrined. Connor glares at Rowan.

“I don’t understand,” I say, looking between them. “How is this happening?”

“Angelina, meet my younger sister, Rowan. And Rowan, you remember Angelina.”

“That’s your name? God, I’ve always wondered.” Rowan’s eyes stay on me adoringly for a moment before she turns her attention to Connor. “What the hell is going on? Don’t tell me this is the biggest coincidence in the world, because I know you too well for that crap.”

Connor gestures at Colm to return to his post. He scrubs a hand down his stubbled cheek with a sigh. “I was hoping to do this later, but I suppose I have some explaining to do.”

“God damn right you do,” I say, half laughing and half crying, trying to wipe my tears away. “What’s even happening right now?”

“Both of you, with me, down into my office. We’ll calm ourselves and talk.”

Rowan disentangles herself from me. “You better have a lot to say.” She marches right up to Connor, the most terrifying man I’ve ever met in my whole life, and she shoves her finger in his face. She’s six inches shorter and half his weight, but he wilts under her intense glare. “And you better not try to feed me some bullshit story. Understood?”

“Is that how you speak to your boss, Rowan?”

“That’s how I speak to my brother, ass munch.”

He exhales, the sound of a man very used to putting up with a feisty teenage girl. He turns away. “Come on. I have a story to tell.”

19

CONNOR

It was the worst phone call of my life.

I picked up when the police rang. Rowan was late, but that happened sometimes. She took dance lessons at a special private tutor across town, and she loved to ride the bus. I arranged for a family guard to keep her safe and escort her, but he couldn’t control the flow of NYC traffic. It wasn’t unusual for her to show up an hour late exhausted and moaning about overturned tractor trailers.

Dad and Danielle rode with me. I drove fast, weaving through midtown to reach Bellevue Hospital. I’d been in this place a dozen times already at that point from my time pre-boss and the early days of my ascension, when fighting was common and I was consolidating our power. I knew my way to the emergency room.

Danielle broke down when she saw Rowan’s face covered in gauze. There’s a lot I hate about my stepmother, but I never once doubted how much she cares for her daughter. I’ll never forget the way Danielle held Rowan, crying so hard her shoulders shook, as I stood back and let relief flood through me.

Not dead. Not broken. Hurt, maybe scarred, but she’d be okay.

It was later, maybe an hour after, that I began to ask questions. Nurses are always willing to talk when they’re bored, and a pretty young girl directed me to a few police officers hanging around downstairs.

Those cops told me a story, about a bus getting side-swiped by a speeding drunk, about a fire in the engine, about bodies burned to a crisp. And that’s when I first heard about you.

I planned on saying thanks. That’s all I wanted, to thank you for saving my little sister’s life. They told me how people saw you go back for Rowan, how you ripped yourself up crawling over broken glass to pull a total stranger from a nasty fire. They told me you sat with her afterwards and didn’t want to leave her alone. How you only let her go when you were both safe and in the hospital.

Then I saw you lying in the bed. You were asleep. A teenager, probably the same age Rowan is now. A normal girl, I realized. Pretty in an awkward way. I watched you for a while, wondering where your family was. Why weren’t your parents there? Didn’t anyone know what happened to you? I asked around, but nobody knew if anyone was coming to check on you.

I made you a promise. You never knew. I didn’t want to wake you up. But I swore to you, right there, that I’d look after you the way you looked after my little sister. I’d do everything in my power to make sure you were always safe and cared for, no matter what happened.

I left you sleeping. I never mentioned you to Rowan. How could I explain it? I decided to stalk your savior? It wouldn’t have made any sense. She would’ve called me crazy, and I would’ve deserved it. But I learned your name and I burned it across my heart, because you gave me the gift of my little sister’s life, and there was no way I could ever repay you.

Angelina Bellandi.

The girls stare at me in stunned silence. I pour myself a drink. “I’ve never told anyone that before.” I return to my desk and slump down in my chair. “Feels strange saying it out loud.”

“Strange?” Rowan puts her palms against her forehead. “My brother’s a psycho. Holy shit.”

“You already knew that.”

“Yeah, but this is a whole new level.” She looks at Angelina. “You really had no idea?”

“I really didn’t know.” My wife’s watching me with a wary and puzzled expression. I wish I could read her thoughts right now. How does a person hear a story like that and make sense of it? She’s going to be afraid of me, and I don’t blame her one bit.

“Well, this is insane. How long were you watching her for? What were you doing? Like creeping outside her house in the bushes?”

“There aren’t any bushes outside of her apartment building.”

“Oh my god! You know where she lives?!” Rowan slaps the arms of her chair. “Connor, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

“A lot,” I say, watching for any reaction from Angie that might give me a hint to how she’s feeling. “Too much.”

My wife reaches out and touches Rowan’s hand. “Do you mind… if me and Connor talk for a bit?”

Rowan shifts toward her. “He just dropped an enormous bomb. You sure you want to be alone with him?”

“It’ll be okay, don’t worry.” Angie’s mouth pulls into a slight smile. “If anything goes wrong, you can pull me out, right? Listen out for the screaming.”

Rowan grins back. “Good point. Hopefully, he does something stupid and I can make us even.” She gets up and walks to the door. My sister turns back, her eyes flat on me. “Behave yourself, asshole.”

Then she’s gone, leaving me and Angie alone.

I sit in the silence. Angie’s watching me warily and I wish I knew what she was thinking. How does a person come to grips with finding out that their husband has been stalking them for years?

I pictured this moment a dozen times since I saw her sleeping in that hospital bed. What I’d say if she ever realized what I’ve been doing. How I’d make her understand. But now, facing it, I find all my words are gone.

“I have questions,” she says at last, which sounds like the greatest understatement imaginable. “And I want straight answers.”

“I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Have you been following me?”

I rap a knuckle on the desk. “If you’re asking if I’ve been lurking outside of your building every day in a black ski mask, the answer is no.”

“Have you been watching? Everything I’ve done?”

“More or less.”

“How? And why?”

I get up. I can’t help myself. I pour a drink and down it. “I wanted to repay you. That’s how it started. I thought I could do something for you without revealing myself. I didn’t want to draw you into my world any more than you already were. Those days were very dangerous for my family.”

“More dangerous than now?”

“Nearly.” I take the chair Rowan vacated. Now we’re on equal footing and no desk between us. “There were nights I swore I’d stop, told myself I’d done enough, and weeks would go by without checking on you. Then I’d find myself typing your name into Google, or asking a lieutenant to look in on you, and the cycle would start again.”

“God, Connor, this is crazy.”

“This—“ I gesture between us and down at her belly. “This was never the plan. I swear on my life. I swear on my family’s name. I never, ever thought we’d end up like this. I never wanted it.”

Her cheeks turn red and maybe I’m wrong but that only seems to frustrate her. “Good to know you didn’t impregnate me on purpose. Sorry to have disappointed you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to me? Why didn’t you just thank me like a normal person?”

“Because I’m not a normal person.”

She bites her lip and gets to her feet. “I’m aware of that.” She paces away, scrubbing her forehead with her palm. “God, this is insane. You’ve been behind all of it, haven’t you?” She stops and looks back. “How did you know about NYU?”

“I bribed admissions.”

Her mouth drops open in shock. A shiver runs through her. “No, no, you didn’t do that. Did you seriously do that?”

“You would have gotten in, but I made sure of it.”

She gapes before bursting out in laughter so hard it doubles her over. I watch, swirling my drink, and take a sip. The bourbon’s sharp and smoky, and I start to worry that Angie’s going to laugh so hard she’ll injure the baby. I’m about to calm her when she backs away.

“I was so proud of that acceptance letter. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve told myself, at least I got into NYU? I’m living at home with my stoner mom, but at least I got into NYU. I’m working a crappy data entry job, but at least I got into NYU. Every single time I felt bad about myself since I got that letter, I’ve let it raise me back up, and it’s not even that hard of a school to get into. It made me feel smart, you know? Like I accomplished something. And now I’m finding out that it was you. It was all you.”

“No, angel⁠—“

“Stop. Calling. Me. That.” She rips a book from the shelf and hurls it across the room. She’s not laughing anymore. Her chest rises and falls quickly as I climb to my feet, holding out a calming hand. “I’m not your anything, do you hear me? I’m a captive here. I’m being held at gunpoint. You like that, don’t you?”

“No, Angelina. I don’t.”

“Liar. Fucking liar. It’s all been a game, right? You stalk me, knock me up, force me to marry you, invent some war⁠—“

“The war is real. You saw the blood.”

“I don’t know what I saw. I don’t know what any of this is.” She staggers away from me. “I have to go.”

“Angelina—“

“Leave me alone.” She flings open the door right as Rowan’s about to come back inside.

“Wait, Angelina.”

But Rowan shakes her head at me, taking Angie by the arm. Later, she mouths and guides Angie away, rubbing her back as my wife sobs into her hands.

I stare at the gap they leave behind. The book lying on the floor flipped open to a random page. The words smearing in my vision.

I slam a fist against my desk, feeling the pain, living in it.

God, she’s right.

This is what I do.

Everything I love breaks in the end. I take, I control, I dominate, and for what? For the family?

I really am as sick as she thinks.

I’m about to refill my glass and get drunk enough that I can’t feel anything anymore when my phone rings. It’s Deck and I’m tempted to ignore it.

But I’m a boss at war and he’s my top soldier.

“We got a problem.” Deck doesn’t sound happy, which means it’s probably not the kind of problem that dies.

“What’s going on?”

“Lorcan Gallagher’s at the west salvage yard. He’s there in the open and he wants to talk.”

I grunt in surprise. Lorcan’s the middle brother. I figured I’d hear from Fergus, but his approach was probably the attack the other night.

“I’ll be over in ten. Keep an eye on him.”

“You want me to secure the perimeter?”

“Do what you can without spooking him.”

“We should just shoot him, boss. I could get a sniper in place⁠—“

“I want to hear what he has to say first.”

I hang up. Fucking Gallaghers. I gaze longingly at the hall, wishing I could go after Angie and make her understand⁠—

But Rowan’s right. I have to let my wife settle first before we can talk.

20

CONNOR

The west salvage yard still has bloodstains from the attack. I pause getting out of my armored G-Wagon. “Who was supposed to wash down this parking lot?”

Deck looks over at the stains. “Not sure. Want me to check?”

“No… no, it’s fine. Where’s Lorcan?”

“Waiting further in. Not sure how he got past the fences though.”

“Our security needs to be tightened.” I give him a meaningful look. Deck glowers back. “Let’s get this over with.”

I follow a squad of men through the main gates. The employees of this yard are nowhere to be seen. Deck must’ve cleared them out. I wonder what they think of all that dark muck on the ground, if they understand what it is and what it means.

There are ruined cars everywhere. They’re piled in the dozens, stacked like kindling, some ripped to shreds, some in surprisingly good shape. Engines are tossed like bricks; spare doors tumbling in drifts. Glass crunches underfoot. It’s a maze in here, and we make a few turns before a group of men appear at the end of a long alley, standing among the wrecks of vehicles.

Lorcan Gallagher’s a handsome man, especially compared to his brothers. He’s around my height, stubbled cheeks and chin, wearing a decent suit and that ever-present smile. He reminds me of a banker or a salesman. Except all he’s got to sell is death. Behind him, several Gallagher thugs lurk, looking meaner than snakes.

I stop fifty paces back.

“Glad you came,” Lorcan calls, waving a friendly hand. “I know, it’s not really my scene, but—“ His nose wrinkles happily. “I figured you’d be more comfortable on home turf.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk.”

“We did enough talking the other night. There’s still dried blood on the ground from that conversation.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Come on, Connor, did you think this was going to be easy? It’s a war. Someone’s going to get killed. It’s what happened. Honestly, what did you expect?”

“I’ll ask again, why are you here, Lorcan?”

“Because it’s a war, and wars are expensive.” He comes closer. Deck reacts by reaching for a gun, which makes his men overreact and grab for theirs, and Lorcan has to physically shove one back. “Sorry, sorry, seems like everyone’s twitchy right now.”

“Can’t blame them.” I make sure Deck stands down. “If you’re here in good faith, you won’t have trouble from me.” I turn to my lieutenant so he knows I mean it.

Deck grunts sheepishly and crosses his big arms over his chest.

“Here’s the thing, Connor.” Lorcan stops a few feet away from me, rubbing the back of his head. “I hate fighting. All the shooting? The running around? I get all sweaty and have you ever tried to clean blood from real Italian leather loafers? Huge pain in the ass.”

I’m not sure how to take that. I’ve only met Lorcan in passing over the years and don’t know the man well, but he’s got a decent reputation. Ruthless, definitely, but clever and a good businessman. Most of the families like him and work with him.

“I’ll make sure not to bleed on your shoes then.”

Lorcan laughs loudly. “Thanks! I’d appreciate that!” He brushes his jacket and gestures around. “Here’s the thing. We have a mutual problem. You got another woman pregnant and left my sister at the altar, and now I have to swear some oath to murder you and everyone you ever loved. It’s exhausting and there’s zero profit in the end. We’ll probably win, but you’ll bleed us dry in the process. It’s a lose-lose proposition, and I hate that kind. I much prefer the kind where everyone gets something.”

I nod at him and start to walk. Lorcan falls in step. I leave my men behind and he does the same. “It was never my intention to start this.”

“Don’t play around. You knew what would happen when you married that girl. But I’m not here to litigate the past. I’m here about the future.” He stops and leans a hand against a black sedan, its roof crushed, missing all its doors and half the bumper. “We can cut a deal.”

“Does your father know you’re here?”

He waves a hand at that. “You have things we want. This yard, for example. I hear it’s very profitable. I looked into your Washington business and it’s legitimate, isn’t it?”

“WashCo isn’t on the table.”

“Oh, I love that name!” He snaps a finger in the air. “What a great ring. WashCo! Shit, I can already see the commercials. But seriously, let’s make something happen. We both know your marriage isn’t legit. Set the girl aside, have the union annulled or whatever you have to do, and marry my sister the way you’re supposed to. Pay off my father with a big chunk of WashCo. Make everyone happy.”

I study Lorcan, trying to figure out if he’s being serious, but he seems sincere.

Only there’s no way that’ll work.

“Sinead wouldn’t marry me, even if I did divorce Angie, and your brothers and your father would never stand for it.”

“Let me worry about them. Come on, Connor. Let’s profit together.”

I shake my head. “You don’t get it. I started a war for this girl. I turned my life inside out for her. You think I’m going to send her away because you show up?”

Lorcan’s smile dips. “I hoped you would.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but hear me right now. I’m not leaving Angelina. She’s my wife and she’ll always be mine. I’m sorry for Sinead, but that’s not happening. You want a deal, we can make a deal, but that’s non-negotiable.”

“I’m really disappointed to hear that. I hate it when people aren’t reasonable.”

I turn and walk back to my men. “Then we’re finished here. You can leave. Nobody’s got to die today.”

“Are you sure?” Lorcan calls after me. “Your marriage isn’t real, Connor! Whatever priest you strong-armed into filling out the paperwork, it’s simply not legitimate! Give up the girl and make the right choice.”

I don’t bother to answer. I return to Deck’s side. My lieutenant scowls at Lorcan, eyes screwed up like he’s thinking. I have to grab his arm and turn him. “We’re leaving,” I order.

Deck grunts in answer. “Right, understood. We’ll keep you covered.”

“I’m sorry it went like this,” Lorcan shouts as I make my way back through the yard. “Just so you know, it’s not personal, and it’s not what I wanted!”

“What the hell does he mean?” Deck asks, sounding unnerved. “We checked the place. There’s no ambush.”

“Keep moving.” But an ugly feeling sinks into my toes, and by the time we reach the G-Wagons, my phone starts to buzz urgently.

It’s Marcus. He sounds breathless. “Connor, there was a bomb.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I got the call a second ago. A bomb went off at Dockside Boxing Club.”

I stop and grip the side of the car. “Was anyone there?”

“I don’t think so. But the whole building’s a wreck.”

“I’m coming.” I hang up and look back at Deck grimly. “They hit the boxing club.”

“Motherfuckers.” He pulls his gun and turns, gesturing for his men. “Should we kill them?”

I grit my teeth. We could race after Lorcan, but he’s probably gone already. “No, they need us at the gym. Get in the cars, we’re going.”

Deck curses, but he obeys. I pause a moment, looking out at the husks of ruined cars and the splotch of brown blood on the ground, and wonder why Lorcan came here alone.

21

ANGIE

Connor gives me plenty of space that night. When he does come home, it’s only to shower and get changed. He drags the smell of soot and ashes after him. I want to ask if he’s okay, but I hide out in the massive closet instead, not ready to face him.

I keep going over my life since the accident. Everything I’ve done since then feels wrong, like he tainted it. What did I achieve on my own? Was any of it real?

Connor’s power and influence goes so much deeper than I ever could’ve known.

Rowan talked me down after the conversation. I felt bad losing my mind in front of a teenager though and put on a brave face for her. In all this, I shouldn’t lose sight that she’s still around because of me, that no matter what Connor did in the years after, I really did save Rowan’s life.

That was me. The one thing I can truly be proud of.

I find a simple black gift box waiting on the bed when Connor’s gone. There’s a bow and a note. I keep my promises.

Inside is my phone and a charger.

I power it on immediately. I didn’t expect to have such a visceral reaction but it’s like I’m instantly relieved of some invisible pressure. I hated not having it. Which is sad, honestly, like I can’t be apart from it for long. Messages start to populate as I scroll social media, trying to bury my brain in short form video, until I notice one of the recent emails.

It’s from Brad.

I’m tempted to delete it, but I can’t help myself. I open it, dumbfounded, blood draining from my face. I cross my legs under me and hunch forward, going through it again and again, horror sinking into my guts.

Dear Angie, hey babe, look I really hate to do this but we gotta talk. I’ve been thinking about some of those pictures you sent me, and how I hear you got some new husband now, and I was thinking. You probably don’t want me to livestream all those nasty pics of you, right? Especially not the ones where ure shoving that huge dildo in your pussy? I love those, u look so hot. I bet the stream will be WILD when we show it, lol.

So for real, let’s meet and talk about this. We can come to an agreement, right? Like you give me five thousand dollars and I delete everything?

K let me know.

Ps Lavender says sup bitch!

Oh, fuck.

This can’t be real. Brad can’t be this stupid and vindictive.

But then again, I’m pretty sure he is.

My heart’s slamming in my chest as I call him. The number rings a few times before it clicks and he picks up. “Angie! Hey! I was just thinking about you.”

“Brad, what the fuck?” I hiss, looking around to make sure nobody’s listening, but I’m alone. “I read that email. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Calm down, Angie, it’s not a big deal. Aren’t you married to your boss? Isn’t that guy rich as hell?”

“How do you even know that?!”

“Your mom made a big stink when she got dragged from her apartment. Everyone heard about it.” There’s noise in the background on his end. A woman’s voice but I can’t make out the words. “Lavender says she knows a guy in the building and he told her all about it. Damn, Angie, you moved on fast. I’m honestly hurt.”

“Fuck you. I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Tears spring into my eyes. I feel disgusting like bugs are crawling all over my skin. “Those were for you. This is so fucked up, Brad.”

“Relax! It’s five grand. You can handle it. Just bring the money to Heart and Stone, you know that bar? Meet me and Lavender there tonight and this’ll be done.”

“Fuck. I don’t have any money. I can’t even—“ I stop before I say, I can’t even leave my room.

“Don’t play around.” Brad’s voice gets serious. He sounds almost regretful. “Seriously Angie, just pay. It’s easier. Please.”

“You’re such a bastard. This is vile.”

“I know. But it’s happening. Just pay and move on. I swear, I’ll delete everything.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Tears well out and roll down my cheeks.

We dated for years. I thought Brad was the one. We had good times together too. We laughed, made plans, kissed and snuggled. He cooked me pancakes and I made him homemade fries. It wasn’t perfect, but I thought it might be for real.

Now he’s using me for money. Using the naked pictures I sent him. Blackmailing me.

I feel so violated and I want to get sick.

“Fine. Five thousand.” My head works in circles. I have access to my money still through my phone, and I have over six in savings. It’s everything, but I can cover this. “Swear you’re not lying.”

“I wouldn’t.” More muffled talking. “Oh, and Lavender says you should take up streaming. She says you’d be really good at it.”

“Tell Lavender she’s a disgusting bitch.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“Go to hell, Brad.”

“Ten tonight. Heart and Stone, in the back. Later, Angie.”

He hangs up. I look down at the phone, numb and horrified.

How is this happening?

And how is Brad so goddamn stupid?

It’s bad enough that he’s doing some revenge porn shit, or at least threatening it.

But if I go to Connor, what’ll happen?

My husband came home covered in someone else’s blood.

There’s no way Brad will walk out of that room alive.

Which means I have to pay him. Not because he deserves it, but because there’s still a part of me that doesn’t want to see him and his piece-of-shit girlfriend get murdered.

God, am I really this twisted? I’m trying to protect my blackmailer.

It’d be easier to tell Connor. He’d make all this go away. No doubt in my mind.

But he’d do it with blood and pain.

And what’s the point of money now, anyway?

I’m wiping my face off when there’s a knock at my door. I hurriedly get myself together, only to find Rowan slipping inside. She’s wearing black sweats and a tight tank, dark eyeliner around her pretty eyes. Her bright smile fades.

“Hey, are you okay? I came to see if you wanted to have breakfast with me.”

“I’m fine. Honestly.” I dry my cheeks. “I wasn’t crying.”

“Wow, so convincing. Is it my brother? Was he a dick again? I’ll talk to him⁠—“

“No, no, it’s not Connor.” I chew on my lip, thinking fast. Money’s not the problem here. What I really need is someone who can get me out of this place. “I’m in a little trouble.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Are you sure it’s not my brother?”

“No, it’s someone outside of here.” Against my better judgement, I blurt it all out. Rowan’s too young for all this and she’s properly scandalized when she learns I took dirty photos of myself, but she laughs it off and admits she knows girls at school who do it. “He wants five thousand in person. You see my problem?”

Rowan pulls at her hair. “You know my brother can just kill him, right?”

“That’s what I’m trying to avoid.”

“He’d deserve it, that fucking scumbag.”

“Probably. But still. Rowan, please. Can you help me?”

She checks the hall behind her, chews on her thumbnail, and brightens. “Hell yeah. I got an idea.”

“Really?”

“I can get us out of here but we’ll need a ride. You know anyone on the outside who can help?”

“Actually, I have just the girl.”

“Great!” Rowan leaps to her feet. “Give me a bit to set it all up. We have to leave at like nine, right?”

“Right, but hey, please don’t get in trouble for me.”

She waves that off. “Don’t worry about it. Connor never stays mad at me. Just be ready to go, okay?”

“Okay, but⁠—“

“No more questions! I got this!” She stalks off. “We’re gonna pay that blackmailing dickbag and then I’m gonna punch him right in the throat. You don’t want him dead, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hurt him!”

“Wait, hold on, Rowan⁠—“

But she’s already gone.

I groan and collapse back onto the bed.

What the hell is wrong with me?! Getting a teenager involved?

But there’s no other way I’d ever escape.

And I’ll have to come back. Even if I don’t want to, I can’t risk getting Rowan in trouble, and besides, my mom’s still blazed off her tits in the other room. No, even out there, I’m still trapped here.

At least I have a problem to distract me from thinking about my stalker husband.

22

ANGIE

“Where’s Colm?” I stand at the end of my wing in the doorway. It’s empty and open. Rowan’s leaning over the banister staring down at the first floor.

“I told him I saw some shady guys lurking in the back yard. He went to check it out.” She’s frowning, face screwed up. “Timing’s all wrong,” she mutters.

“What timing?” I creep out to stand beside her. “Listen, Rowan, I shouldn’t have asked for your help. This is stupid. I can handle it on my own.”

She puts a hand on my wrist. “Angie, you saved my life. This is the least I can do. Besides⁠—“

Explosions go off. Loud bursting pops like gunfire echo from somewhere far back behind the mansion.

“What was that?!”

“That was our cue. Come on.” Rowan runs to the stairs and descends at a manic, wild pace.

“Wait!” I chase after, heart racing. There’s yelling from somewhere near the back. Angry, panicked men. Doors slam nearby.

Rowan hits the bottom landing and doesn’t pause. She hurls herself at the door, reckless and fearless. She yanks it open and there’s the night, the driveway, the darkness, waiting. It’s freedom, and god, I’ve wanted it so badly since coming here, but now I’m not sure.

“Hold on, what if they shoot us?”

She doesn’t even look back, sprinting out into the evening. I curse and have to follow, out of control and regretting every single decision I’ve ever made. If she gets hurt, I’ll never forgive myself. Connor will never forgive me either. How could I put her in this position?!

But Rowan’s whooping and laughing as she sprints between the trees. Men nearby shout for us to stop, but Rowan only flips them off and keeps going.

And I realize something: she’s been living this life for years, for her entire existence. She’s never known a world without guards, mafias, danger soldiers. To her this is a fun excursion because she knows everyone in this place knows her like the backs of their hands. She knows there’s no real threat for her.

I’m out of breath, gasping, sweating, running all-out to try to keep up with the wiry teen. She flits between the trunks and reaches the wall, cackling madly.

“Wait, wait, hold on.” I moan as she climbs like a monkey to the top. “Please, Rowan, wait a second.”

“No time to wait. Those guards are coming and they’re gonna drag you back. You wanna face Connor?”

Shit. She’s right. Three men are coming at us, shouting for me to turn around.

No time to hesitate. Rowan reaches down and I jump, catching her hand, using her as leverage to drag myself up. “I’m so… out of… shape!” I grunt as I reach the top of the wall. “I swear, I’m going to start running.”

“Another time!” She swats my ass and leaps off the other side. “We got to catch that ride!”

The silver Nissan Altima is parked half a mile further down the road. Nadia seems surprised when we show and jump in. “Better get moving,” Rowan advises. “Before the guards come searching.”

“Guards?” But Nadia sighs at the look I give her and pulls out.

Rowan goes over her master escape plan on the way to the bar. She set fireworks on a timer in the back yard. “Connor taught me how, believe it or not,” she says proudly. “He’s gonna love it.”

“He’s going to kill me,” I say under my breath, pale and clammy.

“Can anyone explain what’s going on here?” Nadia looks at us like we’ve lost our minds. “Angie, who’s this?”

I introduce them and find myself telling her more than I planned, about my marriage to Connor, about the mansion, about my mother moving in with us. I don’t mention the war or the fact that I’m technically a captive, though Nadia asks some pointed questions about why we had to escape our own house.

We reach Heart and Stone at exactly ten. Nadia finds a spot nearby and kills the engine. She turns to face me and puts a hand on my leg. “Two things. First, you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” I assure her. “It’s complicated, but I’m okay.”

“And second…” She leans in, grinning. “Holy shit, you’re married to Big Boss?”

I laugh, with a look at Rowan. “I know, right?”

“Is he as hot as I think he is?”

“Gross,” Rowan says, getting out of the car. “That’s my brother.”

We head into the bar together. I take point with Rowan and Nadia backing me up. It’s crowded and dark. Young people gather at tables drinking and laughing over the too-loud music. And for the first time in a while, I feel strangely good, even though I’m marching to pay off my ex-boyfriend and his awful new girl, I have friends at my back. It’s weird how nice that feels, knowing Nadia and Rowan care about me enough to drop everything. Rowan took risks to get me out, and Nadia agreed to drive us without so much as a second question.

I never thought I’d have people like this in my life, and it gives me hope for the first time in a very long while.

Brad and Lavender are huddled at a booth in the very back corner. I immediately see why they picked this spot. It’s relatively private, tucked around a jutting wall.

They look like shit. I’m stunned. Brad seems thin and gaunt and pale. His eyes twitch from side to side. Lavender’s worse: she’s all bones and stringy hair and a terrible low-cut top with bad tattoos and cheap nails. She leaps to her feet, glaring at me then at Nadia and Rowan.

“I thought we said for you to come alone? What the fuck is this?”

“They’re my friends. It’s fine, I’m here to pay you, okay?”

“More than you deserve, bitch,” Nadia says, crossing her arms.

“Fuck you. Do I even know you?” Lavender cocks a fist back. “I’m gonna break your smug fucking jaw, cunt.”

“Babe, stop it.” Brad appears at her side, grabbing her wrist and pulling it down. “That’s enough, okay? Let me handle this shit.”

“Fucking sluts.” Lavender spits on the floor at my shoes. “Bitch.” She slips into the booth and throws back her drink, scowling.

“Wow.” I look at Brad. He looks back sheepishly. “This is your life now, huh?”

“Look, I didn’t want this, okay? I’m sorry, Angie, I really am.”

“Don’t apologize to her, you dick,” Rowan snaps. “You’re no better than a rapist, you realize that, right?”

Brad flinches, looking away. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I take him in, and finally, any last attachment I felt for my former boyfriend fades. He’s small, scrawny, pathetic, and weak. I can’t believe I ever thought I loved him.

“I deserved better than you,” I say, taking out my phone. “You’re going to delete all my pictures?”

“I swear. But I thought we said cash?”

“I can’t get five thousand dollars out of a bank on short notice. We’ll do a transfer. Give me your details.”

Brad looks back in a panic. “But we said cash. I mean, do we have a bank, babe?”

“FUCK YOU,” Lavender screams. “We had a deal!”

Rowan starts yelling. Nadia shouts too. Brad shrinks back, making himself small, and I feel the moment about to spiral. This isn’t how I wanted it to go down. Lavender’s waving a bottle around, threatening to kill everyone, and I don’t know what to do.

Until a shadow falls across the booth.

Lavender stops first. Her jaw drops open. She sinks down, lowering the bottle. Then Rowan yelps in alarm and I turn.

Connor looms over us.

Oh, shit.

My husband’s eyes settle on me. His face is impassive and hard. Compared to Brad, he’s a god on earth. Connor’s jaw is cut and sharp, and his tattoos look like fire on his gorgeous tan skin. He fills out his suit like it’s going to break.

“Nadia, please take my little sister outside. I have a car waiting for her.”

Nadia clears her throat. “Uhm, yes, right away, Mr. Maguire.”

“Thank you.”

Rowan allows herself to be dragged away. She cringes at me apologetically, but then my friends are lost to the crowd.

Leaving me alone with my ex, my current, and a crazy bitch.

Connor steps forward. His bulk presses to my side protectively. He faces Lavender down before turning to Brad.

“Here is what will happen,” he says, speaking slowly and clearly. Brad trembles, deadly white and sweating. “You will delete my wife’s photos and videos. You will smash your hard drive with a hammer. I will send a man to ensure this happens. Do you understand?”

“Y-y-yes, Mr. Maguire. Sorry, Mr. Maguire.” Brad stammers, flinching away.

“Apologize to my wife.”

“I’m sorry, Angie!”

“You too, Ms. Lavender.”

“I’m sorry.” Lavender keeps her eyes down in her lap. “I didn’t mean it. I really didn’t. The money⁠—“

Connor grabs Brad by the throat and slams him against the wall.

It happens so fast. One moment we’re talking, Lavender is apologizing, and the next Brad’s skull bounces against the plaster. He groans as Connor draws a knife from his belt.

“Please,” Brad gags.

Connor drives the blade into Brad’s right knee, stabbing deep.

He screams in horror. Connor twists and yanks, the steel coming free in a spray of blood. I see bone, cartilage, something yellow. Brad collapses to the floor, sobbing in pain.

Lavender tries to scramble away, but Connor catches her by the hair. His face is calm as he carves a line down her right cheek, cutting her from eye to jaw, then saws away her long hair, tossing the severed locks down over Brad.

“Photographs will be deleted,” Connor repeats, shoving his knife away. I’m aware of people staring. Blood wells down Lavender’s face, dripping down her front. Brad’s rolling in a pool of it, sobbing. I don’t think he’ll ever walk right again. “My men will confirm.” Connor offers me his arm. “Wife? Shall we?”

As if in a dream, I slip my hand against his elbow, and he draws me back through the bar. “Cover your face, angel,” he says quietly, holding a hand to block his eyes as if shading them from the sun.

I realize why. Phones are held up all around. I quickly duck my head and raise my arm, stumbling after him, until we’re out on the sidewalk again.

“Connor, I⁠—“

“Don’t talk.” His demand is sharp. Marcus waits a few feet away beside a black Mercedes. Nadia and Rowan are with him, both looking ashamed, while Marcus seems like he’s having the time of his life. “Marcus will take these two home—“ Connor gestures at them and tightens his grip on my arm. “You and me are going to have a chat.”

“Don’t be mean to her, Connor, I’m the one who got us out of the mansion,” Rowan says quickly.

But her brother silences her with a look. “I’ll deal with you later. Get going.”

“Ladies.” Marcus draws them away. “I’ll handle your car too, don’t worry, Nadia. I’m Marcus, by the way, nice to meet you…”

I hurry to keep up with Connor as he pulls me to a waiting G-Wagon. I climb into the back with him and the driver pulls away without having to be told.

“Where are we going?” I ask, shame and fear flooding me. I never should’ve done this. I never should’ve snuck out like that.

Except… watching Connor stab Brad in the knee and slice Lavender’s face up, dispassionately and efficiently, sent an electric trail down my skin, and now it feels like I’m on fire.

He protected me.

I broke his rules and he still came here to help.

“I want to show you something.” And he doesn’t speak another word for the remainder of the ride.

23

CONNOR

Istand at the edge of the salvage yard. At night, the cars look like twisted trees, a strange forest of scrap metal and ruin. Angie stays by my side, her body close and warm.

“What are we doing here, Connor?”

“I wanted you to see this.” I take out my phone and turn on the flashlight. “This way.”

She follows as I walk further into the twisting lanes. “All my time at WashCo and I’ve never actually been to one of these before.”

“You did data entry. No reason for you to see it.”

“Still, this is what I was doing, right?”

I stop and shine the light on the ground. We’re far enough away from the parking lot now that I can’t see the headlights anymore. It’s like we’re on another planet. “You were reckless tonight, Angelina.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Connor, I just⁠—“

“No,” I say, interrupting her firmly. I don’t want to be a bastard, but I can’t go easy on her. “You don’t understand at all. Look down.”

She steps forward, the toes of her shoes pressing against the edge of the massive bloody stain. “What is it?”

“You saw some splashed all over me the night I came home.” I move the light, showing her more. Rusty red all over a nearby car, more drying in clumps and clots on top of a pile of radiators. “I thought you got it when you saw me, but clearly not.”

She’s trembling when I touch her. She flinches away. “You brought me here to show me blood stains?”

“These are dead men, all of whom died because of our union.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“No, but you are not valuing their sacrifice.”

“That’s not⁠—“

“It’s exactly what you did. Sneaking out of the mansion. Letting my sister light off fireworks. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Setting aside the Gallaghers, my own men could’ve made a horrible mistake and gunned you down.”

She pales and chews on her thumbnail. “I know. It was stupid.”

“And yet you did it anyway.” I catch her wrist and pull her against me. “Tell me why. Make me understand. What were you thinking?”

Her body shakes like it’s freezing outside. My fingers brush through her hair, and all my anger fades into something worse. A dark hunger fills me, a desire to own her, to destroy her. But isn’t that what I’ve always done?

Obedience. That’s been my single demand. Those who work for me follow my command. Is that what I want from my wife? From my angel?

Do I want to break her?

“You had enough to worry about,” she whispers, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I thought if I could pay them off, it would be okay. And I also knew…”

“Knew what?”

“That you’d hurt them.”

I tug her hair to make her look at me. “Didn’t you want me to?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Brad isn’t a bad person. He’s mixed up with someone terrible, maybe he’s confused, but I don’t think he’s evil. I can’t believe that. I was with him for too long.”

“But the girl…”

“Well, she probably deserved it.”

“Oh, angel. You broke my rules, dragged my little sister into it, and went behind my back, all to spare a couple of lowlife pieces of shit?”

“Sounds crazy when you put it that way.”

“There’s no other way.” I stroke her cheek and wipe away her tears. I lift them to my mouth and lick them from my fingers. “You need to understand something. You are precious to me. You and this—“ I press my palm to her belly. “You are both everything to me now.”

She worries at her lower lip. “I’m a vessel for this baby. You can’t mean that.”

“No, angel. I’ve been watching you for years. You saved Rowan’s life, even though you put it in danger tonight. I know your heart is good. That’s why—“ I clench my jaw, choking back the next words, unable to say them out loud. They’re too pathetic, and it’s too vulnerable.

But she touches my cheek. “Tell me. Please, Connor.”

“That’s why I haven’t been able to look away. You’re good, angel, you’re the only good thing in my entire life. I’ve been able to lie all these years, pretending like if I kept helping you, if I kept taking care of you from a distance, that would balance out my sins. But if I’m honest, my scales are tipped toward hell, and it’s all that’s waiting for me now.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re a good man too.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not. Look at Rowan. She’s pure, isn’t she? She’s a great girl, and it’s because you’re in her life. Your men look up to you. I know how much you care about them, how much you sacrifice. I’m sorry, Connor, I really am. I never should have gone to see Brad. I wanted to handle my own mess for once, but it was stupid, and I’m sorry.”

“Angel.” I pull her mouth to mine. I kiss her, sinking my tongue between her lips, tasting her. “Angel,” I say again, moaning it this time, kissing her harder.

She wraps her arms around my neck. I hold her in the darkness, moonlight and stars glittering from shattered glass and blood-covered steel. I hoist her up, sit her on a bumper of an ancient ripped Chevy, and dominate her lips as she kisses me back furiously. I cup her ass, holding on tight, growling between her lips.

And could she be right? If she thinks I’m decent, does that make it true? Is there a glimmer of hope for me in all this darkness?

No, I don’t think so.

And for all that, I still need her, because if I’m going to slide into hell, I might as well go doing what I love the most.

I tug her down and turn her. Angie yelps as I shove my right hand up her top and squeeze her breasts, kissing her neck, pulling her hair with my other palm. She arches into me, gasping as I tweak and pinch her nipples, biting her shoulder, sliding from her top down into her bottoms. I cup her pussy, feeling its warmth, and she moans, wiggling her hips.

“Someone… someone could see…” She’s panting as my fingers slowly stroke.

“Nobody’s coming.”

“Cameras. There have to be cameras.”

“I’ll have the footage erased.”

“Connor—“

“I’m going to fuck you, angel. I’m going to fill you to the brim and make you scream and that’s going to be your punishment.”

“Oh my god.”

“No more fighting. No more talking. You are mine.” I flick aside her panties and tease along her soaking folds. “You are mine and you are so fucking wet.”

“That feels so good… Connor…”

I plunge my fingers inside of her and kiss her over her shoulder. She whimpers, returning the kiss with eager urgency. I slide my fingers in deep, curling, swirling, and pulling them back out, stroking her clit, plunging back in. Her hands grip the truck’s bumper, fingers inches from pitted and jagged steel.

I yank her pants down, dropping to my knees behind her. I kiss her ass, one cheek then the other, and spread her to lick up and down, teasing and tasting. She curses, hands curled into fists. I stand, sucking my fingers, and unbuckle my belt.

“Knees. Now.”

And like always, I get what I want. My wife sinks in front of me, her big, pretty eyes shining with want as I pull out my cock, fist holding the root as she opens her mouth and takes the tip.

Fuck, that feels so good. Pleasure washes through me and I release a low, shuddering moan. She licks, sucking the top, tongue going in heavenly circles.

“Fuck, angel, that feels so good.”

“Are you going to come in my mouth?”

I curse, gripping the truck behind her. Metal slices my palm and I don’t care. “If you keep doing that⁠—“

She bends into me, taking more, hands grabbing my ass. I groan, growling and purring my bliss as she sucks, gliding back. I release my root and she takes over, stroking with both hands.

“Fuck, baby.” I hold her hair and realize I’m bleeding. Blood’s getting in her pretty curls. I don’t care. I slide deeper, into her throat, before pulling her to her feet.

“Connor, please,” she begs as I turn her. “I want it.”

“I want you too.” I kiss her, leaving a smear of blood on her cheek, and press my tip against her dripping entrance. “You’re so fucking warm and pretty. God, every inch of you is like a promise. I want to stay inside you.”

“Fill me then.” She arches, grinding back. The top of me slips inside and she moans, grinning. “More, god, more.”

I let her move back, slowly taking me deep into her pussy. She looks so beautiful, my blood smeared on her face, streaked in her hair, and I smack her ass hard, a sharp whip-crack, making her scream as I fill her to the brim at the same instant. I leave a palm-shaped print on her pristine white skin, then I grip her hips, and I fuck her like I have nothing left to lose.

All I can do is fill her and whisper in her ear. I tell her she’s pretty, she feels good, she’s everything to me. I fuck her rough and stroke her pussy, gliding my hand around her clit as I slam into her from behind. She screams out, arching, begging and moaning. “Keep going, Connor, oh my fucking god!”

I grind into her sweet pussy. “You’re so fucking dripping wet, your messy cunt getting me all soaked.” I wrap my hand around her throat, smearing more blood on her. “You love this, don’t you? Getting fucked by your husband. You dirty girl.”

“More,” she pleads. “Keep going. Hold me tighter. Harder.”

I increase the pressure on her throat as I fuck her like a savage. I destroy her little body, dominate and take her, claim her as my own, and she cries out with bliss. I can hardly hold back, dancing on the knife’s edge, only the pain from my bloody palm keeping me from exploding.

But that only lasts so long. When she tells me how good my cock feels, it breaks me. “Fuck, angel, please, you need to come,” I say, losing control, and she must hear it, because she wails with pleasure.

“Yes, Connor, fuck! Fill me!”

I grind in deep and snarl. “Baby, I’m going to fucking come.”

“Oh my god, don’t stop!”

I slam into her, mindless, holding her throat still, kissing her, getting blood on my mouth as I do it, fucking her faster and deeper, until the explosion breaks me. I make mindless gasping, grunting moans against her ear as I slam and slam and slam, filling her, coming deep inside of her, and she screams out in return, her eyes rolling back. I hold her, grinding, stroking, fucking her until she collapses forward, gasping for breath.

I stand still a moment. Moonlight gleams off her. She looks like a fucking murder victim. My palm’s cut worse than I realized and it’s bleeding all over: blood on her ass, on her face, on her neck, in her hair. She smiles at me, unaware, gaze glazed with bliss.

“You look so beautiful,” I whisper, stroking hair from her face.

“Really? You think so?”

“Perfect.” Drenched in blood. Lovely as sin.

We clean up together. She notices the blood eventually and laughs about it, shaking her head. When we get back to the car, the driver watches her in the rearview mirror, looking concerned, but I tell him to get moving. She leans against my shoulder on the way back to the mansion.

“Promise me something.” I kiss her bloody hair and linger on her mouth.

“Do promises count if they’re made under duress?”

“Don’t ask the priest that question. I mean it, promise me something. I want you to swear you won’t run off like that again.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Relief hits me. I sigh and lean back as she snuggles against my chest. “Can you promise me something in return?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t be too eager. All I want is honesty. No more doing things behind my back. No more watching me from the shadows.”

“That’s over now.”

“Good, because it was pretty creepy.”

I laugh, leaning down to kiss her again. “You didn’t even know.”

“But now I do and it’s weird.”

“Would it make it worse if you knew I used to steal your underwear?”

Her eyebrows arch in alarm. “Don’t tell me⁠—“

I throw my head back and let out a low belly roar. I haven’t cracked up this hard in a very, very long time, and she slaps my chest, shaking her head, smiling too.

It’s a release, almost as much as fucking her back in the salvage yard. The laughter dies away, but I still have a small smile on my face for the rest of the ride. While we’re here in the car, I can be nothing more than her husband: not the boss, not responsible for a company or a family, but a man with the woman he’s deeply obsessed with.

Normal for once.

I’m still in a good mood when we reach home. Angie heads inside, but my phone buzzes and I pause to take the call. “Everything good?”

“Girls are home safe,” Marcus confirms. “That Nadia’s nice to look at.”

“No.”

“But—“

“I said no.”

“You’re zero fun.” There’s a sound like he’s changing hands. “But hold on, before you hang up. I got something for you.”

“Anything I should be worried about?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. When you told me about the ex-boyfriend and his girl, I did some digging on them. Had my guy break into their apartment, logged into their laptop⁠—“

“That’s above and beyond.”

“We’re at war, brother. Here’s the thing. Our good friend Brad’s bank account was open and there were three money transfers totaling five grand.”

I look out into the darkness, at the men patrolling through the trees. “Someone paid them.”

“Damn right someone paid them. I don’t think that whole business was about blackmailing her at all. I bet the cash was only the first step.”

“Or they got greedy.” I rub the heel of my palm into my eye. “Figure out who sent that money.”

“Already working on it.”

“Good job, Marcus.”

“Now can I get that Nadia girl’s number?”

I hang up.

Whatever joy I felt fades into the evening. The mansion’s doors loom wide. My wife’s waiting for me upstairs. My sister is home safe. My family is protected.

But death’s coming. It always does, and my life is spent holding it at bay for as long as I can.

24

ANGIE

Itake a long, hot shower the next morning to make sure I wash all the blood out. When I emerge smelling fresh and feeling good, I find a black gift box waiting on my pillow, and Connor nowhere in sight. Last night, we slept side by side together, not having sex, but curled against each other like an actual couple.

And it felt nice. Safe, in a weird way. Even though nothing about that man is remotely safe.

I untie a black ribbon, lift the black lid, and find a black glass rectangle looking back at me.

“My phone?!” I turn it over in surprise, but it’s definitely mine. There’s a scuff down the side where I dropped it on the pavement a few months back.

I find a note tucked underneath. It’s in Connor’s handwriting, cramped and narrow. Angel, this one doesn’t have any tracking software at all. You wanted trust? We can try this again. Love, your husband.

I smile to myself as it powers on. I hold the note against my chest, breathing the paper. Why’d he sign it love? Why does it even matter?

Messages fill my inbox. I have a surprising number of emails and texts. I shoot one to Nadia real fast letting her know everything’s okay, and she replies instantly.

Nadia: Glad to hear you’re still alive. Tbh, didn’t know if that was a given, considering how mad Big Boss looked.

Angelina: We’re all good. I just learned not to do stupid stuff anymore.

Nadia: HA! How long will that lesson hold?

Angelina: Long enough, hopefully.

Nadia: Seriously, you’re OK? You haven’t been at work. Rick’s worried sick.

I smile to myself. That’s very sweet. He usually pretends like he can’t stand the pair of us, but I always knew he had a soft spot for me.

Angelina: Tell Rick I’m fine. Honestly, you saw me last night. Proof of life!

Nadia: Proof of Big Boss too.

Nadia: Speaking of which…………

Nadia: Who’s that Marcus guy, anyway?

Angelina: Dude are you kidding me?

Nadia: WHAT?!

Angelina: Unacceptable!

Nadia: Put in a good word for me, pls.

I toss my phone aside, shaking my head.

Damn that girl is thirsty.

I call down to Lisa from the house phone and ask for breakfast before checking on my mother. She’s awake and watching Judge Judy reruns on YouTube, only somewhat high, several cups of tea scattered around her. She seems happy to see me, and we chat for a few minutes until my food arrives. I meet Lisa in the hallway to take it into my room.

“You know, I got word earlier.” Lisa turns a sly smile on me. “There’s been a change in your freedoms.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Apparently, Colm doesn’t have to guard your door anymore.” Lisa jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “You got space to wander now.”

It takes a moment to realize there’s no guard posted outside. “Oh, wow. This feels weird.”

“Good weird?”

“I kind of miss Colm.”

“Liar.” Lisa beams at me. “There’s a massive sunroom downstairs. I’ve been putting plants and stuff near the windows. Want to have breakfast there?”

“I’d love that.”

The space is gorgeous. Lisa sets me up at a table with a view of the grounds. Morning sunlight streams in casting long shadows of all the various planters she has set up. Some big leafy greens in pots, a few that look like tiny trees, and more that I can’t begin to name. It’s warm, comfortable, and beautiful. I eat quietly, legs tucked under me, feeling content for the first time since I came here. I can almost ignore the guards wandering between the trees and lurking in the hallways. At least they aren’t keeping me trapped anymore.

“Nice, isn’t it?” I look up as Rowan slips into the room. I’m amazed at how skinny she is all over again.

“Amazing. Beautiful, honestly. I had no clue.”

“Probably because he had you locked in that wing.” She slumps down into a chair across from me and steals a piece of toast. “You okay? After everything last night?”

“Fine. What about you?”

“Got a lecture to end all lectures a couple hours ago.” She glowers at the windows. “Ever been woken up by a grumpy, pissed-off mafia boss? Not pleasant.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I deserved it, though. I knew better than to help. But it’s just—“ She chews and swallows. “It’s you.”

“I should apologize. I never should have put you in that position, and I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry. I get it, and we did have some fun.”

“I’m not sure I’d call that fun, exactly…”

“It was a blast. I’d do it again if given the chance.” She finishes eating and helps herself to my coffee. “It’s pretty crazy though, isn’t it? This whole thing?” She gestures between us.

“Crazy is one word for it.” I adjust myself, crossing my legs and sitting on them. “I’ve thought a lot about you over the years. Always wondered if you were okay.”

“Oh, great. Look at me.” She waves at her scarred face. “I’m a beauty.”

“You really are pretty, Rowan. The scars are interesting.”

“Tell that to the boys at school.”

I snort and look away. “Trust me, in my experience, the boys at school aren’t worth impressing. The ones that are won’t be scared off.”

“Connor means well, you know.”

I carefully refuse to look in her direction. I study the leaves in the trees. “You think?”

“Come on, don’t pretend like him stalking you isn’t heinous and weird, but his heart’s always in the right place. I hear he spared those two idiots last night. That’s got to say a lot, right?”

“He didn’t let them off with nothing.”

“No, but if I know my brother, whatever he did was a tenth of what he really wanted to do, if you know what I mean. That’s how much he cares about you.”

My fingers brush over my belly. “Did he tell you? About the baby?”

“Yeah, we all know.” Her eyes are fixed on me now, openly. “Can you feel it?”

“Not really. I mean, not yet. It’s still pretty early. All I do is puke.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Yep, and apparently it doesn’t get much better.”

“Are you scared?”

I lean forward to take my coffee from her. I drink some, careful to go easy, since I can’t have too much caffeine on account of the baby. I mull her question over, let it rattle in my head.

“For childbirth, not really. But for everything after? Yeah, terrified.”

“Why? You’re going to be a great mother.”

“I don’t exactly have the best model for it in the world.”

“Who cares? You saved my life when you didn’t have to. You put your neck out for that scummy idiot fuck-face Brad. Imagine what you’ll do for your own kid?”

I blink rapidly, swallowing against the lump in my throat. What the hell is happening right now? Why am I getting all emotional?

Maybe because this is the first time I’ve thought about myself like that. Until now, all I’ve done is worry I’ll end up being a shitty parent like my mom was and ruin this baby. It’s not like I’ll be raising them in the safest environment possible.

But Rowan’s right. I’ll do anything for this child. I’ll kick, fight, scream, break, love, cuddle, fix, hold, and whatever for my kid, no matter what, and that’s got to be enough. Or at least close to it.

“Ah, crap, look what I did.” She leaps up and comes around the table to hug me. “I didn’t mean to make you cry! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay, honestly, it’s super okay. I’m just an emotional pregnant lady. Be happy I’m not ralphing all over the place.”

We laugh together and Rowan wipes my tears. She spends a few more minutes with me, but heads back up to check in with her mom and her dad. I’m alone for only long enough to finish my coffee when Connor strides into the room, a fat book under one arm, and comes to a stomping halt beside my chair.

I look up at his stormy eyes. There’s no smile on his stoic face. I caught a glimpse of a happy Connor last night in the car, but he’s gone now.

I wish he’d come back.

“Did you get my present?” he asks.

“Yes, and thank you. I won’t make you regret this.”

His jaw tightens. “Most people don’t get rewarded after making a stupid decision like you did.”

“Most people aren’t your wife.”

“Very true.” He drops the book into the chair where Rowan had been sitting. “I have a job for you.”

“Sorry? A job?”

“You still work for me.”

I snort and lean back, unfolding my legs and stretching. “Technically? I guess so?”

“Then as an employee of WashCo, you are obligated to follow my orders.”

“That… doesn’t sound right.”

He points at the book. “Those are WashCo’s ledgers. The real ledgers.”

“I didn’t know there were fake ones.”

“There are. You’ve been working on them. But that’s the real stuff, and I want you to go through it, looking for any specific entries around a company called United Building Incorporated.”

“UBI? Really?”

“That’s the name.”

“And what am I trying to find?”

“I don’t know.” He taps a knuckle against his chin. It’s a nervous gesture, one I’ve seen before. “But tell me what you come across.”

“I do so love a wild-goose chase, husband of mine.”

“Hmmmm. Wonderful. Have fun.” He turns away.

“Wait a second.” I get to my feet, walk to him, and stand on my toes so I can kiss him. He softens at that. “Thank you for the phone. Nadia’s already asking for Marcus’s number.”

“Absolutely not. I told him the same thing.”

“Wait, he asked about her too?”

“Angel,” he says, tone low and warning. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, maybe some other time then.” I kiss his cheek, lingering on the stubble. “Do you have work?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” He hesitates, one hand snaking around to press into my lower back. “Why? Were you thinking of something?”

“No reason.” I slip from his grip and fall back into my chair. I waggle my fingers at him. “See you later. I have work too.”

He grunts, frustrated, and storms out.

Is this what it feels like? To enjoy being around someone?

It’s fun, although I don’t love the way he gives me orders.

I resist the ledger book for ten minutes before finally giving in. Numbers march across pages in tight handwriting. Connor’s been doing this manually, and from the look of it, he’s been at it for years.

This is going to be a nightmare.

Good thing I have nothing but time on my hands.

25

ANGIE

My eyes are bleary and I have a headache. I grind my fingers into my temple trying to ease the ugly pounding but that doesn’t help. I have to snap Connor’s books closed and stretch out on my couch, yawning, nearly knocking over one of about a dozen half-full teacups scattered around the space.

I’m pretty sure Connor gave me an impossible, worthless task to keep me busy. There are mentions of that UBI company in a few different places but none of them are adding up and it’s starting to drive me crazy.

“Forget it. I need a break.” I jump up, wiggling my fingers at the ceiling with a groan, and stalk into the hall. Colm’s gone from the door and I have a clear path into the main building. I pause at the top of the steps, not sure what to do with myself all of a sudden.

I can’t leave the grounds. I’m not supposed to go outside but Connor grudgingly said I can walk around the yard so long as I have a guard with me at all times. Maybe I can go find Lisa and do whatever she’s doing, although that’ll probably be annoying. I’m married to her boss, which kind of makes me her boss too? I’m not sure how that’s supposed to work.

“Thinking about jumping?”

I yelp and turn. Rowan’s standing in the entrance to her wing, grinning at me. She’s in an oversized hoodie and a pair of shorts. Her hair has a fresh blue streak in the front.

“Something like that. I’m into the new look.”

“Got bored.” She strokes at her hair, eyes crossing as she tries to look at herself. “You think it’s okay? I haven’t actually seen a mirror yet.”

“Oh, god, I would’ve spent an hour staring at myself before eventually chickening out. I wish I had your confidence.”

“Hard to care about looks, you know?” She runs her finger down her scar. “Not when I look like this.”

“Stop it, you’re so pretty. That’s crazy.”

She hunches, pulling her hands into the sleeves of her hoodie. “I dunno, is it? Some guys at school used to call me scarface.”

“Wow, fuck them. Did you tell Connor about that?”

“Hell no. They’d be dead right now.”

I’m honestly not sure if she’s kidding and decide I don’t want to know. “Screw them. You’re gorgeous, for real. The scar’s nothing.”

She waves that off. “If you’re looking for something to do, I have more hair dye back in my room? And maybe you can meet my parents too.”

“That’d be great. The parents, not the dye.”

“I’ll convince you.” She perks up and I follow her into their wing. She takes me to a room toward the back which turns out to be a massive living room with a huge couch and a TV blaring some reality show I don’t recognize. There’s a kitchen and an older man is standing behind the counter in black gloves preparing some kind of ribs. He looks up and I’m surprised at how much he resembles Connor, though his hair is streaked with gray. He’s handsome and I like the way his eyes light up the second he sees Rowan.

“Blue this time, huh? Looks good, but I keep saying the pink was the best.”

“I haven’t gone pink in years. Dad, this is Angie, Connor’s wife.”

Connor’s father steps back from the big rack of meat and holds his spice-covered hands in the air. “I’d give you a massive hug, but you caught me at a bad time.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Maguire. It’s really nice to finally meet you.”

“Call me Cathal. I was wondering when Connor would release you from that prison.” He makes a face, chuckling to himself. “Leave it to my son to marry a woman and lock her up on the same day.”

“Dad, be nice.” Rowan plops onto a stool. “Is that dinner?”

“I figured I’d give the kitchen a break. You two ladies looking for something to do?”

“I caught that one gazing at the front door longingly.”

Cathal dips his chin as if he knows the feeling. “Freedom sounds nice right about now, but since we’re all in this gilded cage together, we might as well have ribs.”

“Dad thinks he’s a good cook,” Rowan stage-whispers to me. “But I’d call him more enthusiastic.”

“Keep going on like that and you’re not getting a single bite of this.” Cathal returns to prepping, smearing spice rub all over the rack. “Angie, welcome to the family. I’m only sorry it’s not a better time.”

“That’s okay. I’m glad to finally meet you at least.”

“Where’s Mom?” Rowan cranes her neck toward the couch. “Don’t tell me⁠—“

“I’m right here.” A younger woman pops up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “What’s going on?” She stands, yawning. Late thirties, much younger than Cathal, and very pretty. Dark hair, designer clothes, a sharp smirk. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Your mother had too much wine last night.” Cathal waggles his eyebrows. “And now she’s paying for it.”

“I’ve never been hungover in my life!” Rowan’s mother gets up and walks over, thrusting a hand at me. “Danielle Maguire, good to meet you. I hope my husband hasn’t scared you off yet.”

“No, not at all.” We shake and her grip is firm. I look from her to Rowan to Cathal, mentally doing the math.

But Rowan steps in. “Me and Connor are half-siblings,” she explains.

“Like I could ever give birth to a demon like Connor.” Danielle pulls Rowan in tight while she pretends to complain. “His father and me got hitched years back, after his mom passed.”

“God rest her soul,” Cathal says reverently.

“Now we’re one big, fucked-up family.” Danielle sighs dramatically. “Did I ever tell you what Connor said to me the day me and your dad got married, Rowie?”

“A million times,” Rowan says.

“He told me, and I quote, if you break my father’s heart, I will cut out your tongue and shove it up your ass until you’re farting in showtunes.”

“That’s my boy,” Cathal says approvingly.

“Connor and Mom have a love-hate relationship,” Rowan says.

“Yeah, I hate him and he loves to hate me back.” Danielle squeezes harder. “But you’re my little precious darling Rowie, my love⁠—“

“Mom!” She wriggles herself free. “You know who Angie is, right?”

Danielle brushes herself off and steps toward me. My heart stutters and I wonder why she’s got this intense look on her face all of a sudden. Is she mad at me because I’m Connor’s wife? And she clearly doesn’t get along with him? But after a beat, she wraps her arms around me and hugs so hard it hurts my back.

“Thank you,” she says into my ear. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’ve been meaning to say that for a very long time. Thank you so much.”

“Oh, uh, you’re welcome?”

“My wife is very loving and affectionate,” Cathal says, patting the meat rack like it’s her rump.

“You saved my girl’s life and I can never repay you. Thank you. No matter what, even if you’re married to that prick Connor, I will always love you and have your back.”

Right. Of course. This is Rowan’s mother—I keep forgetting because she seems so young compared to Cathal. I try to act like it’s no big deal but she grips my hands and holds my eyes and swears a blood oath to protect me always, which is unnecessary, since that’s what Connor’s doing, but it means a lot and I even catch Rowan wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

“Well now, that’ll be good in a few hours.” Cathal slams the oven shut and cracks open a bottle of prosecco. “Shall we drink and tell embarrassing stories about my son?”

“Absolutely!” Rowan says, grabbing glasses.

Danielle shoves a Diet Coke at her daughter. “Don’t kid yourself,” she says, and Rowan groans.

“And none for me either.” I put a hand on my belly. “Got this brewing.”

“That’s right. It’s me and you only, Cathy.” Danielle leans against her husband and kisses his cheek. “You’re a doll and a peach.”

“And you’re a brightness that won’t ever fade.” He kisses her lovingly, pecking all over her face.

“Disgusting,” Rowan says but she’s got a big smile on her face.

And sitting there, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced warmth like this before. I never imagined I’d find it in a place like this, at a time like this, when there’s a war happening outside our walls and armed men wandering the halls. Blood’s smeared all over the ground, there’s death in the soil, and here these people are finding ways to make each other happy.

I sink into it the best I can. I laugh as Cathal tells stories about Connor’s childhood. Danielle and Rowan pitch in, talking about Connor’s teenage years—(“I was never sure he’d end up coming home each night, but there he was, pockets filled with cash and blood on his sneakers. That’s my boy.”)—right up into his ascension to the boss of the Maguire clan, and how everything changed for them after that.

“Dad was never a big part of the family,” Rowan explains, and Cathal doesn’t deny it. “He’s still not really, so it was strange when Connor fell into his position, you know? I didn’t really even understand what the Maguires were, aside from my shady cousins.”

“The role changed him,” Cathal says gravely. “He doesn’t smile as much anymore.”

“Did he ever?” Danielle mutters.

“It seems like he has a lot of responsibility,” I say, leaning on my elbows, soaking it all in. “That’s got to be hard.”

“It is.” Cathal cuts his eyes at Danielle and gives her a silencing look. “Connor works hard. He cares about this family more than anything in the world. Which is why I know marrying you was important to him.”

I look down at my hands, at the ring on my finger. “I never meant to cause so much trouble.”

“We know that.” Cathal comes around the island and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Nobody blames you for any of this. Connor did what he did because he felt it was right. Say what you will, but that’s always been his biggest flaw, right, darling?”

“I can name a few others,” Danielle says sweetly.

“Dad’s right,” Rowan says, nudging her mom with her elbow, who grudgingly agrees.

“So if you’re feeling some kind of way about all this, stop right there.” Cathal squeezes my shoulder. “We have your back.”

I don’t know what comes over me. I burst into tears, sobbing so intensely and abruptly that Cathal takes a step back in shock. I apologize, covering my face, but the women immediately come over. Danielle rubs my back and Rowan hugs me tight.

“Pregnancy hormones,” I say, sniffling when I’ve finally got myself under control. “I’m sorry. That was a lot.”

“No apologies needed,” Danielle says firmly. “Trust me, when I was pregnant with Rowie, I was a total wreck.”

“It’s true,” Cathal says. “I caught her crying to an underwear commercial one time. Full-on meltdown.”

I get myself together, only a bit embarrassed. Cathal starts putting together pasta salad and Danielle pours more prosecco. Rowan tries to get me to dye my hair again, but I’m too worried I’ll look stupid and turn her down. They talk about normal things: what to watch later, plans for the next day, worries for the coming weeks, and they don’t make me feel like an outsider, even though that’s what I am.

Yes, it’s true, I saved Rowan’s life a long time ago. She’s got those scars, but she’s alive because of me. Except they don’t owe me anything for it, and now I’ve brought so much worse to their doorstep, made them prisoners in this big house along with me, trapped here because of the war I started. They can make excuses, say Connor did what he did and I have nothing to worry about, but I know deep down these people are suffering because of me, and I wish I could do something to stop it.

“Is my wife hiding in here?” His voice cuts through the laughter leftover from another Cathal story about Connor punching a kid in the face during a soccer game when they were seven. He appears in the doorway, looking unhappy, or maybe that’s his default expression.

“I’m cooking,” Cathal says, waving to his son. “And getting to know your wife.”

“Seems more like you’re telling her stories about me.” Connor approaches, glowering. “You better not have brought up the fucking pee spider again.”

“Oh my god! I forgot about that!” Danielle claps her hands together. “Cathal, tell her the pee spider story!”

“Another time.” Connor takes my arm possessively.

“Wait, no, I want to hear it.” I bat my eyes at him dreamily. “Please, husband?”

“No. You’re done here.”

“Typical Connor spoiling the fun,” Danielle says, rolling her eyes. She walks away and plops back down onto the couch with a glass of prosecco in her hand.

“You have an appointment.” Connor’s tone softens as he helps me to my feet.

“What are you talking about?”

“You need to start seeing a doctor, remember? Well, I hired one to make house calls. She’s waiting downstairs.”

“Good man,” Cathal says with a nod.

“You brought me an OB?” I’m not sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, it’s very sweet, but the doctor who will eventually help birth my baby is kind of a big deal.

“If you dislike her, we’ll get another, and another, and another, until you’re happy.” Connor says it like he’s negotiating the most important contract of his life. He’s always like this, taking everything so seriously, and I have to wonder how he came from these people. Where they’re joyous and kind, he’s reserved and intense, almost ice cold.

But they don’t carry the same weight. Lives don’t depend on them the way they do on Connor. When he goes to work, there’s always the threat of blood. He doesn’t have the luxury of sitting around telling stories and cooking all day.

“Thank you.” I touch his bicep and kiss his cheek. “I really appreciate it.”

That seems to please him.

“He peed on a spider one time,” Rowan says.

“What now?”

“The pee spider story.” She flashes him a maniac smile. “Thought it was the only way to kill it.”

“Monster,” he says, steering me away. “I was six years old and she wasn’t even born yet.”

When we’re in the hallway, I slip my hand into his. “I like them a lot.”

“They’re good people.”

“Even Danielle. She hugged me and thanked me for what I did for Rowan.”

“She can be halfway decent sometimes.” He pulls me against him. “But only sometimes.”

26

ANGIE

Ican’t sleep that night.

Everything’s good with the baby, which was a huge relief. I liked the doctor, although I’m not sure we’ll stick with her yet. Connor’s supportive and open to whatever I want, and he even let me have dinner with his family and stayed for a drink or two with them before going out to work. Now we’re in bed and he’s breathing slowly, in boxer briefs and a black t-shirt, tattoos like black ink on his smooth skin.

But the numbers are bothering me.

After eating, I checked on my mother (high, happy) and retreated to my room. The books were there so I flipped through them again and had my nose stuck to the pages when Connor came home around midnight and forced me to go to bed. I keep closing my eyes, trying to pass out, but it doesn’t stick.

The numbers are wrong.

I keep coming back to that. The numbers are plain wrong. They don’t match up. There’s a hole, or rather, there’s a mountain. It’s not that WashCo is missing cash.

It’s that there’s too much.

I can’t make sense of it, but that UBI company is at the heart.

Why would people associated with the Gallaghers have been paying Connor all these years? Without him noticing it apparently? That would imply someone with access to these books has been hiding it from him.

The list of people who can touch this stuff is very short.

I roll onto my side and study the slope of his jaw. It’s so straight and fine. In sleep, he’s calm. I like him this way. No stress lining his eyes. Nothing slumping his shoulders, hunching his back. This is Connor as he should be.

Free and whole.

I snuggle against him, heart beating quickly. I breathe in his smell. He mutters and one hand snakes around to tug me tighter to his side. My stomach flips and I lean forward to kiss his neck.

He grumbles, still half asleep. I kiss him again and move a leg over top of him⁠—

And my thigh grazes his rock hard dick.

Holy shit.

He’s got the biggest stiff cock I’ve ever felt. I pull back, recoiling in surprise. His eyes flutter open, brow creasing as I reach out.

I should let him sleep.

Instead, my hand slides over his shaft, gripping and squeezing.

Oh my god.

It’s like iron. It’s incredible. My core flutters and pulses and heat fills my cheeks. I’m in a tank top and panties, and I’m burning up. I stroke his dick slowly, rolling around the tip, marveling at his size. He’s massive.

He’s awake now. I can tell by the way he’s breathing. I keep stroking and feel his hand move down between my legs. I bite my lip as he touches me back, teasing me open.

“Should I let you go back to sleep?” I whisper, mouth watering as I touch him faster.

“I’m not tired.” He slips his fingers down my panties and cups my wet pussy. “I take it you aren’t either.”

“Sorry. Can’t sleep.”

“Don’t apologize for wanting me, wife.”

I tug his boxer briefs down, releasing his glorious erection. He’s so stiff it’s magical. I wrap my hand around him, fingertips not touching as I stroke up and down. He’s working my pussy now, deftly rolling around my clit, sinking inside, pulling back out. It feels like heaven, but it’s his insane dick that’s driving me wild.

My mouth is all wet and I want him inside of it.

He moans when I adjust myself and bend over him. I lick his tip. It’s wet and salty. I take him, slurping and swirling around his swollen crown. He groans, cursing with pleasure as I lick, his hand finding my pussy again.

I whimper with him in my mouth.

“Fuck, this is the perfect way to wake up,” he whispers, fingers sinking inside of me. “My dick in your pretty mouth. Your moans as you suck me. You’re so fucking beautiful, angel.”

I pull back, gasping, and tug off my panties. I straddle him, his shaft presses against my wet pussy. His hands move up to cup my breasts.

“You keep calling me angel. Is that because of my name?”

“No, baby. It’s because you saved my sister’s life. You’re her guardian angel, and that means you’re mine, too.”

I chew on my lip, eyes locked on his face, and there’s nothing but devotion in his gaze. This man is obsessed with me in a way I’ve never experienced. He wants me more than I’ve ever been wanted, like he’ll die of thirst if he doesn’t have me. And I realize that it’s been like this for him for years.

“All this time,” I whisper, arching up and down, grinding against his hard dick. “You’ve been there all this time.”

“That’s right.” He holds my hips. “Please, baby. I want to be inside you.”

“You’ve been wanting me for years, but you never did anything about it.” I brace over him, hands on his muscular chest. I love the way he’s looking desperate, like he’s coming undone. I keep grinding, but not letting him inside.

“It was so fucking hard. Like I am right now. Please, let me fuck you.”

“You could have had me, you know. I thought you were so handsome the first time I saw you.”

“Angel—“

“I was scared of you too. Did I tell you that? I was so intimidated by the Big Boss.”

“Baby, please⁠—“

“But I liked it too. I liked being afraid of you. Sometimes I’d fantasize about you dragging me into your office⁠—“

“Oh, fuck⁠—“

“And holding me down against the desk⁠—“

“Angie, baby⁠—“

“And ripping into my pussy like a doll, fucking me into a gooey puddle of moans and sweat.”

“Baby, I need it,” he growls, groaning, holding me tight, fingers digging into my dimpled skin. “Please, before I fucking come all over your thighs.”

“You want to come inside of me?”

“God, yes, angel.”

“Your big dick between my legs? You think you can fit?”

“I want to find out.”

I ease myself back. My wet entrance against his big, dripping tip. “Say please.”

“Please.”

I arch and take him. He fills me with one gasping, desperate thrust, rough and hungry. I cry out in bliss as he fucks me, not going slow, not going easy. It’s the hard, needy, frantic grinding of a man barely in control of himself. I’m thrown to the edge, chin back, hands pressing my tits together. I toss my tank top aside and ride him, working my hips fast and crying out his name, no more playing, no more teasing.

It’s wet and hard. He fucks me like an animal, holding my hips, thrusting deep into my pussy. His big dick rips me in half and I love every single painful and heavenly inch as I bottom out again and again. I scream his name until he shoves a thumb in my mouth and I suck it, both hands holding his wrist.

“Fuck, baby, I’m going to come. Oh my god, I’m going to fill your lovely, sexy wet pussy, fuck⁠—“

He ruins me. His tone breaks me in half, the tremble and the frenzy. I shatter as he finishes, both of us sweating and moaning as the orgasm rips us in two, and I end up lying on his chest gasping for air, his cock still buried between my legs, and I don’t care if he stays there forever. I’m dizzy, grinning like I won the damn lottery.

That word lottery sparks something in me.

I don’t react to it right away. I stay snuggled on him for a while, rolling the thought around in my head. Until I can’t keep it contained anymore.

“Do you think the Gallaghers could be paying someone in your organization?”

He grunts in surprise. “What’s that now?”

“The UBI company you told me about. I noticed there’s always an excess of unaccounted money on the books, like someone’s been trying to hide it, and I think it’s coming from them. Which means the Gallaghers.”

A low, concerned rumble escapes his chest. “Are you sure?”

“I think so. I don’t know. I’ve had my eyes on it all day.”

He sits up and studies me. There’s nothing but love in his eyes. It’s the way Danielle looks at Cathal and the way Cathal looks at her. It’s the feeling I got sitting with their family, laughing with him, acting like I was a part of a normal group of people for once in my life. I feel that now lying in bed with Connor.

I belong. I have a place.

With him, in his bed, in his arms.

It’s the easiest thing in the world, being with him, and it shouldn’t be. This is a nightmare. I’m married, pregnant, and in the middle of a war. It should be hell every time I open my eyes.

But it’s not.

Connor strokes my hair from my face and kisses me.

“Show me.”

27

CONNOR

The smell of coffee fills the room. Men and women in business clothes hurry in, grab their orders, and rush out. Only a few stools are open at the front, looking out the main window. I have one and I’m defending the other from a series of annoyed interlopers. None stick around for long though.

I spot her coming. Tall and beautiful, her blonde hair in a chic bun, a long black coat. Her minders keep a distance. Big men with guns under their jackets. Dangerous, hard men.

Sinead enters, sees me, and lifts her chin. She takes her time though and gets a drink first.

“You don’t strike me as the Starbucks type.” She’s very composed as she takes the stool beside me.

“I’m not. Figured you’d be more comfortable here. Lots of traffic.”

“That’s smart. But lots of people around.” Her elegant eyebrows arch.

“Nobody gives a damn about a couple of idiots like us.” I sip my espresso and sigh. “Tastes like mud water.”

“I actually like it.” She adjusts herself and places her phone on the counter in front of her. “Why did you call me here, Connor?”

I nod at the phone. “You recording?”

“Not yet. But if I tap the screen—“ She leaves that hanging. Those big men will come running and they’ll shoot on sight.

“Understood. We’re only talking.” I run my hands through my hair.

Two days I’ve been thinking about this. Two days since Angie came to me in the middle of the night, fucked me mindless, then walked me through her findings. Two days to obsess and work it all out.

But two days in a war is a long time.

“From what I heard, you haven’t been interested in diplomacy.” Her lips press tightly. “My father is unhappy.”

“No surprise there. I burned down his favorite pub.”

“The Prancing Pony’s been in our family for two generations. I loved that place.”

I wave a hand. “War’s hell.”

“Fuck you, Connor.” That curse is the only hint she gives that she’s stressed. Otherwise, Sinead is measured and calm. Exactly what I need right now. “I’m about to walk out of here.”

“We’re trading blows. You know that. Your people kill my people, my people kill your people—“ I circle my fingers around each other. “Over and over until someone breaks.”

“More like until we both break.”

“Now you’re thinking.”

“My brothers.” Her nose wrinkles as she sips her coffee. “All they can see is the dishonor of our situation. Like you leaving me at the altar besmirched them and me somehow. Like we’re stained.”

“Men can think that way sometimes. We’re simple creatures.”

“You did not touch me, Connor Maguire. You made a choice, a stupid choice, but it says nothing about me. And yet my brothers don’t seem to get that.”

“Sounds like they should listen more often.”

“We’d all be better off.”

I reach into my jacket. She tenses, hand twitching toward her phone, but I only produce a manila folder filled with documents. “Here’s something you’ll find interesting.” I place it down beside her.

She doesn’t touch it. “What’s this?”

“My business WashCo’s been taking payments from a construction outfit you might be familiar with. These payments have been very quiet. So quiet that I didn’t even know about them until recently. I tasked my wife with auditing the books, thinking she might discover a line item or two, but instead⁠—“

Sinead drags the folder over and flips it open. “Marriage going well then, I take it?”

“We’re happy, thanks.”

“Good.” She looks up briefly. “I mean that. I assume you blew up both our lives for a reason, and I hope it was a good one. You care about her?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Love her?” She sounds surprised.

“For a while now, I think.”

“I never stood a chance then.” Her smile seems genuine, and I wonder what my life would be like if I had married Sinead Gallagher. With a woman like her at my side, what could I have become?

Anything. Everything. And yet none of it would’ve mattered.

Not when my angel’s in the world.

“There was something else too. My wife’s ex tried to blackmail her. And he got that idea after taking a lot of money from that same UBI company.”

Sinead’s nose wrinkles. “Fergus’s people. What kind of blackmail?”

“Photos of her. Sex material.”

“Bastards.” She taps a manicured nail against the page. “He’s been doing all this?”

“I’m taking it you didn’t know. And I bet that means your father and your other brothers didn’t know either. What’s Fergus after?”

“You. Me. Everything.” She snaps the folder closed. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?”

“Trying to play me against him. You want to divide us. You think that’s your only chance.”

I raise my cup. “How’s it working?”

She studies me, cold and calculating. A clever, strong woman, trapped in a family that doesn’t value her even half as much as it should.

The hell we could’ve raised together.

“I’ll be in touch.” She stands, slipping her phone away and clutching the folder under her arm.

“That’s all? After I give you that golden nugget?”

“That’s more than you deserve.” She pauses and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Send your wife my best. I wish her nothing but health and good fortune.”

“You’re a better person than I am.”

“I know.”

Sinead leaves. I watch her go for a while alone at the counter. Still nobody takes the stool as if I’ve become toxic.

I’ve struck back against the Gallaghers. Blood for blood. Flames for flames. But like Sinead said, in the end, we’ll burn each other out and there won’t be anything left for the winner. Without Whelan backing, I’m fighting to a standstill at best.

Unless I can find another way out.

I leave after a while and find Deck waiting with my Mercedes. He seems eager as I approach. “How’d the meeting go? Make her understand how things are now?”

“I think she got the message.”

“Good.” He shows all his teeth. “We’re gonna make them bleed if they don’t back off.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“Best few weeks of my life.”

I grip his shoulder tighter than I need. “I’m glad you have my back.”

Deck’s massive smile fades. “It’s what family does.”

I hold his stare for a moment before climbing into the back of my car. The driver pulls away, leaving Deck on the sidewalk, watching us go.

28

ANGIE/CONNOR

Angie

Mom’s leg dangles over the side of the couch. She’s in sweats, a sweatshirt, and a nature documentary’s on TV. For the first time in a while, there’s no burning joint, no vape, no weed-stink. A big pile of gummies is perched on the coffee table.

“Since when did you get into edibles?” I tidy up, unable to help myself. There’s house staff to take care of this but Mom’s always been my responsibility. I can’t change that now.

“Oh, I don’t mind them. Whatever gets the magic in me is good in my book.”

“One time you said you’d rather chew leather than eat weed.”

“People change.”

I pause, folding a pair of sweats. “Seriously, why the change of heart?”

Mom groans and sits up on an elbow. “You want the truth? He told me not to say anything, but forget it. There’s no stopping you when you start asking questions.”

“Connor has something to do with this?”

“Your husband is a real—“ She hesitates at the look I give her. “He’s protective. Last night, he came storming in here, plucked my smoke from between my lips, put it out in my soda can, and told me, in very rude terms, that I will no longer be allowed to smoke in this house, especially if you’re going to be around.”

“Did he really? And you listened?”

“There were threats. He came up with an alternative solution.” She gestures at the edibles. “Not ideal but I understand we’re guests in this house and I will do my best to behave.”

“Huh.” I watch her, stunned. I’ve never seen my mother give up her smokes before, not once in my entire life. She’d usually rather cut off her own fingers than let someone like Connor win.

But he went to war with her, stood up, and he won.

All for me and the baby.

My heart flutters. He didn’t even say anything about it either.

Connor saw a problem and he fixed it.

No discussion, no worries. Only action.

I like that.

I continue straightening until the place looks decent. It’s obvious why Mom gave in to Connor’s demands once I start thinking about it. This house is pure luxury: all her needs are met at all hours of the day. No fuss, no stress, no reason to get off her ass at all. It’s my mother’s ideal state.

That should bother me more than it does.

After all this time, I can’t get mad about it anymore. Dawn is who she is and she’s never going to change. Yes, she gave up smoking for the baby—but mostly for her own comfort, and mostly because Connor forced her to.

It’s strange having someone looking out for me, when I’ve always been the one putting myself after others.

As I place some dirty laundry in Mom’s basket, there’s a loud pop outside, like an explosion. I check the window and wander back into the living room. “Did you hear that?”

Mom doesn’t look over. “Hear what?”

Another blast. And another, and another. Louder this time. “What is that?”

“Fireworks. Didn’t that girl set some off the other night?”

“True, but⁠—“

This time, the house shakes. It feels like the floorboards tremble. I grab onto the back of the couch and even Mom perks up in surprise.

“I’ve been saying since we came here, this family is no good.” Mom takes a gummy, pops it in her mouth, considers, grabs another, and swallows both.

“Do you really need to get higher right now?” The cracks are sharp and quick and there seem to be noises in return. My brain keeps telling me it’s fireworks, only fireworks, nothing to be worried about, but another part of me isn’t sure at all.

That sounds like gunfire.

“Nothing a good buzz can’t cure.” She flops back down. “Go check it out if you’re worried.”

I drift to the door, thinking that’s exactly what I’ll do. Connor left fifteen minutes ago for another meeting and he won’t be back for a few hours he said. But Deck’s here overseeing the guards and he’s got at least two dozen men or more watching the grounds.

No way someone could get through.

I make it to the hall when Rowan comes sprinting toward me in a panic. “Angie! Holy shit, Angie!”

“Hey, did you hear those fireworks? What’s going on down there? Did you⁠—“

Rowan grabs my arm. Her face is pale and her eyes are wild with fear. “Those aren’t fireworks.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dad’s trying to get us into the safe room but I wouldn’t leave you here. Angie, please, we have to run.”

I try to shake her loose but she holds on tight, her fingers digging into my arm. An attack? Right now? That makes no sense. There’s Deck… the soldiers…

The firework explosions resolve into automatic weapons and the first scream of pain echoes from down below.

Holy shit.

This is happening.

“Help me with my mom.” I sprint back into my mother’s room, Rowan on my heels. “Mom! We have to go!”

“What are you shouting about? Come on, chill out.” She beams at me, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. “These gummies are crazy.”

“Jesus fucking—Rowan, get her other side.”

I sling Mom’s right arm around my shoulders and heave her up. Rowan gets on the other side. Mom laughs, baked as hell, as we drag her stumbling to the door. But fuck, shit, she’s hardly helping. We’re lucky Mom barely eats and is like ninety pounds at best, because otherwise there’s no way in heck we’d be able to get anywhere.

As it stands, we’re moving at a crawl, and the shouting and shooting is getting louder.

“I got her, you run,” I tell Rowan as we stagger to the wing doors. “Go find your parents. I’ll be right behind you.”

“No way, you won’t make it.” Rowan is trembling. She’s pale and tears roll down her face, but she clutches Mom tighter. “I won’t leave you two behind.”

“What nice girls,” Mom mutters, head lolling. “Oh, boy. Did I take too much?”

“Shit!” Another blast rocks the building. It feels like the floor flexes and jumps. I stagger sideways and lose hold of Mom. She tumbles down, rolling a few times, smiling stupidly at the ceiling. Rowan pushes herself back to her feet and helps me up.

“Shit, Angie, you’re pregnant. We have to be careful with you.”

“It’s fine, I’m still early. Help me with⁠—“

A man comes sprinting around the corner.

Connor

Marcus scrolls on his phone as the Mercedes glides through traffic. I watch out the window as the city sprawls around us, heading back toward Manhattan, and it feels like all of New York is somehow against me, like there are faces in the thousands of windows and they’re all praying for my death.

I’m not sure where this mood came from. Angie’s doing well. She’s getting along with my family, and that’s the most important thing in the world right now. Even Danielle grudgingly admits my wife is fucking great.

Maybe it’s that I’m not with her right now. Every time I have to leave the mansion, I feel like I’m making a horrible mistake. Angie’s my world now, my everything, and the baby growing in her is more precious than all my money and power combined. My soldiers will take care of her, and Deck would never let anyone get near the core of our strength, but even still.

I miss her when she’s not around.

Marcus nudges me with his elbow. “Brother, got a message.”

“Yeah? What’s going on?”

“Looks like she needs to cancel. Doesn’t say why though.” He turns the screen so I can read the text. Something came up. Can’t meet anymore. Another time.

“That’s strange,” I say, checking my device, but she only reached out to Marcus. “Why would Sinead set up another meeting only to back out at the last second?”

“Don’t know, but I agree, it’s off.”

I tell the driver to turn around and head back. Relief floods me knowing I’ll be home soon. I’m thinking I’ll sit with Angie for a while, maybe bring her over to spend time with my dad and Rowan, or maybe we’ll go for a walk around the grounds. The doctor said light exercise would be good for her right now. And fresh air can’t hurt. I’ll make sure she eats something healthy, takes her vitamins⁠—

My phone starts buzzing.

“I bet that’s Sinead,” I say, taking it from my pocket again. “Probably gave you a text and decided to call the actual boss.”

“Right, since you’re so important.” Marcus flips me off and taps at his screen.

But it’s not Sinead’s number on the display.

Instead, it’s Colm.

Panic fills me when I answer.

“Sir, it’s me.” His voice is strained and something loud is happening in the background.

I sit forward and grip the seat in front of me so tight my fingers turn white. “Is that gunfire?”

“There’s an attack. We’re doing our best to repel them⁠—“

“An attack?” I snarl the words and look at Marcus. He’s gaping at me in alarm. “What the fuck is happening?”

“They’re through the gates already. We’ll hold them off, sir, but we need more—“ Gunfire erupts. Close this time. There’s a scream and the line goes dead.

Fuck. FUCK.

“What the hell?” Marcus asks.

“Driver, break every fucking law you can. Get us home immediately.”

The driver nods grimly and slams down the gas.

I start making calls. Angie first, Rowan, Dad, even Danielle. None answer. I’m losing my fucking mind as I try Deck, but I go straight to voicemail.

“I’m not getting anything either,” Marcus says, taking out his gun and checking to make sure it’s loaded. “Any idea how bad?”

“Didn’t sound good.”

“We headed into a firefight?”

I dig my fingers into my scalp. “I don’t know and that’s the problem. Angie’s there. My wife. My fucking baby—my whole family⁠—“

“Connor, listen to me.” Marcus leans over, grabbing onto my shoulder. “I already called all the lieutenants. At least three crews are speeding to your place now. We’ll beat them there by a couple minutes at most.”

“They might not have that much time.”

“They will, brother. You have to stay calm for them.”

I breathe in through my nose. He’s right, I know he’s right, but the thought of Angie lying sprawled in her own blood is like a knife in my skull.

How is this happening? How the fuck did the Gallaghers get in?

If Colm called, that means they’re already at the home.

Oh, God. Oh, fucking God.

“We got this, brother,” Marcus says again and I focus on that. My best friend is a businessman. He’s the legitimate side of the operations. But we came up together, and I know he’s always been good in a crisis.

There’s nobody in the world I’d rather have watching my back.

“Almost there,” the driver says as we roar down the street.

Ahead, half the wall is blown to pieces, the front gate smashed and twisted.

Bodies are scattered on the drive. Blood splattered on the trees.

The driver slams to a halt. A truck’s overturned ahead of us, a corpse hanging from the front window.

“We go on foot.” I leap from the car. Marcus goes with me. When the driver tries to follow, I tell him to stay behind and to direct whoever else shows up.

“Together,” Marcus says, gripping his gun.

For my family, I think, as we hurry through the ruin of the wall and into the trees ahead.

Angie

The man comes to a staggering halt. I throw my hands up. I’m not sure what I plan on doing, if I’m going to punch him, bite him, or bleed on him, but a groan of pure relief wrenches from my throat as Colm rushes to help.

He’s covered in blood. It’s smeared on his shoulder, down his side. His right arm hangs limp and he’s got a gun clutched in his left. “Ladies, I got you now,” he says, snarling through his teeth. “Men came in through the back. We don’t have much time.”

“Mom and Dad are in the safe room. We have to hurry.” Rowan starts toward the doors.

Colm helps get my mother up. He hefts Mom over his shoulder, carrying her like a bag. “Both of you, stay behind me.”

He goes first toward the stairs and onto the main landing. I follow, forcing Rowan behind me. She holds my hand, her palm slick with sweat.

“We’ll be okay,” I tell her, trying to be reassuring. She needs to stay calm right now. “Colm will handle this. We’ll get to safety⁠—“

We rush across the open area at the top of the steps and gunfire erupts from down below.

Rowan screams. I pull her forward, yanking us both to the floor. Colm grunts and blood sprays as his head explodes in a shower of gore, brains, and skull matter. His corpse falls under the weight of my mother, both of them slamming to the carpet.

“Mom!” I scream, crawling forward. There’s shouting from down below and more shooting. “Mom! Oh, god, Mom⁠—“

I reach their side, slithering through blood-drenched carpet. Mom’s motionless. I roll her onto her side and her eyes find mine, a goofy smile on her face.

“Some movie,” she says.

Blazed as hell. Somewhere in outer space.

“You shouldn’t have taken more,” I whisper, pulling her against me. I look back and Rowan’s still lying on the floor, covering her head.

I don’t know what to do. There are men below and if I try to stand, they’ll have an angle on me. But if I don’t start running, they’ll come up and we’re dead anyway.

But Rowan’s behind us, and I can’t carry Mom on my own.

Oh, God.

I brush a hand over my belly. Fear fills me like a weight. I can’t die here—I can’t let my baby die here⁠—

I also can’t let Rowan and Mom get hurt.

“Please, don’t shoot!” I call out. “Please, we’re not a threat!” I can’t think of anything else.

“Stay where you are,” a man calls back. “We’re coming up. If you move, we’ll kill you.”

“Okay, we’re not moving. Please don’t hurt us! There’s an old woman here and a young girl.”

“Don’t move,” he repeats. I hear him on the steps. Climbing, getting closer.

I raise my chin in time to see Cathal striding toward me, a massive shotgun clutched between his hands. My jaw drops as he comes around the corner from his wing, notches the gun on his shoulder, and blasts it down the stairs.

I catch a glimpse of a man’s chest breaking open, blood and ribs blistering the air. Cathal fires again, and again, the booms deafening. “Run!” he roars, shooting down at the attackers below.

I scramble back and grab Rowan. She’s sobbing but she reacts when I touch her. She gets to her feet, crying and stumbling, nearly tripping over Colm’s corpse, but she makes it past Cathal and back into her wing. I hurry to Mom, take her arm, and start to drag her.

“Hurry, damn you!” Cathal shoots again but the next trigger-pull is a click. I scream, pulling as hard as I can, back aching and legs burning. Mom hardly reacts, a goofy smile on her face, drool at the corner of her mouth.

Cathal throws the shotgun down the steps and grabs Mom’s other arm. Together, we get her around the corner. He kneels down, hefts Mom, and lifts her to his chest like a baby.

“Run, Angie!” He ushers me forward urgently. “Go! Hurry!”

We sprint to the end of the hall and through another set of doors. This room is similar to the master I share with Connor. He leads me to the closet and I’m shocked to find the whole back wall is open, a room lined with steel beyond it. Danielle is holding a sobbing Rowan in the back corner, stroking her hair.

“Inside.” Cathal grunts and places Mom down on the floor beside a rack filled with food and several pallets of bottled water. He groans, knuckling his spine. “Angie, hurry. We need to close the doors.”

I look back over my shoulder. “Connor’s not here.”

“He’ll be fine. If anyone can handle this, it’s my son.”

“But, what if he doesn’t know⁠—“

“He’ll know.” Cathal gently steers me. “Please, Angie. He’d be angry if I let something bad happen to his pregnant wife. My fool daughter already disobeyed me once.”

I catch my lip between my teeth, so afraid, so deeply, deeply afraid of going into that room, worried I might never see my husband again. What if we come back out and the world’s changed? What if we never come back out at all?

But there’s nothing I can do. Cathal drags me into the safe room, punches a code into an electronic pad, and the doors bang shut with a deep clang as a lock engages, and we’re alone.

Connor

I take point with Marcus behind. He sweeps our flanks while I keep my eyes locked ahead.

We don’t meet any resistance. Only a single body in the bushes. One of the house guards, his throat cut as if someone snuck up on him.

But how the hell did that happen? If they blew a fucking hole in the fence?

I’m disturbed but don’t have time to interrogate it. There’s still sporadic shooting coming from the house, but it’s slowing down, which isn’t a good sign. Either Colm and the defenders won or the Gallaghers are cleaning the place up. I fix my hold on my gun as we crest the hill and crouch in the brush fifty yards from the front doors.

Two trucks are parked out front. I count six men total lurking around. I don’t recognize any of them and I realize with a cold hate that they must be Gallaghers. I hold Marcus back a moment, plotting our move, thinking we’ll enter the mansion through the side and use the tight hallways to our advantage, find what’s left of the defense, and rally a counter attack to save my family⁠—

When a man steps from the lead truck.

He’s wearing a fine black suit. His hair’s slicked back and he flips off a pair of sunglasses, tucking them neatly into his chest pocket. He taps at a phone as if he were at a business meeting. The others around him watch reverently.

Fergus Gallagher.

The eldest of the three brothers.

His broad chest shakes as he laughs at something. Hate boils in my guts. He takes a cigar from his back pocket and lights it, chewing the end, puffing away.

“What are you doing?” Marcus asks urgently.

I didn’t realize I was drifting toward him, but now my feet are moving, and I can’t stop it. “Stay here.”

“Connor, stop,” he hisses. “You’re outnumbered seven to one. You’re dead if you keep going.”

“He hurt my family.” Rage guides me. A strange calmness descends, a clarity I’ve rarely felt in my life. “And now I have to hurt him.”

It’s odd, these moments, how they seem to happen from a distance. I’ve been in fights before. Been in life-or-death struggles. And always it’s like I saw everything play out from fifty feet above my head, like I was working a doll in a vast theater. My body is flooded with purpose, a righteous, cold hate, and there are only two thoughts in my head.

Kill Fergus.

Save Angie.

I raise my gun and fire.

A guard’s head explodes. He drops, spraying blood. I fire again, hit another guard, two more times, another guard, two more, another. That’s four dead, three standing, but now they’re reacting. Fergus remains rooted, cigar dangling from his teeth comically, as his men raise their weapons at me.

Marcus squeezes off several rounds. He hits the guard on the left, spinning him sideways, knocking his ally off balance. I kill the wounded man as he falls, leaving one more. I aim, squeeze, but my gun’s out of ammo.

The last Gallagher soldier grins as he aims, but Marcus blows his jaw off. He gags, tongue flailing, choking on blood.

I barrel past the corpses and slam into Fergus.

It’s like hitting a brick wall. The eldest Gallagher is a physical monster. He’s thicker and heavier than me, but I’m in better shape. I bash him in the face with my gun, smacking his skull, kneeing, punching, kicking. He fights back, jabbing the end of his cigar into my neck. I roar, skin hissing and burning, and I shove the barrel of my gun into his mouth.

I’m out of bullets, but I keep pushing. I shove, harder, until the cigar falls away, but I still don’t stop. I grab his hair, jamming the gun deeper into his throat. He gags, choking, and I drive a thumb into his eye. I rip and hook, gouging it out, blood spraying as I savage him. I knee him over and over, tearing at his hair, forcing the gun so deep it shreds his esophagus. Blood wells up around the barrel, choking him, and Fergus flails at me. I hit him more, beating him, pummeling him with both fists now, until his body goes still.

I kneel on top of the corpse, breathing hard, covered in blood. I’m drenched in it from hair to toes.

“You should reload,” Marcus says, picking up a rifle. One of the dead men dropped it. “There’s still fighting inside.” He tosses me the gun.

I catch it and stand. Blood drips from my clothes. “We go in through the back. Kill everyone. My family is the priority.”

I stalk forward into hell.

Angie

The stink of smoke slips in from somewhere in the house. Mom’s barely conscious. Rowan’s leaning against Danielle, eyes fixed on nothing. Cathal can’t seem to sit still.

“Don’t worry, we have our own air,” he says, trying to smile at me, but he doesn’t seem comforted. “We’ll be safe unless the Gallaghers have a nuke.”

He doesn’t sound sure at all and I don’t have the energy to argue.

The gunfire slows but doesn’t stop. Somewhere in the house, people are still fighting. Where is Connor? How did this happen? I close my eyes and see Colm’s head explode. I have his blood all over me. I’m slick with it. Slick with poor Colm’s gore. I cover my mouth to keep from retching and sit with my hand on my belly, worried for my family, for my baby. Afraid for my husband.

What if he’s dead already? What if he rushed home only to get ambushed?

Nobody talks for what feels like an hour, but it can’t be more than a few minutes. There’s a banging from outside the doors and Rowan whimpers, gripping tighter to Danielle. Something clicks, beeps, and the door disengages.

“Stay behind me,” Cathal says, facing the room.

Thin smoke billows in.

Deck is standing alone in the closet, a gun resting on his shoulder. “Everyone alive in here?”

“Thank fuck, Deck.” Cathal steps forward. “Are you alright? Where’s Connor? Are the Gallaghers still fighting?”

Deck holds a hand out to stop him. “You’d better stay in there, Cathal. It’s not safe out here.”

“Then why the fuck are you opening the door?”

Deck’s eyes settle on me. And I know, deep in my bones, that something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

“Angie, you’re with me, sweetheart.” Deck’s smile isn’t remotely reassuring.

“Now wait a second.” Cathal gestures for me to stay. “Why the hell do you need her? If it’s not safe, she should stay here.”

“Orders are orders. Angie’s with me, everyone else doesn’t move.”

“That makes no sense. We should stay together⁠—“

Deck slams the butt of his gun straight into Cathal’s face. Cathal grunts and falls backward, crashing into the rack of food. Deck lowers the barrel and aims it at me.

“On your feet.”

“What are you doing?” Danielle says. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Deck?!”

“Give me an excuse to shoot you, bitch, go ahead. I’ve always wanted to.” Deck hasn’t taken his eyes off me. “You’re with me now, Angie. Come on, fucking move.”

“Don’t, damn you.” Cathal struggles to get up. Blood’s pouring from his broken nose. “What the hell is going on, Deck? Don’t you move, Angelina!”

I rise to my feet. “It’s fine. He won’t hurt you all if I go with him.”

“That’s right,” Deck says, nodding. “They’re my family too, you know. My real family. Unlike you.”

“Deck, you fucking shit, what did you do?!”

“It’s okay.” I take a step forward. “Watch out for my mom, okay? And tell Connor I said I’m sorry.”

“No, Angie! Stop it!”

I move to Deck’s side. He pokes the gun against my ribs. “Smart girl.”

It’s the only way to keep them safe. Deck probably doesn’t want to kill them but I can’t take the chance. Rowan watches in horror and Danielle holds her tighter and Cathal’s fighting to his feet, and I can’t let them do something stupid for me. Like always, it’s on me to help them, not the other way around.

“It’ll be okay,” I say and hit the button to shut the door.

It locks with a dull thud.

“I thought you were a stupid, selfish bitch when we first met,” Deck says, gripping my wrist and dragging me back through the house. The smoke is worse as we get toward the main stairs. “Now I think you’re only stupid.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere else. Don’t worry, I don’t need to kill you, not yet anyway. You’re worth more alive. I need to make everyone see how Connor’s lost his damn mind, how he’s putting our people in danger for a worthless bitch like you, and then I’ll make it all right. Hell, maybe you and him can go live somewhere else far from here. Who knows how it’ll shake out?”

I’m sobbing as he leads me downstairs. Crying because there’s no far from here, no somewhere else. Connor would never let it happen. When he finds out what Deck’s doing, he’s going to lose his mind, and probably his life, and I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s gone.

Break, I think. I’ll break.

Men circle around us. I think they’re enemies, but none of them move to stop us. Deck drags me on, toward the back of the house, toward the sliding doors looking out at the yard⁠—

And comes to a stuttering halt.

Smoke billows all around. The fire must be near here in one of the back rooms. Probably the kitchen. I feel sick for Lisa. I hope she got out alive.

“Son of a bitch,” Deck says quietly, yanking me closer against him.

Standing straight ahead, outlined in the light streaming in from outside, is my husband, drenched in blood and gore, looking like a demon straight from hell, the most beautiful monster I’ve ever seen, a horror from the pit, a nightmare, a savior, and death walking.

Connor

Deck holds Angie tight against him, and for a few seconds, I think she’s safe.

I almost call out. Send her over here, Deck, and help me clear the place. I could laugh with relief.

Until I see the gun he’s got aimed at her ribs.

Pieces fall together. Tumblers click into place.

Deck calls out, “Don’t move, Connor.”

“Why?” I step into the wreckage of the great room. The couch is a bloodied pulp. Corpses are strewn all over. I recognize most of them: men I’ve worked with for years, men I’ve laughed with, drank with, ate with. Gallaghers are scattered around too. All this pain. All this ruin.

“You made this happen, Connor.” Deck shoves the gun against Angie harder. She winces, eyes pleading with me. Don’t, please don’t. I keep my gaze locked on my cousin. “Don’t you see it? You threw it all away for this meaningless girl. You burned an alliance. You got our people killed and more were going to die if I didn’t stop you. She’s not worth it. She never was.”

“Angie is my wife.” I take another step toward him, gun aimed at his head. Can I make the shot? Can I kill Deck? What’ll happen if I do? Gallagher men are in the hall behind him, but his body’s between us. “Let her go now. You don’t need to make it worse.”

“The Gallagher family is royalty but this bitch is only a goddamn accountant. You ruined us, Connor! You ripped us apart!”

“No, Deck. Look around. You know these men. You cared about them, and you killed them all.”

His snarl is fierce. “Fuck you, Connor. You always thought you knew best, you arrogant fuck, but you’re wrong. You’re wrong! I’m right! Don’t come closer or I swear I’ll shoot your fucking baby from her belly.”

“They’re dead because of you.” Another step. Another. I keep Deck’s attention fully on me. “Let Angie go. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to go all the way.”

“It’s too goddamn late for that.” Deck’s teeth grit together.

Marcus comes charging from the kitchens, smoke billowing behind him, a dozen loyal Maguire men at his back. Deck shouts in surprise as the Gallaghers react, raising their guns, and my cousin shoves Angie hard.

Another moment. Another beat. But this time I’m deep in my body feeling every inch of myself as I sprint to my wife, but it’s like wading through quicksand. Marcus and our fighters start shooting and the Gallaghers retreat with Deck in their midst and Angie’s coming to me, she’s coming, as bullets scream through the air around us⁠—

Then she’s in my arms. I shield her, wrapping my arms around my wife and my baby as I hug her to my chest, and I feel the punches slam into my back, but nothing else matters, nothing else in the world as I hold her, the woman I love, my entire reason for breathing, our future growing inside of her, and we topple to the floor in a flurry of gunfire, blood, and smoke, her name on my lips as we collapse together.

29

CONNOR

Igrunt in discomfort as Angie gingerly changes my bandage. She swats at my shoulder and chides me when I flinch. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Your hands are cold.”

“Liar.” She kisses my shoulder and lets out a breath. “It’s already looking better. But these bruises—“ Her fingers graze over my back and she sucks air through her teeth.

“They’ll be fine, angel. Better those than dead.” After the fighting, after we escaped from Malba and ended up in another of my safe houses tucked deep in Brooklyn, a doctor tended to everyone and made it very clear that my bulletproof vest saved my life.

Like I needed him to explain that.

“Stay still.” She covers over the stitched-closed bullet wound and tapes the gauze down. “Almost done. There you go.” Another kiss to seal it. “How’s that feel?”

“Fine.” I stand and tug my shirt back on. Angie watches, trying not to seem worried. I stoop to kiss her. “Honestly, angel, I’m doing fine.”

“It’s only been a few days. Nobody’s fine in here.” Her eyes cut to the door. Beyond it, everyone’s crammed into a ten-room townhouse.

I sit beside her at the edge of the bed and take her hands in mine. “You want to talk?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Look at me.” I tilt her chin and meet her gaze. “You went through something hard. It’s okay if you need to let some of the memories out.”

Her eyes get wet but she wipes them away. “Focus on Rowan. She needs you more than I do.”

Concern turns my stomach. My little sister hasn’t said more than three words since we landed here. She spends all her time in her room and even Danielle’s starting to admit there might be a problem.

“We’ll help her, don’t worry. She needs time to process.”

“Nobody her age should witness what she saw.” Angie shivers and rests her head against my arm. “Poor Colm. And all those bodies⁠—“

“It’s over now, love.”

“But is it?”

I don’t answer because we both know the truth.

The fighting hasn’t stopped. There are street battles constantly now. Marcus is running my forces, at least when I’m not there, and we’re barely containing my cousin and the Gallaghers.

But I don’t know how long that will last.

The war’s leaking into the news. Broadcasters are talking about an uptick in gang-related deaths. Even with all our money and influence, we can’t hide the endless shooting and killing, and if we don’t end this soon, things will only get worse.

“Go check on your sister.” Angie touches my cheek and kisses me. “I’ll be here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll go see how my mother’s holding up.”

“Of everyone, I think she got through that mess the most unscathed.”

“Probably because her brain’s so fried from years of smoking weed.”

I stand but hesitate. I hate being away from Angie now. I came close to losing her and the idea of walking away is painful, but I can’t win this war while sitting on the bed. If I want her to be truly safe, if I want our child to grow up healthy⁠—

I have to find a way through.

I leave Angie and head down the hall. Rowan’s door is closed like always. I knock, wait, but there’s no answer. I announce that I’m coming in and open it.

Rowan’s lying on the bed. She’s got earbuds in, her feet up on the wall, head toward the door, hair splayed around her. I think she’s still in the same clothes from the day before. I move into the room until she can see me. She scowls and doesn’t take out the buds.

“Hey, I want to talk.”

She says nothing.

“I know you’re having a rough time⁠—“

She rolls her eyes and looks at the ceiling.

At another time, a younger version of me might’ve gotten mad at that. Instead, I crouch beside the bed and touch her wrist. She flinches away.

“When you’re ready, come talk to me or Angelina. I know you’re struggling. We’re here when you need us.”

She chews her lip and turns her head. “Thanks.”

That one word sends a shiver of relief down my spine. Rowan goes back to studying the ceiling and ignoring me, but at least she heard.

I back out of the room and pause in the hall. It’s cool and dim. I hear Dad and Danielle talking a few doors down and the sound of Dawn’s television on too loud. I lean a hand against the wall to steady myself.

All this teetered. Everything I worked for, all my blood and sweat, everything I care about, nearly gone. Deck almost took her. Deck almost stole my heart.

God damn him, fucking Deck.

My fingers curl as rage pulses in my core.

We grew up together. I looked at him like a mentor when I was younger. I know he struggled when I took over the family, but over time I managed to win him over.

When did he turn? When did he decide family meant less than dirt?

My phone buzzes. I hesitate, slipping it out, and check the screen before raising it to my ear. “I was wondering when you’d call.”

“Finding time hasn’t been easy.” Sinead’s voice is strained. She sounds almost as stressed as I feel. “I need you to know that I couldn’t stop it.”

“I find that hard to believe. You know, I’ve been asking myself. Did you call that meeting to make sure I wasn’t in the house?”

“The opposite. When I realized what was happening, I canceled so you’d go back. I’m sorry for your family, Connor.”

“I’m not sorry for what I did to your brother.”

Her voice lowers and there’s a sharp note. “I didn’t expect you to be. I’m not a fool. I understand the risks we take in this life. Fergus did what he did and now he’s gone. I won’t ever forgive you.”

“Good. I hope not.”

“But he went behind my family’s back. Him and your cousin. They’ve been working together for years, haven’t they?”

“I think so. All those payments. You know who really figured it out? My wife.”

“I’m glad you married well.” She doesn’t sound like it at all. “We need to talk about the future.”

“What can you possibly say?”

“That I can save your miserable life and spare the rest of my family in the process. Meet with me in an hour at Central Park. I’ll text you the exact location. Somewhere busy and public. Come alone.”

“Why would I trust you?”

“Because we have aligned incentives.”

She hangs up before I can question it. I linger in the quiet after and look up sharply when there’s movement nearby.

Angie’s standing a few feet away. “That was Sinead, wasn’t it?”

I think about telling her not to worry but confirm with a nod instead. “She wants to meet.”

“Are you going?”

“I don’t think there’s much of a choice.”

“How bad are things, Connor?” She comes to my side and touches my arm gently. “Tell me the truth.”

I steady myself with a breath before tugging her closer. I can’t help it. Whenever she’s near, it’s like I have to remind myself that she’s safe.

“Marcus is fighting rolling battles on the street. I’m helping where I can, but we’re barely holding onto our territory. The cops are getting involved and that means political pressure is next. This fight can’t go on for much longer. Someone’s going to break.”

She looks like she wants to ask the obvious, but instead she gets on her toes and kisses me. “If anyone can fix this, it’s going to be you.”

“Can I trust her? After what I did to her brother?”

“I don’t know, but you should hear her out.”

I breathe Angie’s smell and drop to my knees. I pull her belly to my lips and kiss her, turning to listen. I imagine I can hear my baby moving around, kicking, laughing, crying, living. I hold her tight as her fingers curl through my hair.

“Whatever it takes,” I whisper, heart thudding rapidly. “I’ll kill them all if I have to.”

“Try a conversation first.”

“You are my light. You are my future.”

“Connor—“

“I love you, Angie. I love this baby you’re carrying. It breaks me, thinking I might lose you, thinking I came this close to finally having you after all this time only to ruin it now. I won’t let it happen.”

She falls to her knees with me, hands cradling my face. “I love you too, and I promise, you won’t lose me. You won’t.”

I kiss her hard, tasting her, lingering against her mouth, thinking, maybe she’s right, maybe this won’t all go away, but it’s all I can do to keep kissing her. I hold my forehead close to hers and we remain like that on our knees in the darkness of the hallway, our world tipping on the edge around us, but I’ve never felt more stable.

There’s a warm glow in my heart. A brightness in my chest.

Because she loves me, and I love her, and we’ll have this baby together.

First, I have a meeting to attend.

Central Park is crowded. It’s a beautiful afternoon. Buskers play music and couples walk together through the wandering tourists. I take my time, scanning every face I find for any sign of Gallaghers, but there’s nothing.

Sinead is sitting on a bench off to the side. She’s alone, legs crossed, watching everyone warily. When she spots me, her back stiffens and her face hardens.

There’s no friendship here. No softness, no love, no joy, no kindness, and I don’t blame her. I’ve done nothing but hurt this woman. I left her at the altar, started a war, killed her brother. And through it, she’s been holding everyone together.

“I’m glad you showed.” She gestures for me to sit. “Did anyone follow you?”

“No, and I’m alone.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

We lapse into silence. I try to picture what life with her could’ve been. But that’s so deeply overshadowed by my love for Angie and the way it sings in my chest. The heat that drives me.

“How do we end this?” I ask after a time. “I assume you didn’t call me here for nothing.”

Sinead’s jaw works. She keeps her eyes off me, like if she turned her head and caught my eye, she’d lose her mind.

“My father has been declining for years.” She says it like this is a fact everyone knows, but it sends a jolt down my spine. “You must’ve noticed he hasn’t been around much.”

“I was wondering.”

“Padraig Gallagher was once a strong and clever man, but he’s a shadow of himself now. Liver cancer spread to his bones. It’s a slow and ugly way to die.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We’ve come to grips with it already. Except my brothers don’t agree on who should succeed when my father inevitably dies. Fergus believed he had the right of it, and he was already making plans.”

“Did those plans involve buying my cousin?”

“I suspect so. I also suspect our arrangement was partially his doing. I believe he was going to use our marriage to usurp you via your cousin.”

I stretch my legs and look at the sunlight slanting through the trees. “Deck was cheap. That’s what keeps bothering me. I would’ve paid him more if that’s what he wanted.”

“You’ll have to talk to your cousin about his motivations. I truly don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. Fergus is dead because he schemed and went behind all our backs. Lorcan and Cillian are understandably upset, but losing Fergus creates a vacuum.”

Understanding falls over my shoulders. “You plan on filling it.”

“Someone has to take over when my father goes. This is what I propose.” She turns toward me and folds her hands in her lap. “My father is allowed to retire and die in peace. My brother is given a good funeral. Lorcan and Cillian are allowed to continue on in the Gallagher organization. You will bring me Deck and we will hang all this blood on him. We’ll spin a story about his betrayal. Declan Whelan will find me a new Whelan match. Do you follow?”

I scrape a hand down my chin. “You take control of your family. You marry into the Whelans. That’s a lot of power.”

“Are you going to complain?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Find me your cousin. Bring me his body. Alive or dead, it doesn’t matter. And convince Declan Whelan to honor our original deal.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“You deserve worse, you know.” She stands abruptly. Sinead Gallagher is tall and beautiful. She’s a queen, and I am deeply impressed. “If I were a spiteful woman, I’d burn you to ashes.”

“But you don’t want to risk losing another brother, and you know we’d only end up killing each other. Neither of us walks away from this stronger if we let it play out.”

“Mutually assured destruction. That’s what they say, isn’t it?”

“I’ve heard the phrase.”

“Know this.” Her hateful gaze meets mine. “We will never be friends. We will never be colleagues. We will coexist and that will be enough. Do you understand?”

“I understand. For what it’s worth, you’ll make a good boss.”

“I know. Find your cousin.”

She strides off, leaving me alone on the bench.

I stay there for a few minutes, wondering what Deck was thinking, why he put himself under Fergus like that, for something as cheap as money. It kills me, knowing my own cousin sold me out.

But there’s an end for him. There’s a fitting death coming and coming soon.

30

ANGIE

I’m anxious the second Connor leaves the house.

After the attack on his mansion, it kills me when he’s not around. I’m constantly worried I might never see him again, that a bunch of armed men might storm through the door at any moment and destroy everything I’ve grown to love.

Because I do love it here. Even this house, with its empty rooms and echoing halls. No staff, no help, not anymore. Lisa survived the assault, but Connor made it clear he’s not bringing anyone around aside from guards until this is all finished.

It’s his family I adore. Danielle’s chatty and selfish, but even she’s warming to me. Then there’s Rowan, and how much she’s hurting right now, and Cathal with his crooked, broken nose. They’re such good people and I don’t know how I’ve gotten through the day this long without having real family to come home to.

Mom’s slumped on a dingy chair in front of an old TV. She looks miserable: pale, drawn, sweaty, and nervous. I sit with her, but she only complains about everything and constantly changes the channel.

“We had a good thing, you know,” Mom says, jabbing the remote in the air. “A real good thing, and what did he go and do? He went and screwed it all up.”

“You know that’s not what happened.”

“Like hell I do! That place was magical, Angelina. I loved that house so much. And look at me now.”

“You realize we were practically prisoners?”

“But I had staff. I had cleaners. And I had my chewies. Where are my smokes now?”

My head swings toward her, pulse thumping in my ears. “Your smokes?”

“My gummies! Whatever! I swear it’s like my brain’s on fire. It’s so loud inside my head, darling, and I need something to tone me down, you know that. Where are my smokes? Please, lovey? Can you ask Connor?”

“Mom—“

“Please, baby? Pretty please? I know we’re in hiding, but please⁠—“

“Enough!” I stand. My knees wobble and I’m shaking. “Stop asking. Every time I come in here, it’s the same. You beg and you beg because you don’t know how to be sober. But Connor made it clear. We aren’t getting anything anytime soon.”

“Then fuck him.” She spits and kicks her legs. “Fuck him! Fuck you too!”

I watch my adult mother have a meltdown. It’s a full-on screaming tantrum, and that’s what finally breaks me. I wait her out, feeling the last shreds of my feelings for her fray and crumble, until there’s nothing left.

“I’ve given you everything,” I say, forcing the words out, fighting back tears. “I took care of you for years, Mom, when you couldn’t handle taking care of yourself. I sacrificed to make sure you had what you needed.”

“Oh, stop it, you fucking baby. Listen to yourself. You’re such a martyr.”

“I’m done now.” I turn my back on her, trembling. “You never cared before. You’re not going to care now. You’re not my responsibility anymore.”

“I’m your mother! I raised you!”

“No, you didn’t.” I walk purposefully to the door. “When this is over, I want you to go back home.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re done. You’re on your own now, Mom.”

“Wait a second.” There’s panic in her voice now like she realizes what’s happening. “I’m sorry, baby. You know I’m just tired and cranky. I don’t mean it.”

“Good luck, Mom.”

“What? Good luck? Fuck you! Fuck you, selfish brat! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck⁠—“

I close the door behind me. Something hard thuds against it. Probably the remote. I cover my face with my hands and I should be crying but there’s nothing left in me. I stay like that, gathering myself, and it’s strange, the lightness that passes over me.

Mom’s not mine anymore.

It’s liberating. There’s guilt in me too, but I feel lighter and better than I have in a very long time.

I’ll protect her through this war. But when we come out the other side⁠—

She’s on her own.

I have no idea what’ll happen and that has to be fine.

“Are you okay?”

I look up to find Rowan. She’s in a big, oversized hoodie, standing a few feet away, uncertain. Her hands are tucked into the pouch and her eyes are on the floor. “I’m okay,” I say and spread my arms. She comes to me without saying anything else, lets me fold her into a massive hug, and that’s what finally does it.

We cry together. I’m not even sure what we’re crying over. Poor dead Colm, maybe, but it’s cathartic. I finish before she does and I stroke her hair until she calms down.

“I’m sorry your mom’s so awful,” Rowan says softly.

“It’s alright.”

“My mom’s been trying to talk to me. I can count the number of serious conversations we’ve had together on a closed fist. I think she’s afraid.”

“She’s definitely worried.”

“I should tell her I’m going to be alright. I just…” Rowan pauses, trembling against me. “I keep seeing him, you know? Colm was trying to save us.”

“Listen to me.” I draw back and hold her shoulders tightly. “You did all you could. You saved me and my mom. You know that, right? If you hadn’t gotten us, I’m not sure we would’ve made it to the safe room.”

“Some saving. I got Colm killed, Dad’s nose got broken, and Deck’s a traitor.”

“You did save us though. What happened to Colm was terrible, but it’s not on you.”

“I feel like I let everyone down.”

“Oh, honey. You didn’t.” I hug her hard. “We’re even now.”

That makes her laugh and I laugh along with her.

It’s better than crying.

We sit together in one of the empty rooms. Rowan doesn’t open up exactly, but she seems to unwind. She comes out of her hoodie, hands appearing, hood drawn back. We’re in the middle of laughing about something else when Connor shows up in the doorway, eyebrows knit like we both grew two heads.

“That’s a sound I’ll never get sick of,” he says genuinely, and the honest love in his eyes for his sister makes my heart break. This man pretends like he’s got nothing inside of him but hate and death, but there’s a softness under all those layers of blood.

“There you are.” Rowan stands and stretches. “Dad was looking for you.”

“Found him,” Cathal says from the hall.

“You mind if I borrow my wife?” Connor nods at me. “We have some talking to do.”

“What, you’re cutting me out of the family business already?” Rowan laughs at the look on Connor’s face. “Kidding. Seriously. I’d rather go back to being ignorant.” She sweeps from the room, pausing only to knock her brother on the arm. He grunts and pretends like it hurts.

“Love seeing you two getting along,” Cathal says once Connor sits at my side. His knee touches mine and he puts a hand possessively on my leg. I lean my head on his shoulder so he knows everything’s okay. “Remember when you were younger? You and that girl were at each other’s throats.”

“She was a pain in my ass,” Connor grumbles and scowls. “Still is most days.”

“Ah, come on.” Cathal looks at me, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Even back then, Connor was protective of Rowan. But she was still his little baby sister, right? Whenever he was out causing trouble, she’d want to go, and they’d yell at each other and cause bloody havoc.”

“I can’t imagine them fighting,” I admit.

“All siblings do. You have more of those—“ Cathal gestures at my belly. “You’ll find out.”

I flush thinking about starting a family. “Let’s focus on the first one and we’ll go from there.”

“Speaking of focus.” Connor raises his chin to his father. “Go ahead and tell me what happened again.”

Cathal lowers himself into a chair with a grunt and settles back, idly rubbing at his broken, crooked nose. “Deck called is what happened. Imagine my fucking surprise when that snake had the gall to talk to me.”

“What did he want?” I ask, startled at how anxious I feel. Even hearing his name sends a pang of fear through me.

I’ve never been hated by someone like that before. The way Deck talked to me, the way he looked at me, it was like I wasn’t human anymore. It felt horrible, to be demeaned that way.

“He wants to talk to me. I told him to go ahead and speak his piece, but he insisted on doing it in person.”

Connor lets out a low rumble from his chest. “It’s a trap.”

“Maybe, but I’m not sure. Deck sounded desperate. How many of your men went over to the other side with him, anyway?”

“No more than ten.”

“He doesn’t have the firepower to take me on directly.”

“I bet he was banking on Fergus not being dead.” I cross my legs, tapping a finger to my teeth. “That was him taking the money, wasn’t it?”

“It’s my assumption,” Connor agrees grimly. “That attack was his play. My guess is he wanted to end me by taking you captive, then he’d take control of the Maguire operation, probably as a vassal to the Gallaghers.”

“Fucker really wanted it, huh?” Cathal taps his nose again. “I’ll tell you, son, I’m in the mood to get even for this.”

“That’s not your call, Dad.”

“But Deck came to me, not to you.”

“He thinks you’re soft.”

Cathal makes a dismissive sound. “Deck’s my brother’s son but he’s still a piece of shit. You give me a gun and I’ll put him down.”

“He had the chance to do that to you,” I say, and both men’s eyes fix on me. “But he didn’t. Can you really kill him, Cathal?”

Connor’s dad scratches his chin. “I’d consider it.”

“You might, but I won’t. I’ll find Deck on my own. I’ll do all the killing for everyone.” Connor stands and starts to pace. “But if he’s calling, that means he’s weak. It’s only a matter of time before we have him.”

“Let me make contact. Deck trusts me. He knows I’m not deep in the family. Like your smart and beautiful wife said, I’m not much of a killer.”

“I knew you were a softie, Cathal.” I smile at him sweetly.

He laughs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

Connor makes a sharp noise in his throat. “Enough. Nobody’s talking to anyone.”

“Son—“

“No, Dad. It’s not happening.” Connor’s fist bangs against the door frame. He’s shaking with anger. “I almost lost you all. If not for Sinead sending me back, I don’t know what would have happened. Fergus would have won. Deck would have taken Angie.”

“But he didn’t,” I say, reaching for him.

Connor slips from my grasp and stalks to the window. “I find Deck. I handle him. That’s the end of it.”

The room falls into silence. Connor’s back to carrying the weight. It’s always how he is now, isn’t it? He’s the boss and in the end, responsibility falls to him, but he’s not alone. At least, he doesn’t have to be.

Cathal speaks first. “I’m not asking permission here, son. No, listen to me. I’ve followed you since you took over. Hell, I heard the whispers. Cathal Maguire’s too weak, but that son of his, now that’s a real leader. I stood by you. I did as you asked and never questioned anything you chose, even when it got hard. But now I’m saying, I’m your father, and I’m going to draw Deck out. I’m going to help finish this.”

“That’s not on you.”

“And it doesn’t have to be on you.” Cathal goes to his son. “I love you, boy. I don’t say it enough. Nobody in this fucked-up family of ours does. But I failed everyone during that fight. I couldn’t keep them safe, and now I want to make amends, and I’ll be damned if you try to stop me.”

“Hold on,” I say, getting to my feet. “You don’t mean that? Cathal, I’d be dead if not for you.”

He waves me off, eyes locked on his son. “You know how I feel, boy. Don’t make this hard for me.”

The struggle on Connor’s face is painful to watch. He doesn’t want to let his father get hurt, but what other choice does he have? After a brief showdown, Cathal steps forward and gives his son a single, rough hug, clapping him once on the back before releasing him. Connor hardly moves, like he doesn’t know how to react.

“Alright. Good talk.” Cathal walks to the door.

“I didn’t say you could go.” Connor’s voice is low and strained.

“And I wasn’t asking. I’ll call Deck. We’ll finish this.”

Cathal leaves the room. In his wake, Connor turns to the window, shoulders slumped, head hung.

I go to him. I touch his arm, lean against him. He shifts, accommodating me, then drops to his knees in front of me. I stand still, startled at the sudden intensity of him, as he pulls me against his face, his ear to my belly, his hands gripping my ass tightly. I run my hands through his hair as his eyes close tightly.

“You won’t hear much right now,” I say, smiling to myself.

“Just your belly rumbling.”

“Connor!”

“I’ll get you something to eat. Let me stay here for a minute.”

“As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.” I cradle his head gently. “And your dad’s going to be okay.”

He doesn’t answer that.

31

ANGIE

“Can I admit something to you?” I whisper it into the inky black. It’s late and I can’t sleep. Connor’s body is warm against mine in bed. His breath is steady on my neck, the curve of my spine fitting to his chest like a puzzle, one hand gently on my belly.

“What’s that?” he asks, a quiet rumble.

“I’m scared.”

“My dad’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of him.”

“Not about that. I mean, that too, but—“ I cover Connor’s hand with mine. “The morning sickness is getting better, but it’s still not great. I’m taking the vitamins. I’m doing what the doctor says, and I’m still worried.”

“That’s normal, baby. You’re going to be fine. You were made for this.”

I slap his wrist. “Easy for you to say.”

“Women have been having babies forever. If they can do it, you can do it too.”

“I know I can, it’s just…” I trail off, not sure how to explain it. I blow out a breath and turn to face him. His hands rest on my hips. “I never wanted to be a mother.”

He seems mildly surprised. “Why not?”

“Look at my only example. I never wanted to be a burden on someone, you know?”

“Being a mother doesn’t mean being a burden, love.”

“It does to me.”

“Angel—“

“No, please listen. I’ve always been afraid I’d end up like Dawn. Maybe not high all the time, but a waste. Nothing more than a pain in the ass for other people to deal with.”

“That’s not you.”

“I know, because I’ve worked hard⁠—“

“No, love, it’s not you.” He leans in and kisses me. “You are the most caring woman I’ve ever met. You saved my sister’s life. You went with Deck knowing it might be the death of you. You’ve sacrificed, over and over again, because that’s who you are.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You don’t, but I do.” He pulls my hands to his lips and kisses them. “You are a good person. You’re my balance, angel. I’m a bad man doing very bad things, but you tilt me back toward the light.”

I smile a bit, shuffling closer. “Not all the way though.”

“Never all the way,” he agrees. “You are going to be a fantastic mother. I promise.”

I kiss him, and this time the kiss lingers. Can he be right about that? In all this, I haven’t had much time to think about what it means for me with this baby coming. But once we have Deck, and Connor helps Sinead take over her family, the war will be done.

And what after it? Only life. The normal stuff. Waking up, going to work—if I still have a job anyway—breathing and laughing and whatever it is normal people do.

His hands roam down my body, tugging down my bottoms. I sigh as he rolls me onto my back and holds my hands above my head. He kisses me, moves down to my belly, kisses where the baby might be, but he doesn’t stop there. His mouth wanders around my hips, to my inner thighs, teasing and nipping.

“How’d we get from worried about being a mother to—“ I gasp as he pushes my underwear aside. His tongue glides up and down.

“To me tasting you?” He lets out a satisfied growl as he laps me up and down.

“Y-y-yes!” I arch against his mouth.

“I can’t help myself. You talk about children and I get all—“ His tongue slips inside of me.

“Oh, shit.” I grind against his mouth, breathing fast. All worries are instantly evaporated in the heat of him. I don’t know how I was ever afraid to begin with.

Connor licks me up, laps me, sucks and teases me. I spread my legs, whimpering his name as he goes faster, pleasure building in my core. I tug at his dark hair, fingers slipping through his silky, soft curls. My hair spills around me. I groan as he pulls back, thumb sliding up and down my slit.

“What are you doing?” My eyes fix on him, flushed and glowing.

“Did you think that was all?” He leans back and takes off his shirt. I take in his defined chest, the tattoos down between his muscles. Barbed wire, a Celtic cross, a dove on fire. “No, love, not even close.”

His mouth crushes to mine. I taste myself on his lips. He shimmies from his boxer briefs, his cock heavy and warm against my belly. I reach for it, gripping and guiding him between my legs, but he only lets out a soft, rumbling laugh, shoving me back with one hand on my chest.

“Mine,” he says, teasing his tip up and down my soaking pussy.

“Connor—“

“Say it. This pussy is mine.”

“Connor…”

“Say it, angel, or I won’t give you what you want. Say this pussy is mine.”

“My pussy is yours,” I moan.

He presses himself into me, but only half an inch. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

“Connor, please, fuck me.”

“Fill you⁠—“

“Fill me!”

“Rip you to pieces.”

I gasp, arching, and push down until he slips inside of me. I groan at his size, the thickness of him spreading me wide. He grumbles his bliss as he sinks in deeper, filling me to the brim, his mouth finding mine in a desperate kiss. He pins my hands above my head and moves down, kissing my chest, sucking my nipples, as he starts to fuck me.

Our hips move together. He’s locked inside me, grinding in deep. I whisper his name, whimpering, biting his shoulder. Is this how he breaks me? Is this how he brings me back? He fucks me faster, driving all the way home as he breathes the words against my throat. “This pussy is mine,” he moans. “This mouth is mine.” He bites my lip. “These tits are mine. That baby is mine.”

He thrusts faster, slapping into me, fucking me wildly now. I bounce against him as the glow brightens in my core. “Connor, please,” I beg, not even sure what I’m asking for, beyond rational thought. There’s only the building pressure mounting, mounting, my savage husband fucking me into quiet submission.

“Say you want to come,” he groans in my ear. “Please, baby. Ask me real nicely.”

“I want… to come… and when I do… I want to swallow you.”

He sucks in a breath, his eyes locked on mine. “Fuck, baby.”

“Now, Connor, please.”

He rips into me. He fucks me like a monster and I take him like it’s heaven. I gasp and moan, crying out as my triggers release and I break, shattering like glass all over his massive cock. I come so hard my skin flushes red, and he pulls out with a moan, dick glistening with my wetness.

“Now,” he begs and that word nearly makes me come again.

I turn as he thrusts into my mouth. I moan, licking, sucking, tasting my pussy on him, and he comes in seconds, filling my throat and tongue. I moan and suck and swallow every drop, rubbing his tip with my palm when he’s done and licking that off too.

His body collapses beside mine. His arms snake around me and pull me against him. I’m safe here in his arms. Safe and floating and happy.

“Good fucking girl,” he says low in my ear. “God, you’re such a good girl.”

We stay like that until the sweat cools on our bodies, and I’m thinking, maybe this can work. I can be a mother and I can be a wife to this man. If he can make me feel like this, like the outside world doesn’t matter so long as we’re together, I can do almost anything.

We balance each other. That’s what he said, right?

I need him to ground me, and I’ll do the same for him.

32

CONNOR

It’s not my style, giving up control.

I hate letting my father go anywhere dangerous. He’s a good man, Cathal Maguire. Part of a hellhole of a family but kept his hands clean. Did his best to raise me after Mom died. Always has been the heart and soul of our family, the man I turn to for moral advice, a calm and centered presence.

Now he’s strapping on body armor and clipping a mic to his shirt.

“You sure this’ll work?” he asks, tapping it.

“Yes, and don’t do that again.” I point at the bud in my ear. “It’ll blow out my freaking skull.”

“Wouldn’t want that, though it might be a small improvement.” Dad finishes dressing and buttons up his shirt. “How do I look?”

“Like an asshole.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I should’ve gotten a fresh cut.”

“Dad—“

“Stop. It’ll be fine. I need to do this.”

I want to keep arguing. My father hasn’t put himself in danger before. He’s strong in other ways: a family man, a dependable worker, but this isn’t him.

I hold a gun out. “You should probably take one.”

He pushes it away. “I’d end up shooting myself most likely. Deck’s not here to kill me.”

“You sure?”

“What would he gain?” Dad puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll be alright. Stick to the plan.”

“Same to you, old man.”

His grin is almost comforting.

Dad leaves alone in his Mercedes. Marcus follows with the forward team in a black truck, keeping to a steady distance. I bring up the rear in a surveillance van kitted out with listening equipment and multiple drones for camera images.

This isn’t my specialty. I’d rather be in Dad’s place, out on the front lines, taking all the risk. But Deck would bolt if I appeared. My cousin’s a traitor, but he isn’t stupid.

“You good, brother?” Marcus’s voice comes over the comms system.

I radio him back. “Fine. Happy. Having fun.”

“That’s how it should be.”

I watch the city pass outside the window. “You ever wonder why Deck did it?”

“Nah, not at all. Deck’s always been a prick.”

“Seriously.”

“I’m not kidding. Deck resented you from the moment you took power. He’s traditional, and that’s exactly why he couldn’t lead. He would’ve kept the Maguires in the Dark Ages.”

“I used to think I wanted to be more like him. Tough, a little crazy.”

“Yeah, look where that got him.” I listen to the static before Marcus speaks again. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“I know that.”

“But you need to hear it, don’t you? Deck made his call. Now you have to make yours.”

“For the family.”

“Damn right.”

I let the conversation drop as we roll toward the edge of the city and a warehouse owned by WashCo. It’s dark and late, past ten, and nobody’s working anymore. The front gate was left open, but we park on the far side of the building near a service entrance. I doubt Deck even knows about it. Once I’m in position, I release the camera drones and turn on Dad’s feed, but all I get is him listening to Willie Nelson in the car and humming to himself.

I get eyes on his car a few moments later. Dad’s parked in the main lot outside the structure. There are no other vehicles around. I’m anxious, wondering if Deck’s going to show, if he maybe spotted the drones on his approach, but I shouldn’t have worried. A few minutes later, three cars arrive and circle around Dad before coming to a halt.

Deck’s the first out of a dark gray sedan. Dad whispers over the mic, “Showtime.”

I say nothing. He can’t hear me anyway. I lower the drone to get a better view.

Deck looks like shit. His shirt’s dirty and untucked. He looks like he hasn’t showered in a day or more. His eyes are rimmed with red and shadowed in black. There are a few other soldiers with him, but only a few, and none look happy.

“Glad you came, Deck,” Dad says loudly, standing beside his door. He doesn’t approach. “You look like shit.”

“You look bad yourself, Uncle.” Deck nods at him. “Sorry about the face.”

“I get it. You did what you had to do.”

Deck’s expression darkens. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”

“What was the end game, Deck? What did you think would happen after you took Connor’s wife?”

“The family should be his priority. Not some random pregnant girl. Connor’s going to throw away everything we built.” Deck’s hand turns to a fist and his jaw works. “Everything I bled for.”

“You know that’s not true. He loves the girl.”

“He threw us against the Gallaghers. You know that was bad.”

“Why are we here, Deck?” Dad sounds calm. It’s impressive. Dad’s always been solid in a crisis. I know he blames himself for what happened during the attack, but it’s clear he shouldn’t. There’s no way Cathal Maguire didn’t try his damnedest to take care of everyone around him.

“I know I can’t come back.” Deck’s tone wavers for a moment. I zoom the drone in. His face is twisted in agony, and I realize this is painful for him. All his life, he’s been a part of the Maguire clan.

Now he’s on the outside.

“That’s right,” Dad says gently. “You took Gallagher money.”

“I know.”

“You betrayed us, Deck.”

“I did it for you though. I know you won’t ever see it, but I did.”

“You sure, son?”

Deck’s jaw tightens. He stares at my dad with true malice now. “Listen to me, Cathal. We’re not kin anymore. I want you to go back to your son and tell him I’m leaving the city. Tell him I’m making my way out west.”

“That’s all you want to say?”

“The Gallaghers are going to destroy you. Lorcan’s not going to let it go. Padraig sure as hell won’t either.”

He doesn’t know then. Deck has no idea that Padraig’s not running the Gallaghers anymore. I’d bet the old man hasn’t for a while now, longer than Sinead’s letting on.

I adjust the drone, scanning the fence line, and catch shadows moving. That’s Marcus getting into position.

“So that’s it? You’re running and leaving us to fend for ourselves?”

“I’m telling you because I still care about everyone. If you want to come, bring your wife, your daughter, anyone else who wants, there’s a place with me. Always will be.”

“Deck.” Dad sounds genuinely sad. “After all this, you believe that?”

“Go to hell, Cathal.” His snarl is low and guttural. “You don’t know a damn thing.”

I leave the van and let the drone stay on autopilot, hovering in the air. I stride into the evening, straight to the fence, and slip through the gap in the gate. I draw my gun, picking up my pace toward the meeting, staying in the shadows as much as I can.

Dad’s backing off. The other car doors open and Deck’s soldiers come out. My heart starts racing as I raise my weapon—but too far—too fucking far⁠—

I start sprinting into the night.

“Dad!” I scream, voice echoing off the warehouse. “Deck, damn you! Dad! Don’t do it!”

Marcus and his team are streaming toward us from the fence line. Marcus’s voice is calm in my ear, telling me they’re ten seconds away, but it’s too much. I start shooting as Deck’s soldiers raise their weapons and open fire.

“DAD!”

My voice is rough from screaming as I race toward them. Dad’s down on the ground as the gunfire keeps going. None of them hear me as I approach. Deck’s the only one without a weapon, gazing down at my father with a grim sadness, like he didn’t want it to be this way.

I kill two soldiers. The third I shoot in the knee and kick his gun away. Marcus hits from the other side, taking down the men near Deck. I have a moment where I lock eyes with Deck and he stares at me in horror, only belatedly realizing what’s happening, the damn fool.

I charge him. Fury rips into me, rage and hell burning in my core. I slam into Deck and he tries to fight me, but I take him to the ground, a knife sliding from the sheath at my hips. I drive it once into Deck’s chest, again into his belly, screaming as I do it.

“You didn’t have to!” I roar in his face. “You motherfucker! You didn’t have to! You didn’t have to!” I stab him, over and over, blood splattering my face and hands. Deck gags, gasping, hands scrambling at my face, until I drive the tip into his throat and put all my weight behind it. “You bastard. You fucking bastard. You deserve worse.”

Deck bleeds out and his eyes go dim.

I kneel on my cousin. His corpse warm still. I want to keep pummeling him, but exhaustion overtakes me. I release the knife and slump backwards, breathing hard, gasping. Marcus crouches beside my father, checking him for wounds as our soldiers make sure Deck’s men are down for good.

“Marcus. Please. Tell me.” I crawl to him over the blacktop. “Marcus⁠—“

“He’s breathing.” Marcus turns to me, grim-faced. “But it’s bad.”

“Get out of the way.” I shove the back door of the car open. “I’m taking him to the hospital.”

“They won’t let you leave. Not with this many bullet wounds. They’ll have questions.”

“I don’t fucking care!”

“Damn it,” Marcus says under his breath as I get my father into the back of the car.

He’s hit in multiple places. The vest saved him from the worst, but it took half a dozen strikes. His legs are bloody, his lower back, his arms. His breathing is shallow. “I got you, Dad. I got you.”

“Let me.” Marcus pulls me back from the car. I try to shake him free, but he shoves harder. “Damn it, Connor, we need you free. Take Deck to Sinead. Finish this fucking nightmare.”

“Marcus—“

“And bail me out of prison, for fuck’s sake.” Marcus gets behind the wheel of my father’s car. “Don’t stand there gawking. I got to fucking drive!”

“Thank you.”

He slams the door, hits the gas, and peels out. I watch him go, our soldiers standing around watching the corpses grimly. Once the car is gone, I walk over to Deck’s body and kneel beside it.

Slowly, carefully, with a kind of loving grace, I start sawing at his neck.

33

CONNOR

It’s a humid morning in New Jersey. The bench is wet but it doesn’t bother me too much. A few older folks wander down paths while aides help them along. The building behind me is big and beautiful, lots of pretty landscaping. I sit with a bag at my feet, mostly ignored by the people around me.

She comes out after a while carrying two steaming paper cups of coffee. I accept one with thanks and wipe off the seat beside me. Her nose wrinkles, but she sits.

“Dad’s settling in,” Sinead says, looking back at the building. “It’s strange, coming here. He knows on some level that he won’t ever leave again, but he’s not talking about it.”

“Do you want him to?”

“I’m not sure.” She sips her coffee. “Where do you want to die when it happens?”

“Home surrounded by my five kids and my ten grandkids.”

“Sounds awful.”

“What about you?”

“Skydiving. Smack right into the ground.” She smiles at me. “That or in the bath.”

“Sounds like fun.”

We lapse into silence. I finish the coffee with a grunt and toss the cup into a nearby trashcan.

“You look terrible, you know. I’m surprised they haven’t called the police yet.”

“I’m being good.” I nudge the bag toward her. “Got what you wanted.”

She pays attention to the plain black duffel for the first time. “What’s in there?”

“Deck. A part of him, anyway.”

I expect her to shrink back, but she only drags it closer and unzips a portion. “Huh. Bit of a cliche, don’t you think?”

“I considered bringing his balls, but the head seemed better.”

She snorts and zips it back up. “Cillian backed me yesterday. Lorcan wasn’t happy, but now that I have this—“ She nudges my cousin’s remains with her toe. “Nobody can say I left any loose ends.”

“And our arrangement?”

“You can consider the war over. There will be amends to make. Reparations to pay. Lorcan will make dramatic demands. In the end, life will go on.”

“I’ll pray for your dad.”

“Will you? Do you think that’ll help?”

“Not at all, but I’ll do it anyway.”

“Thank you.” She stands and sighs. “Go home and shower.”

“I have a few more stops to make before I can do that.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

I give her a mocking salute. “As you’ll find out soon, boss.”

“Good luck.” She walks off with a small wave. “And remember. We’re not friends. Never will be.”

I watch her go.

Hell, at least we aren’t enemies.

I’d hate to be the man who crosses that woman.

Casey Whelan leans against the doorjamb and crosses her arms. “Well, look at this. I didn’t expect to see you today. Or ever again, actually.”

“Declan’s still that mad?”

“Can’t blame him.” She purses her lips before nodding for me to follow. “Come on. You wait in his office. I’ll drag him from a very important appointment.”

I sit heavily in front of Declan’s desk. It’s not easy, keeping my eyes open. I keep checking my phone, waiting for an update from Marcus, but there’s nothing. Danielle’s at the hospital with Rowan and Angie, and someone has to know what’s going on. Dad should be out of surgery by now.

“Heard you had an eventful evening.” Declan comes into the room. He’s in gray sweats and a black polo shirt. “I hope you have good news. You pulled me from spending time with my girls. I even got them to stop watching screens for ten minutes.”

“It’s done with the Gallaghers. I spoke with Sinead Gallagher an hour ago.”

Declan sinks down into his chair and studies me. “Your cousin’s dead. How’s your father?”

“Still waiting to hear.”

“I’ll make some calls. He’ll get the best care possible.”

“I appreciate that.” I grip the arms of the chair to steady myself. “Sinead needs a husband. That’s the last piece we got left.”

“Don’t worry about her. I’ll find someone.”

“Pick a good man. Actually, no, pick a strong man. Not sure there are many husbands in the world who can handle her.”

Declan snorts a soft laugh and looks over my shoulder. “I know how that feels.”

I rub my face with both hands. “Are we calling this even?”

“No, we aren’t. There will be further consequences.”

“That’s what Sinead said.”

“And you deserve it. Leaving her at the altar like that. Fucking up all our plans and starting a war. You’ll clean it up, Connor.”

“I will,” I say, meaning it.

“Welcome back to the family then.” Declan stands and offers me his hand.

I shake it. “I appreciate that. Now, I should get to the hospital.”

“You want anything? Coffee? A shower?”

“I’m good.”

“You’re definitely not.”

“Better than my dad.”

He dips his chin, real concern in his eyes, and raises it toward the door. “You should get moving then.”

The stink of antiseptic is everywhere.

Hospitals feel so worn out: the walls scuffed and marked, the floors scratched and marred. It’s like all the suffering that moves through this place is left burned into the wood and the plastic, and no amount of scrubbing cleans it out.

I reach the waiting room, push the door open, and find my family sitting together at the far side, huddled around Danielle like they’re trying to protect her.

Strange, how these women are deeply in my life. I don’t know how I deserve them. Rowan, her strength, her deep well of feelings; she’s the moral compass I need. Angie with her need to help other people. And even Danielle, as annoying as she can be, she’s still my father’s partner and it looks like she’s crumbling under the pressure of maybe losing him.

“Connor.” Angie notices me first and comes hurrying over. I open my arms and she throws herself against me. I hug her hard, holding her warm body, breathing in her smell and some of the hurt and the ache and anxiety fades. That’s how it is when she’s around. Everything bad becomes better.

“Any word?”

“Still nothing.” She breathes in deep and looks up. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“How are they doing?”

“Danielle’s a mess. Rowan’s trying to be strong.” She checks over her shoulder. “I think they need you.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long, but I’m back now.”

She touches my cheek. “Is everything okay?”

I hold her hand and nuzzle against it. “Yeah, angel. Everything’s okay.” I kiss her fingers before joining my sister and Danielle. They hug me and Rowan lets out a single, hopeless sob against my chest, which shatters my heart into glinting pieces. I touch Danielle’s hand and she presses it back, lips pressed tight.

“He’s going to be okay,” I tell her, but she’s pale and seems so small.

“What if he’s not?” Her voice is tiny. Her eyes dart to Rowan and she grimaces. I can tell she’s trying to be strong for her daughter, but it’s hard.

“He will be.”

There’s not much else to say after that. Angie joins us and we remain in a tight huddle, killing time, doing not much more than staring at an old TV playing reruns of Frasier in the corner of the room.

I start to feel like nothing will ever happen, like we’re trapped in a strange limbo between now and the future, when the door opens. A fit, middle-aged man in scrubs enters. He’s got the broad chest and the big, fine hands of a surgeon, a clipboard held out like a shield in front of him.

“Ah, Cathal Maguire’s family?” He looks at us expectantly.

“I’m his wife.” Danielle stands, even though I can tell she doesn’t want to. I’m proud of her though. “Is he okay?”

“The procedure went well,” the surgeon says in that brisk, clipped way his profession forces. “We removed the bullets and repaired the damage we could. There’s going to be a long recovery and no guarantee he’ll walk right again. One bullet fragment clipped his spine.”

“But he’s alive?”

The surgeon looks surprised. “Nobody told you? Yes, oh, yes, he’s doing well. You can see him in about an hour, though he won’t be all the way awake yet⁠—“

Danielle breaks down into relieved sobs. The surgeon frowns at her like he doesn’t know what to do. I stand and guide her back to Rowan and Angie, all three women crying now.

“Thank you,” I tell the surgeon. “I’m his son.”

“Your father’s a lucky man. Any one of those shots could’ve been the end of him.” The surgeon checks the door behind him. “The man who brought him in⁠—“

“I understand he’s in police custody?”

“Yes. Well. He saved your father’s life.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Do you have any questions?”

I ask him what I can, but there isn’t much more to learn. He leaves and we’re alone again, but the feeling in the room is vastly different. Danielle laughs for the first time and even Rowan’s smiling. Their relief is like heaven.

I make a call while we’re waiting. “Connor Maguire. Haven’t heard from you in a while. I was starting to think you forgot all about me and my very generous retainer.”

“How are you, Tyler?”

“Well as can be expected. What can I do for you?”

“You know my associate Marcus Boyd.”

“How’s he holding up? I always tell him he’s got a job at the firm if he’s ever interested. He’ll make a great lawyer.”

“He’s in need of your services.” I give him a brief rundown of what happened.

“Marcus should be fine. They’ll question his ass all day and night and that car’s gone forever. Did he have anything illegal in the vehicle?”

“Not sure. I doubt it though.”

“Good. Alright. Cops don’t toss a guy in jail for saving a life. I’ll find out what I can and deal with it. No worries though, he’ll be okay.”

Whatever the charges will be, if there are any, Tyler and his army of morally dubious lackeys will use every legal trick to bring my friend back home.

We’re taken upstairs a couple hours later, longer than expected. Dad’s sitting up in bed, sunken and small, bandaged and stuck with needles and lines, but he’s awake and he’s smiling and he hugs his daughter and his wife for a long time.

“Told you I’d be fine,” he grunts at me.

“Never again, old man.”

He laughs and grimaces. “Don’t think I got any more adventures in me, son.”

I take his hand and squeeze it. I want to say, I love you, Dad, but that’s not in me. Instead, I touch his shoulder, and he nods back like he knows and that’s enough.

Angie and Rowan leave with me when the sun sets. Danielle insists on staying behind. I’m not sure if the nurses will let her stay over, but we’ll see. My sister gets in the car and I linger for a moment in the darkness of the parking lot, pulling Angie against me. I stoop down to kiss her.

“It’s weird,” she says, leaning her cheek against my chest. “There’s nobody trying to kill us anymore. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“We’ll find something for you to do.”

She snorts, patting my chest. “Easy, boy.”

“I meant this.” I reach down to touch her belly.

“It’s happening, isn’t it? After everything that happened, I’m not sure it scares me anymore. If I can survive you and your family⁠—“

I laugh and swat at her butt. “Easy there.”

“I mean, I can survive childbirth. And I can be a decent mother.”

“Damn right.”

The door to the car opens. “Are you two done playing grabass? I know it’s a nice moment and all, but I really want a shower.” Rowan glares and slams it closed again.

“Better go.” Angie sighs, hugging me harder. “Think my mom’s still up?”

“Do you care?”

“Not really.”

34

CONNOR

Five Months Later

I pause in the hallway and listen.

It’s quiet. That’s strange. I’m still not used to it. Ever since Dad, Danielle, and Rowan moved into their own place down the block, I keep catching myself wondering where they are.

Not like it’s far. I could be in their kitchen in two minutes tops if that’s what I wanted.

There’s a thump and a curse from around the corner and I smile to myself.

Hell, I got enough problems here.

“What are you doing, crazy woman?” I step into the doorway of the nursery to find my visibly pregnant wife in a tank top and sweats standing on a stool with a hammer and nails, bashing away like she’s trying to tear down the drywall. “Angelina! You stop that right now!”

“Hold on, almost… almost got it…” She hits her thumb and curses. The stool wobbles wildly and I rush forward, grabbing her by the hips and lifting her like she’s nothing, placing her down at my side.

“Let me see that.” I check her thumb and it’s only a shade red. “What the hell were you thinking, Angie?”

“I’m trying to hang the pictures for the baby.”

“I told you, I’m doing it.”

“But it’s not done, and the baby’s coming soon⁠—“

I take her thumb and stick it in my mouth. I suck it, reach out, and cup her face with my hand. I pull it out and hold her eyes.

“You are the most infuriating, beautiful, perfect specimen I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you?” She blinks rapidly. “God, being pregnant is making me so horny. What the hell’s with that?”

“Hormones.” I tug her closer, hand moving around into her hair. She lets out a sigh, a happy smile on her face. “If I see you on a stool, chair, ladder, or anything else again, I swear I’ll chain you to the bed.”

Her eyelids flutter. “Promise?”

“Not a game, angel.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t do it again.” She groans when I pull her hair. “I mean it!”

“Promise now.”

“I promise. Asshole.” That smile again, laced with need. “Pull harder?”

I do as instructed, tugging until she’s groaning and wriggling her hips, and I get down on my knees and get her off for the third time today, using my mouth and my fingers this time, until she’s screaming on my lips.

Nothing better than taking care of my angel.

Even if she’s more like a devil right now.

Once satisfied, I make her sit in the rocker while I finish hanging the picture. She’s smiling and I wonder how long that’ll last before I’m fucking her again. I give it an hour. I swear, my dick’s going to be black and blue before this baby comes, and I’m not complaining one tiny bit.

“Mom called earlier,” she says casually as I adjust the frame to make sure it’s straight.

“Yeah? Really?”

“Hadn’t heard from her since we kicked her out a few months back.”

“I’m shocked she took this long to call, honestly.”

“Me too. It wasn’t easy, not checking on her.”

“I’m proud of you though. You did the right thing.”

“Maybe.” She tucks her legs under her and watches me carefully. “She said something odd. She asked when the next delivery was coming.”

“Delivery? Huh?” I keep my back turned on my wife so she can’t see my face.

“Yeah, and when I pressed her on it, she got all flaky and hung up.”

“Strange. She’s probably high.”

“Definitely, but not so bad that she couldn’t pick up when I called back.”

I scrub a hand over my face. Fucking Dawn. “What’d she tell you?”

“Everything. Honestly, Connor. I thought we agreed.”

I turn slowly, arms crossed over my chest. “We did agree. We talked about it. I convinced you to cut her off, and it was the right call, wasn’t it?”

“Yes! But you took over!”

I stride to my wife and kneel beside her. “Listen to me, love. Your mom’s a fucking mess. She can’t survive on her own. And I knew that you’d never forgive yourself if something bad happened to her, so I picked up where you left off.”

“We’re enabling her, Connor!”

“Yes, but it was less about that, and more about forcing you to prioritize yourself for a change.” I lean in and kiss the corner of her mouth. “Wait a second. You knew about this already, but you let me go down on you.”

Her cheeks turn pink. “You’re an asshole, but you’re still really good at making me come.”

“You dirty girl. I feel used.”

“Good. You were.”

“How dare you.” I kiss her again. “Would you feel better if I apologized?”

“No, because I know you wouldn’t mean it. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Eventually. But not until after the baby. I don’t want you thinking about your mother at all. I want you focused on here and now.” I lean down and press my ear to her belly. I hear her heart beating, and I swear, I can hear the baby’s too. There’s a dull, gentle thud as my child kicks. I smile and, god, it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever felt.

We stay like that a while. The changing table’s in flat packs. The crib’s half together. Only a few of the pictures are on the walls.

But we have time. Not a lot, but it feels like forever, kneeling here with my wife.

“I’m going to admit something and I don’t want you to use it against me,” Angie says, fingers stroking through my hair.

“I would never.”

“Good.” She pulls. “You’re a decent man, Connor. I’m glad you’ve been looking after my mom.”

I turn to kiss her belly. “I knew you would be.”

“I want you to tell me this stuff though.”

“I’m sure you do.”

She tugs harder and I grunt, tilting my chin up and smirk at her. “Trying to turn me on again?”

“No, thanks.”

The bell downstairs rings. I kiss Angie one last time before heading down to answer it. Marcus comes inside and helps my limping father along with him. “Cavalry is here,” Dad says, lugging an old tool box. His bum leg drags as he walks. “Where’s that damn crib?”

“I tried to stop him,” Marcus says, shaking my hand. “He wouldn’t listen.”

“Dad, you’re still not back to normal. I can handle this⁠—“

But my old man waves me off. “I bet that wife of yours is already getting down to work. You lousy bastard.”

“Dad, I run a massive crime family, a huge towing and salvage company, and I’m still dealing with the fallout from the Gallagher fight.”

“Which is why I’m here.” Dad heads up the steps. “Idiot boy.”

“Speaking of idiots, Lorcan’s been causing trouble again.” Marcus pats my back. “But Sinead put him in his place last night. That’s one hell of a woman.”

“Wish you’re the one who gets to marry her?”

“Not in the fucking slightest.” Marcus helps my father into the nursery. I extricate Angie before she gets stuck listening to them bicker over which ratchet wrench to use.

“I think I’ll go to the other house and see what Dani and Rowie are up to.” Angie slips on shoes and grabs her keys. “You boys will be okay?”

“I will be, but—“ There’s a loud bang from upstairs and Dad’s cursing echoes through the halls. “Doubt he will be.”

Angie touches my cheek, smiles at me fondly, and kisses my chin. “Love you.”

“Yeah, love you, too.”

She leaves me in the hall.

I listen to the sounds of my dad and my best friend working on my future child’s furniture. I close my eyes and think about all the troubles I have, all the stress and the pain, the sanctions from the war still hanging like a sword over my head. I’m good with Declan now, but we’ll never be back to where we were before. He’ll never trust me like he once did.

Which has to be fine. I’ll rebuild, as always.

Maybe not the same, but better.

With this new family.

EPILOGUE: ANGIE

One year later

“Happy birthday!” I pull the end of a popper and spray glitter and streamers all over a glum-looking Rowan as she sits in front of her cake. She bends over the seventeen candles Danielle painstakingly placed in a perfect circle and blows them out.

“That’s my girl,” Cathal says, hugging his daughter, who only squirms under all the attention.

“Me! Me!” Addie reaches for the popper and takes it from my hands. She waves it around, propping herself up in the grass.

“That’s my girl,” Connor says, bending down to scoop her up in his massive arms. It still amazes me, seeing him hold her like that, with pure reverence in his eyes. “Already loves a good explosion.”

“Dada,” Addie says, pawing at her father’s face and mouth, making him laugh.

“You better not teach that girl how to shoot,” I say, elbowing him as Danielle and Cathal start giving Rowan her presents.

It’s a small gathering, only the core family. We’re out in the yard of the mansion on Malba, back on the edge of the water again. It took a while for the work crews to get the place in a livable state and it’s still not finished, but we moved back in a few weeks ago.

The halls still smell like smoke and sawdust. Sometimes I wonder if I can hear Colm laughing or taste his blood when I walk down the stairs.

But most days, it’s a stupid house.

“Give me that baby,” Rowan says, reaching out for Addie. My daughter squeals as Rowan props her up and gives her some cake. “Good, huh?”

“Rowie, come on, you should ask first,” Danielle says.

“It’s fine. Let the girl eat.” Connor kneels beside them and takes a piece for himself.

“Oh my god, is my son eating sugar right now?” Cathal looks at me in shock. “Who is this man?”

“I swear, a girl came out of me and it changed him forever.”

“Careful,” Connor says, looking up with a wicked smile. “Or else I’ll put another baby in that belly.”

“Oh my god, stop it,” Rowan says, hugging Addie. “It’s my birthday. I don’t want to hear anyone talk about making stupid babies. You excluded, lovie.”

“Me, me, me, me,” Addie says, her favorite word.

Lisa comes out to help slice what’s left of the post-toddler cake. She refills glasses and laughs at jokes. I don’t know what we’d do without her. The scar on her cheek is a living reminder of what she went through and how she earned every single cent of the obscene mid-six-figure salary she earns every year helping around the house.

The small celebration lasts for another hour or so until Cathal insists on driving back to their townhouse. “I keep saying we can get you a place around here,” Connor complains as they get into the car.

“And I keep saying the distance is good for everyone. See you tomorrow.”

Connor watches them drive off. Addie teeters around the front lawn and falls once right onto her butt. Connor scoops her into his arms and holds her tight.

“It’s cute, you know. How badly you want everyone under the same roof again.”

He scowls at me. “It’s not like that. I hate Dad moving around too much. You know his leg still bothers him.”

“Yeah, but you also miss it.”

“I can keep everyone safer if they’re together.” Connor carries his daughter back to the house. Men lurk at the edges of the property. Guards in black. They keep a respectful distance. We’re not at war, but my husband still insists on having protection at all times.

Back inside, Lisa takes the little girl to get changed. I sit in the kitchen and flip open my laptop, sliding glasses onto my nose. There are a few texts from Nadia and a gif making fun of Connor from Rowan on my phone.

“Don’t tell me you’re working.” Connor fills a glass of bourbon. “Angel, I keep saying you don’t need to do that.”

“I like my job.”

“It’s WashCo.” He tosses back the rest of the glass. “For fuck’s sake.”

“Someone’s got to do your books and it might as well be someone who knows how crooked they are.”

“Not a bad point.”

“Besides, I’d be bored out of my mind if I weren’t working.”

He grunts approval and kisses my neck. “You know, I was thinking. About earlier⁠—“

“No.”

“It’s good timing. We shouldn’t wait⁠—“

“Connor.”

“Baby, please.” He turns me to face him. “We’re ready.”

I look at the floor. He’s ready, that’s for sure, but I keep thinking about what happened last time. The eight-hour delivery. The swollen feet. The weight I could barely drop. I feel like I have my body back at last, and he wants me to do it all over again?

But he’s right. It’s time. It’s past time. I want to fill this big house with laughter and noise, and we can’t do that unless I’m pregnant.

“I’m afraid, that’s all.”

“I know.” He breathes out and kisses my cheek. “I’ll be here always. You know that.”

“You really think we can do it all over again?”

“Well, we might hire another Lisa.”

“Connor!”

“But yes, of course we can.” He kisses my lips. “I love you so much it fucking hurts. I want more of you. I want so much more. And that means a dozen babies rolling all over the place.”

“Can we settle on three?”

“That might be acceptable.”

I chew my thumbnail, check my phone, look at my computer, and groan. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine!”

“Fine.” He bites my lower lip. “Shall we get started?”

“No!” I push him back weakly. He nibbles at my ear. “Maybe. Ah, stop it!”

He laughs, gripping my ass. I wriggle from his hold as Lisa appears with Addie in tow. I take my daughter in my arms, dismiss the nanny for the night, and force Connor to come for a walk with us.

We’re trailed by three big men in dark suits, but that’s fine. Connor pushes the stroller and I hold onto his arm.

“You never told me, is Rowan definitely going to Blackwoods next year?”

Connor grunts his confirmation. “It’s not official yet, but that’s the plan.”

“Is she nervous?”

“Don’t know. I swear that girl’s turning into a difficult goddamn teenager.”

“I wonder where she gets it from.”

“Easy, angel.”

I look out at the water, smiling to myself. My baby babbles happily and my husband strolls by my side, a hulking and beautiful man, cooled and tempered by fatherhood, but nowhere near dimmed.

It’s good, living like this. I don’t know how I found this piece of myself after all that happened. I was so afraid of turning into my mother that I refused to let myself be myself.

I take care of people. That’s what I do. And now I have a husband and a daughter to dote on.

Why not make more?

“When we get home, I want you to knock me up.”

Connor tenses. “You’re serious?”

“We might as well enjoy the process.”

“Angel, you don’t know how happy that makes me.”

“The prospect of a baby? Or having sex without protection?”

“Both.” He pauses, lips curling. “Mostly the sex.”

“Bastard.” I slap his shoulder and we continue our stroll, and I’m anticipating what’s next, but I’m also content with what we have.

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PREVIEW: ARRANGED OBSESSION

Chapter One: Bianca

The ghost broke into my apartment again last night.

I almost didn’t notice it this time.

But I smell him. That’s my first clue. It’s always the same. Woodsy, smoky, strong, and masculine. I used to hate the way his scent would linger, but it’s grown on me over the years.

I have to look closely to figure out what he took. I walk around my apartment, letting my fingers drift over old records, half-burned candles, a small cat statue on a bookshelf, dying dried-out flowers left in a vase, until I figure it out.

My Chapstick is gone.

“Creepy choice, Mr. Ghost,” I say softly to myself, or maybe to him, I’m not even sure. It’s totally possible he can hear what I’m saying.

I mean, if he can break into the Marino Famiglia’s most guarded and important mansion basically whenever he wants to, what else can he do?

It’s not impossible that he’s watching and listening right now.

The thought would’ve sent me into a panic spiral when this all started. I remember waking up to mornings like this one, the ghost’s smell lingering in the air, and freaking out for hours. I told Papa, Adriano, the guards, anyone who would listen, but no matter how many security cameras they installed or men they had watching my room, there was never any sign of an intruder.

I saw therapists, psychologists, doctors, but none of that helped. There were weeks when I thought I was going insane.

My ghost kept coming, and he kept stealing.

Now, after all this time, I’ve come to accept it. It’s almost weirdly comforting in a way. Like a heavy thunderstorm or snow piling on a roof. Disconcerting and beautiful. Just part of nature.

Every time he takes something, it’s proof that I haven’t lost my fucking mind.

And he’s never hurt me. He’s never even shown himself. There’s only the smell and a missing object and never anything more.

I’ve had cameras filming me while I sleep, hidden microphones recording every sound in my room, dozens of high-end motion sensors protecting my floor, and he never once showed up.

At this point, he’s just a part of my life.

“Well, at least you’ll have moisturized lips,” I murmur as I go about my morning routine. I like to talk to my ghost sometimes. “It’s fine, you know. I have like ten dozen of those and I never finish them. Do you ever miss me when you don’t come for a few days? I miss you in a weird way. Maybe I have you all wrong. You’re not some evil ghost haunting me. Maybe you’re my guardian angel.”

But angels don’t steal pens, scrap paper, pieces of old mail, little marbles, playing cards, rubber bands, even a bottle of shampoo one time. Nothing expensive. Nothing important. Almost always something small.

No, my ghost probably isn’t an angel. He’s probably some creepy demon monster.

“You’re my creepy demon monster,” I say as I lift my coffee cup to my lips with a smile. “Isn’t that right, Ghost?”

My little suite is completely silent. There’s no answer, only his lingering smell. I breathe it in, smiling as it tingles in my nose, and give myself a sharp nod. “Time to start the day, Ghost. What should I wear? I’m thinking something black and comfortable…”

Grace House is a fifteen-minute walk from the mansion where I live with my brother Adriano and a whole fleet of guards and staff. I start feeling lighter and better the instant I’m out of that place, like the weight of what our family does for a living is totally oppressive when I’m under its roof. I stop for another coffee at a little shop around the corner, leave a nice tip for the barista, and smile to myself as I stroll along the hot sidewalk.

Philly in deep summer can be brutal. It’s not just the heat, but the absolutely stifling humidity. Sweat beads my back after two minutes, and I’m already regretting the walk.

But this is my habit. Even though Adriano said the Famiglia would happily give me a ride to Grace House every day, I refuse to take him up on that.

I don’t want to owe the family anything.

From the outside, people think I’m some spoiled rotten mafia princess. I can’t really blame them for making that assumption. I like designer clothes and nice things. I’m not proud of it, but I have a very mild addiction to retail therapy, and my closet reflects that terrible character defect.

But all my money comes from my personal trust. Mama established it for me back when I was a baby, and the cash has been growing every year in very good investments. I’m not rich, but I’m comfortable enough since I don’t have to pay for food or rent or anything like that.

I know how fortunate I am. I see it every single day in the eyes of the women who come through Grace House.

Desperate women taking enormous leaps outside of their comfort zones. Women who have been hurt, beaten, stalked, abused, gaslit, and attacked.

Some of them are so strong it kills me. And others need more help than they’re willing to admit.

I keep going to Grace House for them. Because I have so much, and I owe the world even more.

“Good morning, Jacque,” I say as I buzz myself in through the nondescript front door. There’s nothing but the word Grace chiseled in stone to let people know that this boring, gray structure is a sanctuary for any woman who needs it.

“Morning, Bianca.” Jacque smiles at me over his newspaper. He’s the full-time security guard, a nice white guy in his late fifties with a buzz cut and a bulldog attitude. He takes his job as seriously as everyone else in this place. “Kate said to send you to her office when you get in.”

“Everything okay?”

“Just had a few new guests arrive overnight.” He scowls and shakes his head. “Never stops.”

“That’s why we’re here. Have a good day.” He rings me through, and I step into the main welcome area.

Grace House isn’t beautiful. It doesn’t have the budget for fancy rooms, bright paintings, new furniture, anything like that.

This place is as utilitarian as it gets.

But to me, it’s perfect because it serves a purpose.

It saves lives.

And so much of my family is about ruining them. The Marino Famiglia takes and takes, but this is my way of trying to balance that out. Here at Grace House, I give everything I can. I give all of me, even when it fucking hurts. Like when a woman needed to talk about how her husband used to smack her with heated frying pans as a punishment for burning dinner, or the woman who was forced into sex work by her boyfriend so they could afford drugs, or the woman who appeared one night with an infant in her arms and a broken arm begging for help. Hearing the hell they’ve been through kills me. Sometimes I leave this place with a heavy soul.

But I keep coming back because they need me.

“There you are.” Kate Rodriguez stops in the hallway ahead of me. She’s a small, sturdy woman in her sixties with dark hair and a no-bullshit stare. Some people might call it resting bitch face, but I know it’s more like armor against the worst hell this world has to offer. “We’ve got to talk.”

“Everyone good?” I follow Kate into her cramped little office. It’s more like a closet with a desk, two chairs, and three filing cabinets. Papers and forms cover every surface. I can tell she’s been here since early, based on the three empty coffee cups, and she’ll be the last to leave later tonight.

“Had some new guests show up.”

“Jacque mentioned it.”

“There are a couple of kids. I was hoping you could babysit this afternoon while we do groups.”

“Happy to help.” I smile at her and lean back. “Kids like me.”

“You’re like a weird baby savant.”

“It’s all about patience and meeting them at their level.”

She purses her lips. “I’ve got three boys, and I’m telling you, their level is way too low for me.”

I laugh at that. Kate’s one of the most caring people I’ve ever met, but I can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up with her as a mother. Talk about tough love.

“Do you want me to do the usual cleaning first?”

She shakes her head. “Bathrooms aren’t bad. Maybe later if you find some time. I think the moms need a break, and these poor kids are having a tough time.”

“What’s the story?”

“The usual.” She glances down at an intake form in front of her. “Drunk husband beat her up for years. Then the kids came along, and he started to beat them up too.” She shakes her head. “I’ve gotta warn you. The little girl, she’s six years old, and I think her nose is broken.”

My fingers go cold and start to tingle. “He did that?”

“It’s why she left.”

“Did she call the police?”

“We’re working on it, don’t you worry.”

I nod once, jaw tightening. I hear a lot of awful things in this place, but kids getting hurt never fails to fuck me up. Which is probably good. If I’m ever numb to that, I’ll probably have to quit for my own sanity. At least I know I’ve still got my soul intact.

“I hope that piece of shit rots.” I push back from her desk and stand. “Anything else you need?”

“Nope, just the kids for now. You’re my favorite volunteer, you know that?”

“Better be. I’ve been hanging around here for too long now.”

“You’ll get sick of us one of these days.”

I give her my best smile. Even if I’m hurting inside, I can grin straight in the face of hell and keep on going. Because no matter what happens, Grace House is my penance; it’s the penance my whole family deserves. It’s small, but it’s something, and I won’t ever quit, not unless I’ve got no other choice.

“Doubt it. I just love singing nursery rhymes and cleaning toilets way too much to walk away.”

I’m drained six hours later. My back hurts from stooping down and picking up little Jennie and chasing after her little sister, Tracie. Those girls were adorable but an absolute handful. I could tell their mother needed a little break, though, and it was my pleasure to give those girls a little normalcy for a few hours. We went for a walk, got ice cream, watched a movie together in the rec room, and did some crafts. My fingers are sticky with glue.

“They’re gonna saint you one of these days, you mark my words,” Jacque says as I head out through the small front lobby.

“Doubt it. Pretty sure only good people get that honor.”

“You’d be surprised!”

I wave and step out into the late afternoon. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight. I look down and pause, surprised to find my brother Adriano leaning against a car parked halfway down the block. He waves at me as I slowly approach.

“I thought we agreed to no rides?”

He shrugs slightly. Adriano’s a big guy with dark hair and our father’s sharp looks. Most girls thought he was handsome growing up, which always drove me crazy. He took over as the Don of the Marino Famiglia two years ago, and he’s been growing the organization like crazy ever since.

Life’s been prosperous for this little mafia crew.

Which is good and bad. Mostly bad for the world, but great for us.

“I thought it’d be nice to spend some time with my sister.”

My eyebrows raise. “The Don himself, gracing me with his presence? I always thought you were too busy.”

“Never too busy for family.” His smile is charming, and I almost believe it.

“Seriously, Adriano, what’s up?”

“Can’t I just want to see you? And we can leave it at that for a little while?”

“Look, if I’m going to get punched in the face, I want to get it over with. Don’t draw it out. Why are you here?”

He sighs and gestures at the car. “Get in. We need to talk.”

“Business or personal?”

“Let’s call it both.”

That leaves a stone in my gut. I hesitate and glance back toward Grace House. There are so many women in there, too many if I’m honest, and they’re all suffering in their own ways.

While my life is easy. I have a personal suite in a massive mansion and plenty of money to buy me whatever I need. I’ve been given a lot of leeway over the years and basically allowed to use my time however I want without any obligations to the Famiglia. It’s an extremely rare privilege in this life, and I’ve taken advantage of it for a while.

But for some reason, I feel like that’s all about to change.

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ALSO BY BB HAMEL

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