Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Philadelphia

Alfie Scott

“ T rip! Ellie! It’s time to go!” I hollered, hurrying down the stairs. Once in the hallway, I stood in front of the mirror and tied my useless fucking tie.

“Five more minutes, Daddy!” Ellie yelled back.

I chuckled under my breath and smoothed down my shirt. That girl—fuck. She had a counterproposal to everything. Eat your greens; only two of them. Time to brush your teeth; after this episode. Bath time; I’ll do it twice tomorrow.

Trip, on the other hand… He was eight, going on forty-eight. I heard him pause outside his sister’s room upstairs.

“We’ll be late for Dad’s,” he said. “We promised last time we wouldn’t be late today, and I want to go in the pool before it gets dark.”

Ellie groaned in her usual “Why are you the way you are?” kind of way.

I smiled to myself and put on my shoes. I guessed I was riding a high after this week. Summer break meant constant fun and more adventures. We’d been to a water park, we’d finished decorating the roof deck, we’d had ice cream every day… And now the dreaded Friday was here.

I fucking hated it.

Seconds later, the kids came down the stairs, Ellie with approximately fourteen sparkly clips in her hair, Trip clutching a few books.

Their backpacks waited by the door. One dark blue, one pink with a million little hearts in various colors.

Ellie scrunched her nose at me and giggled. “You look so weird in a tie.”

Don’t I fucking know it, baby girl.

“You say that every Friday I drop youse off,” I replied. “Let’s go, my little acid trip.”

“What’s an acid trip?” she asked curiously.

“Something I won’t explain to a six-year-old,” I said, handing her her shoes. “Did you pack the drawing for Daddy?”

“I did it for her, because she was going to stuff it in her backpack before the glitter had dried,” Trip said. “For the record, glitter is the worst. It gets everywhere.”

“I hear ya, buddy.” I ruffled his hair and combed it back with my fingers. Time for a haircut, I reckoned.

Soon enough, we were ready to go, and I activated the alarm and locked up.

One of the many perks of my job was the parking spot I had right in front of our stoop. Never having to look for parking when you got home…? Heaven.

“Hi, Unicorny!” Ellie had named my new car…

I suspected her favorite feature was the built-in screen in the back of my headrest.

I made sure they were buckled in before I made my way around and got in behind the wheel. My favorite feature was the safety. There was a fine line between an SUV and a tank, and Unicorny was dancing all over it. Bullet-resistant glass, check. The ability to turn a sports car into a postage stamp, check.

“You guys hungry?” I peeled out of the parking spot and looked forward to two seconds of easy driving before we hit rush-hour traffic. It was going to be mayhem until we got closer to Ardmore. “I heard you’re having tacos for dinner.”

Drop-off day was the only time West and I made an effort to send a few texts to each other, in order to smooth out the transfer. Today, we’d covered dinner plans and an agreement that Ellie’s stomach issues disappeared when we made her our own bread—recipe courtesy of my mother. The flour was split into three kinds: whole wheat, almond, and flaxseed.

“Yay, tacos!” Ellie cried out.

“Love the taste, not a fan of eating with my hands,” Trip responded decisively.

I snorted quietly and slowed down for a red light. I missed my little boy sometimes. The adorable klutz who’d earned his nickname. It wouldn’t surprise me if he asked us to call him Tanner soon. He was growing up faster than any other kid in my life.

Since we had adopted him when he was four, it sometimes felt like we’d missed out on the kid part. He’d had some trauma to recover from too, and our focus had been on making him as comfortable as possible. And then, slowly but surely, as his nightmares faded and therapy was no longer necessary, the tiny adult made an appearance.

We’d never had to remind him to finish his vegetables, that was for sure.

We had one trick up our sleeves when it came to luring out the child in Trip. He loved swimming and splashing around in the water. At this point, we’d visited most of the water parks along the East Coast. Before and after the divorce.

I was always jealous when I heard West had taken them to a park, and I was sure he was too, when I’d taken them. In addition, West had a fucking swimming pool. I couldn’t really compete with that.

The only thing I’d moved on from—genuinely—since the divorce two years ago was that fucking house. I’d never been a fan of suburbia life, even less so in these affluent neighborhoods where men played golf and made money and the women’s sole focus was holding the family together.

Now, having cranked it up a notch or two at work, I could afford the good life too. I mean, I had a nice rowhouse and a parking spot to my name, and we were in a good area in Center City. I still wanted that city life. The nearest steak needed to be a short walk down the street. I wanted to be able to walk from the pub. I wanted countless restaurants close by. I wanted the city energy. Just…maybe less littering. I fucking hated people who threw shit on the ground. They were right up there with murderers and politicians.

I pulled into the driveway and parked next to West’s Mercedes, and the kids jumped out. They ran for the door, both forgetting their backpacks.

I grabbed them and braced myself for my weekly West spotting.

Motherfucker.

The front lawn could be a golf green. There was even a tiny fountain at the center with a stone path around it. Flower beds and little trees. Perfectly trimmed hedges. A gardening service that came once a month.

The house itself was a modest monstrosity, if such a thing existed. Luxury on a slightly smaller scale. The second floor had a balcony, with its two pillars coming down to flank the front door. Everything was white and pristine, and the backyard was made for mingling and bullshit like that.

A few times, I’d heard from the kids when West hosted wine mixers and charity events.

I suppressed a sigh as West opened the door, immediately attacked with hugs.

“Hi, Daddy—we’re not late!” Ellie climbed him like a tree.

West chuckled warmly and squeezed them both tightly. “It’s so good to have you home, sweethearts.”

My home is their home too, douchebag.

I wished I could let go of him. I’d done fucking everything in my power to be the man he deserved—and I was still trying, to an extent. But, nada. He’d pulled the plug. We kept shit civil in front of our children, but the moment they left the room, I could tell he was looking for the nearest exit.

I let them get the hallway catch-up out of the way, with both kids rambling about the week we’d had, and West soaked it up and wordlessly grabbed the backpacks from me.

I stood on the doormat. I rarely walked farther. From here, I could spy the kitchen to the right, the den to the left, and the stairs in the center. The door to Ellie’s room on the second floor was visible, and it was filled with her drawings and her name.

Just like at my place, the walls here had plenty of pictures. Most traces of me had been taken down, except for two photos, and they meant nothing. It was a literal agreement between the two of us. Our kids needed to see us as friends, as a united front, so we’d decided to keep a couple things. He’d kept two family photos I was in, and I’d put up one photo of him and Trip in my living room. Plus, I put on the morning show he was the producer of on the weekends I had the kids. It did them good to see I was “watching Daddy’s show.”

I didn’t watch, for the record. I had it on in the background. And it wasn’t like he was a host or anything. If his face had appeared on-screen, I would’ve picked another way to torture myself.

“Can I get a hug before you disappear, kiddos?” I asked.

“Duh!” Ellie ran over and jumped into my arms, and I was quick to hug her.

This part fucking sucked.

I closed my eyes briefly and breathed her in.

One week. I’ll see you in one week.

“…and then Grandma and Grandpa will be here tomorrow evening,” West was saying.

“Okay, but I can stay in my room and read, right?” Trip asked to make sure.

“Of course,” West chuckled. “I might join you.”

Trip snickered.

I smooched Ellie’s cheek and reluctantly let her back down. “Love you, baby.”

“I love you the mostest!” she sang. “Bye, Daddy!”

“Bye, honey.” I forced a smile on my face and swallowed the emotions that threatened to resurface like clockwork every other Friday. Trip was next, and he came in for a hug too. I squeezed him and kissed the top of his head. “I love you, son. I’ll see you next Friday.”

“Love you too, Dad.” He smiled up at me. “Will you get my pillow from Nonna and Pop-Pop before, or should I bring the one I have here?”

“I’ll pick it up on Tuesday,” I said with a nod. “Nonna promised me lasagna then.”

He gasped. “Save me a piece?”

“Always.” I grinned and watched him fist-pump the air, but almost subtle-like, and then he grabbed his backpack and jogged up the stairs.

I bet he was going to give his pillow a big hug. The li’l lad was obsessed with memory foam.

“Dinner’s ready in five, kids!” West called up the stairs.

“Okay!”

They shut the doors to their rooms, and our reasons for being in the same room once a week were gone. Time for me to leave.

“Have a good week,” I said, opening the door.

“Alfie—a moment, please.” West walked ahead of me, to my surprise, and stopped right outside. “I need to tell you something, and I don’t want you to hear it from them.”

I lifted a brow. It was best to keep eye contact to a minimum. West was always going to be the man in fitted pullovers and slacks, if he wasn’t wearing a suit, and my reaction to him was evidently always going to be the same too. My whole fucking body screamed for his. The comfort and sturdiness he’d represented. Always so solid, tall, warm, and caregiving.

Until he’d grown cold and said we were done.

He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head. A few more streaks of silver had appeared lately.

“My parents are watching the kids tomorrow night,” he said. “Knowing my mother, she’ll probably say too much, and I—” He stopped with a sigh. “I have a date. That’s all.”

No.

Please fucking don’t.

I clenched my jaw and averted my stare as I broke all over again. My chest suddenly felt tight, from one breath to the next, and I couldn’t fucking believe it. I mean, I could—I’d waited for this day, knowing it would come sooner or later. But my fucking God, it hurt. Holy shite, I needed to go. Stat.

“Got it.” I nodded once and started making my way back to my car.

Run. Escape. Hide. Cry. Fall apart where no one can see.

He was officially moving on. Maybe he already had. Who knew how many one-nighters he’d had the past two years—although, that wasn’t his MO. But whatever. He had a date. He was getting out there. One day, he’d introduce someone to our kids?—

Fuck me, I was gonna be sick.

Nausea crawled up my throat, and I hurried to the car.

“Is that it?” West asked. “We once said we’d discuss things when we met someone.”

“Ain’t fuckin’ nothing to discuss,” I snapped over my shoulder.

I unlocked the car and got in behind the wheel, and I noticed my fingers were trembling. Rage and jealousy and despair, emotions all too familiar for me. And now the day was here. Fuck Fridays, cunt-ass motherfucking shite.

I saw West’s expression as I started the engine, arms wide, eyes flashing with disbelief, so I rolled down the windows and backed out.

“Are you honestly leaving?” he called. “You’re clearly upset!”

I backed out of the driveway and laughed humorlessly. “Nah, I’m thrilled! I hope you and Whatshisface ride off into the sunset together!” I legit flipped him off. I wasn’t sure I’d given anyone the finger since high school.

West could not look more incredulous. “Alfie, what the hell!”

“Yeah, go there and rot! Piece’a shit!” I gnashed my teeth, stepped on the gas, and rolled up the windows again.

Oh my God, I wanted to kill someone. Maybe the motherfucker West had asked out. Had they fucked already? He’d been old-school with me. I’d suggested he rail me in the alley behind the bar I’d worked at, and he’d sort of blanched. Then he’d demanded he take me to dinner first.

Perhaps that was why this hurt so fucking much. West was all heart, and he didn’t go very far until he was ready to go the distance.

I sniffled and realized my vision was too blurry, so I angrily wiped at my cheeks and blinked back the tears. Well, too late to take anything back. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I punched the steering wheel and let the fury burst out of me.

As if on cue, my phone rang, and I picked it up and saw it was West.

I let it go to voice mail and drove past Trip’s school before I started ignoring the speed limit.

“Fuck you, you fucking cunt!” I yelled.

Did this qualify as road rage?

More like ex-husband rage.

He’d made me fall for him, he’d promised me forever, he’d seduced every goddamn part of me, he’d fucking asked me to marry him, we’d adopted kids together…and then he’d also dumped me, divorced me, and now he was moving on with someone else.

Fuck him so fucking hard.

I sniffled again and tugged off my tie, and I threw it in the back seat. When I got home, I was gonna fucking burn it.

That was the end of that charade.

Never again was I gonna make myself more respectable for his sake. That tiny flame I’d protected in a remote corner of my heart had been snuffed out. We were never gonna find our way back to each other. I had no reason to keep his name anymore, and it hurt so damn much. I’d thought—I’d hoped … Aw, fuck it.

I wiped at my cheeks again.

My phone dinged with a message next, and I couldn’t help myself. I opened the text.

I can’t believe you stormed off like an unhinged maniac, Alfie. Can you come back here so we can talk about this in a civilized manner? I had no idea this would upset you so much.

Unhinged? He didn’t know the half of it. He’d never seen me unhinged.

At ten PM, I did something I’d never done before. I walked into Mick’s pub by Reading Terminal when I knew full well that my boss would be there with plenty of associates.

It was a loud Irish bar, packed with people and live music, and I was here to renegotiate some work terms.

The way I’d grown up, and where, I had always been aware of the Sons of Munster, the organized crime syndicate that ran our city and parts of Chicago. Two families had joined forces way back when; they’d left Ireland when the famine had been at its worst, and they’d come here. The Murrays and the O’Sheas.

Philly was the O’Shea stronghold, while the majority of the Murrays lived in the Midwest. Smaller factions had operated in other places over the years, mostly temporarily, like in Jersey, Miami, and Boston. Dublin and London were their overseas counterparts.

Ever since I was little, Ma had warned me about them. Don’t befriend them, don’t get too close, don’t argue with them, don’t let them recruit you . Which was funny coming from her. She’d once been involved in the way only low-income women could. As a mistress to a connected fucker.

I’d kept my promise and my distance for a long time, despite that we’d gone to the same church on Sundays as many of the O’Sheas. I’d watched them. I’d convinced myself I hated them…

Then I’d taken a couple college classes after high school, and I’d met Kellan Ford.

We were the same age, kind of; he was technically a year older, only because he was a December baby, and I’d been my mom’s Valentine’s arrival a couple months later. And…I’d been unable to see the harm in befriending Kellan. Like, I’d known from the start that he was full of shit and mobster lies, but he’d also been full of charm, humor, and, occasionally, my dick. At least his mouth—and that was the only way to shut him up. We were equally bossy, cocky, and strictly into older tops. But we’d had time to waste, and a willing hole was a willing hole.

We’d become unlikely buddies, and for some reason, we’d always stayed in touch, even when I’d moved to LA.

These days, while my older top had divorced me, Kellan had married his.

He was blissed the fuck out and living the dream.

He was also my boss and the right-hand man to Finnegan O’Shea, who ran the entire organization.

If Ma knew I’d taken a job with Kellan, she’d flip her lid and smack the crap out of me.

I was being careful, though.

I made my way through the crowd that surrounded the bar on three sides, and I aimed for the booths in the back where Kellan usually hung out.

He’d be shocked to see me.

But fuck it. I didn’t need to keep a low profile for my personal life’s sake anymore. Trust, I’d keep my promise to my mother somewhat; as in, don’t get too close. I wasn’t going to. But another step or two wouldn’t hurt.

The sea of people parted when I was a few feet away, and sure enough—Kellan sat there with six others. I’d only ever met two of them. Red Mikey was here, and so was Max.

I’d met Shannon, too, of course. Kellan’s husband. Also Finnegan’s father and an adviser in the syndicate.

Finnegan was the youngest boss the Sons had ever seen. He was just a year older than me at thirty-one, but he’d already been married for a while, and he had, like, five kids.

Kellan spotted me, and immediately, his eyebrows went up.

I smirked.

“Get the fuck out! What’re you doin’ here, mate?” He grinned and rose to his feet, quick to shake my hand and give my shoulder a squeeze. He leaned in close and spoke in my ear. “If you’re shooting for subtle, this ain’t it.”

I chuckled. “It’s all good. Can I buy you a pint? I’d like to have a word if you have time.”

“Pint’s on me, and I can spare twenty minutes,” he replied. He let out a sharp whistle at one of the guys. “Bring two pints to the table, and then all’a youse can take a break. Scatter.”

They obeyed faster than I’d obeyed my Sunday school teacher, and I’d been terrified of her.

I sat down next to Kellan, and I tried to come up with the right words.

“So this is a new experience,” he said with a grin. “Remember back in the day, like four years ago, when you swore you’d never get involved?”

He loved to throw that in my face.

Fucker.

“I hope Shan gags you tonight,” I replied.

“Fuck, so do I.” He scratched his eyebrow and threw an absent glance at the crowd. “I don’t need to remind you that we don’t discuss our personal lives on the job, right?”

“No.” Hint taken. I knew he was a private guy—and I only knew him well because we hadn’t gotten to know each other through the organization. Kellan’s associates knew he was married, and most knew he was gay. He would never hide that. But he didn’t flaunt shit either, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he came home to a husband and not a wife. He just didn’t discuss his personal life with people who weren’t invited to family dinners.

“So what brings you outta your bat cave?” he asked.

I blew out a breath and rested my arms on the table. The ink around my wrists was visible, and in a knee-jerk reaction, I almost tugged down the sleeves of my shirt. But I reminded myself I didn’t have to do that anymore.

I felt like a fucking idiot to think back on all the nights I’d pondered how I could win back West. I mean, in my day-to-day life, when I didn’t have the kids, I’d been moving in the opposite direction. I’d acted as if I’d long since lost him. I’d taken a job no upstanding citizen would approve of. I’d gotten tattoos and I smoked again, something that wouldn’t look good at one of West’s wine mixers.

I’d never fit in where he did.

I’d bargained with myself on lonely nights. Maybe I could break it to West slowly. Reveal the ink first, then admit I hadn’t quit smoking, then mention I made extra money “doing some shit” for a mate.

It was so fucking juvenile.

First of all, West wouldn’t care if I had ink. He’d liked me when I’d cursed too much—when I’d been crude and less…polished. It was mostly his family. But even so, not even West would approve of what I did for a living.

And now, I didn’t have to give a fuck.

“I want in,” I said.

Kellan didn’t make a single face. He tilted his head a little and showed he was listening, and that was all. Not the slightest twitch of his eyebrows.

“Not like everyone else, maybe, just… I think I can be of more use,” I went on. “You don’t gotta hide me like before.”

Because that had been our deal since I’d started working for him when we’d moved back from LA. I handled Kellan’s work phone. I scheduled his sit-downs and responded to texts and calls. I’d learned their codes and knew every name that belonged to someone important enough. Hundreds of associates and affiliates. Some freelancers too.

My only stipulation so far had been that I could work from home, without ever having to meet any of these mobsters on a regular basis. And also, a legit employment that looked good on paper. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to explain how I could afford my house, my car, any of it.

This had worked for us for a few years now. Red Mikey had been the errand boy at first, stopping by to pick up messages and whatnot from time to time. And then he’d been promoted. He ran his own crew now. So Max had taken over. He was younger and eager to work his way up. But mostly, I just met up with Kellan.

“Do you have ambitions?” Kellan asked.

I felt my forehead wrinkle, and before I could ask what he meant, one of Kellan’s guys returned with our beer.

“Cheers.” I nodded with a dip of my chin.

Kellan held out a pack of smokes, and I furrowed my brow.

He smoked in here?

He grinned faintly. “Don’t worry about it. Someone complains, we pay the fine. End’a story.”

I chuckled and accepted a smoke. “How many fines have you paid?”

He scratched his nose. “Been a month or two now. But every now and then, some motherfucker comes in and coughs loudly and tells the staff. Asthmatic fuckin’ tourists—they don’t know Mick’s AC unit is better than the ones in the casinos in Vegas.”

I barked out a laugh and shook my head.

Oh man, I needed that laugh.

Screw it. I wasn’t gonna try to be the good guy anymore. I lit up my smoke and went with it.

Sorry, Ma. Identity crisis inbound.

“What did you mean by ambitions?” I asked.

He shrugged. “You got any goals? You wanna climb ranks or what? You wanna run a crew one day, become an adviser, network with people?”

Oh.

Fuck no.

“I like my sidelines position,” I told him. “I like my tasks too. I’m just sayin’, you don’t gotta come by my house or meet up with me anymore. I can come to you and…I don’t know. Show my face more. Be here—or wherever you’d want me.”

He turned pensive and blew out smoke from his nose.

Unlike me, he dressed sharply because that was his comfort level. He was a man of many suspenders. Expensive brands, tailored pants and shirts, shined shoes, the whole nine yards. Shannon O’Shea was similar. They always dressed up.

I was a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy, and Kellan knew that. He was an excellent people reader. He’d studied human behavior and psychology, and it was what made him great at his job. He knew how to handle people from all walks of life. Including me. He wouldn’t hire me to do something that made me miserable, because he knew I would quit.

I took a swig of my beer and flicked some ashes into a basket that’d once held fries. I hoped nobody wanted the last two.

“What prompted this?” he asked next.

I could be honest with him.

“West met someone.”

Fuck, that tasted bitter.

Deep breaths.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He sat forward a little and furrowed his brow. “Did you genuinely believe you’d work shit out?”

The question I’d been volleying back and forth all afternoon.

I sighed. “Part of me did, part of me didn’t. I guess it was mostly hope. We’ve done it once before.”

We’d been on the verge of breaking up around the time we’d left LA to return to Philly, but we’d managed to work things out. Although, in retrospect, we’d been so focused on making Trip feel at home with us at the time, that…maybe the relationship had been fixed temporarily solely because we’d aced the parent gig together. After that, it’d been a slow descent into misery.

To this day, West claimed I’d lost myself in the move. Actually, we’d started fighting about this before we’d left LA. He said I’d changed too much. I’d been like, excuse me for growing up…? What did he expect, that I was gonna be a part-time bartender my whole life? Or that I was gonna book modeling gigs to pay rent? No thanks. Especially not when my husband came from some fancy family that judged me whenever we visited.

They’d never liked me. West’s dad had his own reasons too. Most of them just thought I was a hood rat. So be it. I wasn’t ashamed of my upbringing. My folks had done everything they could. But that fucking guy… West’s old man was a retired FBI agent, and he’d already looked me up before our first visit.

Kellan took another drag from his smoke and scratched his chin. “Here’s the thing, Alfie. I don’t think it’s wise to include you more if this is a decision you’re making based on hurt, and?—”

“It’s more than that,” I said. “I’m fuckin’ tired of the bullshit. I’ve been hiding a part of who I am in one way or another since I was a kid, and at least I can stop worrying about West now.”

He cocked his head, interested. “What’ve you been hiding, other than your affiliations?”

My affiliations . My actual relation to the Sons. I’d never told West, and I’d never told Kellan.

Three people knew. My parents and West’s father.

Question now was, did I tell my buddy?

Fuck, the thought actually made me nervous, because that hadn’t been the plan coming here tonight.

“I’ll make it simple for you,” he said. “Is there anything I should know?”

That didn’t make shit simple at all.

Well…simple, but not easy.

Goddammit, he should know.

“Probably,” I admitted. I took a final drag from my smoke and stubbed it out under my shoe before it joined the leftover fries. Then I chugged half my beer.

“Then you tell me before we move forward,” he stated.

Fuck.

“I thought you could only spare twenty minutes.” I knew he had a sit-down later, though he might cancel.

He chuckled. “Shan can wait a few minutes extra. I’ll make it up to him.”

Bet.

I rubbed my forehead and heard Ma yell in my head.

Don’t you dare, boy!

Sorry, Ma.

I released a big breath. “I wasn’t born O’Dwyer,” I said. “My dad is my stepdad in technical terms.” But he was my dad. I loved that man. He’d raised me. He’d been my hero for as long as I could remember.

Kellan frowned.

I cleared my throat. “My mother was the mistress of a Son, and he paid her to make sure I was kept far away from the syndicate. He didn’t want me near his other kid and his wife and whatever.”

His mind started running. I could tell by the way his gaze flickered and how he knitted his brows together.

“But we’ve discussed this before,” he replied. “It’s a miracle you and I didn’t run into each other before college. We grew up in the same neighborhood.”

Not so much a miracle. I’d avoided them all.

I shrugged. “I went to a shittier school, and we moved. The only place we shared was church. She refused to go to another one.”

“And your biological father agreed?”

“He must’ve.”

He hummed and folded his arms over his chest. “So the million-dollar question, Alfie. Who’s your daddy?”

I snorted, unable to help it, even though the thought of answering put a noose around my throat.

“Don’t tell me it’s Shannon. He’d never go the mistress route.”

“Fuck no!” The notion was laughable. Even outsiders knew the image that the O’Sheas had projected all those years ago. Before Shannon and Kellan got together in a fucking mess I didn’t even understand or have the details of, Shannon had been married to Grace. They’d had two sons. Finnegan and Patrick. And Grace had been a big part of our church community. To the point where I could remember her from when I’d been four or five.

Grace had been murdered several years ago, though.

“It’s not an O’Shea,” I said. “Can that be enough?”

“An O’Shea associate?” he guessed. “There are countless old crew bosses who could fit the bill.”

I shook my head. I really had to spell it out? For the record, my biological father probably had countless bastards out there. According to my mom, she hadn’t been his only side piece.

“I would prefer if we left it at that,” I said. “I’m not the eldest son or anything, so I don’t pose a threat to anyone whatsoever. And I swear, I have no interest in making a name for myself in the syndicate. I wanna make more money and see some action. That’s all.”

Kellan closed his eyes and began rubbing at his temples. “You’d be surprised at what threat younger sons can pose too, mate. You gotta tell me who it is.”

It was official. I had regrets.

I shouldn’t have come here tonight.

I should’ve stayed home and cried into my ice cream.

Here goes.

“John Murray,” I said.

He stared at me for a beat, maybe two or three seconds, before he closed his eyes again and scrubbed his hands over his face.

I’d known it wasn’t going to be great news, but it was better than someone who was close to the O’Sheas, wasn’t it? The Murrays lived in Chicago, for chrissakes. John had kept a mistress around for the times he’d visited; that was all. Besides, he’d retired. That was the last I’d heard. A lot of shit had gone down a few years ago, and it’d ended John’s reign. Finn had taken over, and John was no longer active in the syndicate.

“Of course it’s John.” Kellan’s voice had dropped, so I barely heard him over the music. “When is it not him causing problems?”

I frowned. “I don’t see why this is an issue. I’m not looking to expand my family or nothin’. We’ll keep this to ourselves—and you know you can trust me, Ford.”

“I can, but…” He sighed heavily and threw a tired glare at a couple who danced too close to our table. “This is one of those things I gotta tell Finn.”

“ Why ?” Why the fuck ?

“Because it’s blood, Alfie,” he snapped. He wasn’t mad per se, but this was definitely a short-fuse situation. “Do you realize Finn is your actual cousin? Grace—his mom —was John’s baby sister.”

I—

I mean, sure, kind of, but I’d never thought of Finnegan that way.

“For fuck’s sake, my husband is your uncle,” he laughed through a groan. “In all the years we’ve known each other, man…!”

“It doesn’t make us family, and it doesn’t give me any claim,” I replied firmly. “Look, if this is gonna turn into some big thing, I’ll just back down. Forget I said anything. Either I’ll stick to what I’ve been doing all along, or I walk away. Your choice.”

I’d really hate to walk away. No other job would allow me to afford a rowhouse in central Philly.

“It’s not my choice.” He shook his head and pocketed his pack of smokes. “I take it you don’t have the kids this week?”

“No, I dropped them off at West’s today.”

He nodded and rose to his feet. “I’mma head home. You can expect a call from me in a day or two. Work continues as usual until I’ve talked to Finn. He’ll likely wanna meet you and make sure you’re not a threat.”

I sat back, shock coursing through me. “Do you think I’m a threat?”

“No.” At least he was firm on that. “Not for a second. And I’ll convince him too. But this changes shit whether you like it or not. You have a big brother who’s the boss in Chicago right this second. You’re very close to the top.”

I’d heard of him too, of course. Liam Murray.

“Furthermore, we need fresh blood,” Kellan said. He gestured for me to follow him, so I took another swig of my beer and assumed I was leaving. “I’d actually like to have you by my side at work.” He raised his voice so the music didn’t drown it out. “We have too many youngsters making snap decisions that land them in prison.”

“What do you mean?”

He waited to respond until we were outside, and he walked a few paces to get away from the smokers near the entrance.

“You know about Liam, I take it,” he said.

“Most of the higher-ups have their own Wikipedia pages. What do you think?”

He chuckled. “Right. You’ve heard about Alec and Nessa too, then?”

Not from Wikipedia but from Kellan himself.

“I know who they are.” Liam’s younger siblings. Not mine.

He nodded once and pulled out his phone. “Well, Alec pulled some shit in an attempt to impress Finn and Liam, and now he’s gonna serve five years for it.”

“Jesus. You really do recruit ’em young.”

He snorted as he texted someone. “He’s over eighteen, and nobody needed to recruit that little gobshite. He’s been itching to be initiated since he was thirteen.” He peered down the busy street and squinted at something. “My ride’s here.” He glanced back at me. “Cancel my ten forty-five, yeah? Reschedule to next week.”

“No problem. But are we good?” I had to know.

He smirked and clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re the right person to come forward as one of presumably dozens of John’s side-piece kids. My hope is to get you a better position, and I think Finn will agree with me. Our syndicate is at peace for the first time in decades, and we won’t waste that. You’re an asset, mate.”

Fuck, that was a relief. I took a deep breath and nodded.

Maybe this could work out after all.

An SUV pulled up, and I spotted Max behind the wheel. How long had he been circling since Kellan told him to take a break?

“I’ll call you tomorrow or on Sunday,” Kellan repeated and opened the door. “We’re heading out to Finn’s for breakfast tomorrow, so depending on if I get him alone or not…”

“Okay. As long as I don’t wake up with cement shoes at some point. My kids kinda like me.”

He laughed and got in the car. “You think so little of us and still wanna get more involved?”

A step or two. I’d never be initiated. I had a feeling I knew what that entailed. Same level of terrible as littering.