Chapter 1

Noah~

T ears and spittle were everywhere, but those kinds of theatrics came with the job. Soon, piss and shit would join the party, but that was also something that I'd gotten desensitized to ages ago. It was also stupid for anyone to believe that they were going to leave this place alive once things reached this point. You only fucked over the O'Briens once; we never gave you a chance to do it a second time.

See, the lovely state of Maryland was running rampant with organized crime, though no one would ever guess when hearing someone speak of the lovely state. To the outside world, Maryland was fodder for postcards and picturesque scenery, but only genuine natives knew the truth. Three criminal syndicates ran the state, and they all hailed out of Port Townsend. New York and New Jersey were close enough that business was good, and with Maryland having a coastline, airports on the state line, and corruptible government officials, our American Dream was very real and very profitable.

Now, a couple of years ago, Port Townsend had been shared by four criminal families: the O'Briens, Sartoris, Kotovs, and Schultz's. At the time, we'd all had our own little piece of the pie, our territories clearly marked. However, a while back, Emil Schultz had been stupid enough to go after Nero Sartori's wife, and in return, Nero had wiped out Emil's entire organization, then had been business savvy enough to share the spoils of war with the rest of us.

So, with Emil Schultz out of the picture, Maryland was controlled by the Italians, the Russians, and the Irish. The Sartoris owned the coastline and ports, we had the northern borders with access to the interstate airports, and the Kotovs had the rest. Statistically speaking, we were the smaller of the syndicates, the Sartoris outnumbering both us and the Russians, and the Russians outnumbering us. However, the Russians were too unstable for us to ever get into bed with, so joining them to take out the Sartoris would be suicide. Once the Sartoris were out of the picture, Avgust Kotov would turn on Declan in a heartbeat. There was also the fact that we had an unofficial truce at the moment, and with as much money as it was making for all of us, it was best to keep things that way.

Of course, people had a lot of opinions on organized crime, and while a lot of people liked to refer to us as the Irish Mob, we weren't as rigid as the Italians or as violent as the Russians, though that was an arguable point. Nonetheless, where the Italians had a Boss, and where the Russians had a Pahkan, we had Declan, and the O'Brien syndicate was run as a family-first business. While it wasn't unheard of for the Irish to agree to arranged marriages, it wasn't something that we did often. The lasses in our families weren't bargaining chips like they were in Italian families. Yeah, there was no denying that the Italians were extremely organized, but they were also so power-hungry that they'd plot to murder one of their own just to advance up the ranks.

As for the Russians, they also had a pretty strong hierarchy, but they were unhinged in a way that the Italians weren't. For all that we were in the twenty-first century, the Russians still carried the old ways with them that were different from our own traditions. While I had no problem bringing back the guillotine, the Russians had no problem having Christmas dinner next to the damn thing, headless body and all.

Nevertheless, the one thing that we all had in common was the absolute power that we wielded, and we took betrayal very seriously, something that you could ask all our enemies if any of them had been alive to ask. When you were the head of any kind of crime family, weakness wasn't an option, and every syndicate had its leader and its butchers to make sure that their leader remained in power. For us, Declan was our leader, and he was a damn good one, having taken over from my uncle years ago.

Now, if I had to describe my cousin, it would be that he was ruthless but sensible. Declan usually liked to assess a situation before acting, and his power wasn't so corrupted that he refused to kick around ideas or solutions with the rest of us. While we had a bunch of soldiers and associates in the O'Brien organization, it was run by family only, and if we had ‘Capos', then they'd be Declan's brothers, Desmond, James, Cathal, and Kevin, plus a few others. Cathal was our butcher, Kevin was our brains, and Desmond and James were the space in between those two. Granted, like all brothers, they got on each other's nerves often, but when it came down to the brass tacks, there was no doubting anyone's loyalty.

That could also have to do with Declan's grandfather having started our business ventures. Declan and I were related through our mothers, and that was how my brothers, Lochlan and Aran, and I had come into the fold. When Declan's parents, Cormac and Nessa O'Brien, had finally given up the reins, our generation had stepped up to take over. Of course, that'd been around the same time that my own parents, Sean and Riona Murphy, had chosen to ‘retire' themselves, so it had ended up working out for everyone involved.

Now, thirty-five years later, Riona Murphy was done being a stay-at-home mother to three boys and now had grandchildren to fill her time, and Sean Murphy had hung up his hat to spend time with my mam and their grandkids. Though my mam was still pissed at me for being single, Lochlan and Aran were married with children, and they even had respectable professions that the organization exploited. Lochlan was a doctor, but he answered to Declan first and foremost. Aran was an artist with disciplines in painting and sculpting, and we used his art to launder some of our money. Really, it was a win/win for everyone involved.

There was also no mistaking that we were all O'Briens. Declan and his brothers all looked alike, taking after their da, and Lochlan, Aran, and I all looked alike, also taking after our da, though we'd all gotten our mam's eyes. Nonetheless, when anyone was talking about an O'Brien, they knew exactly who they were talking about.

"I…I sw…swear…" the man currently missing three fingers rasped. "I didn't know who he was."

I eyed him, giving him points for his acting chops. "Even if I believed you- which I don't -that's still a performance issue, Walt. Knowing who you report to, you should know every-fucking-thing about every person you bring into the fold. Why wouldn't you vet him back to his fucking ancestors?"

"He…he seemed okay," Walt stammered. "My…my cousin vouched for him."

"And your cousin is another motherfucker that we'll be having a little chat with," I informed him. "Still, this isn't your cousin's fuck-up, Walt," I reminded him. "We don't work with your cousin; we work with you."

"Ple…please…" he begged. "It won't ha…happen again."

Cathal snorted as I said, "Oh, on that we agree."

"I…I can pay you…you back," he lied, anything to try and save his life.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" I mused. "However, you can't pay back trust, Walt. Once trust is broken, no amount of flowers, candy, or diamonds can get it back. Trust is the most fragile thing in existence, and I just don't see how you're going to be able to make it up to us."

"I'm so…sorry…" he sputtered.

"Plus, The O'Brien is very unforgiving these days, what with his new wife and all," I went on. "See, while James and I might want to forgive you, Declan takes issue with anyone trying to destroy the legacy that he wants to share with his wife and leave to his future kids."

Cathal let out a low chuckle because I wasn't necessarily lying. However, Declan's control issues had more to do with the fact that his new wife wasn't scared to jump into the bloody fray that was Declan's life, and he worked day and night to prevent any of it from touching her. Keavy O'Brien was a rare breed, and Declan would stop at nothing to ensure that his pregnant wife was always safe.

"I have a family, too!" Walt yelled, desperation clawing at his neck.

"Which you should have thought about before applying to work for us to begin with," I pointed out. "Honestly, I've been doing this for so long that there's not one thing that you can say that I won't have a response to, Walt. Next, you'll be telling me how your mother has cancer, and you're her only caretaker."

"You'd be surprised how many people use that one," Cathal chimed in, making me grin.

"Now, if you're not appreciating mine and Cathal's company, we can always call The O'Brien over to spend some time with you," I drawled out. "But he doesn't appreciate being pulled away from his wife unnecessarily, so you might end up hanging out with us for a few days more than you'd like."

Walt started crying, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Looking over at Cathal, I asked, "Can ye believe this shite?"

Cathal shrugged. "Maybe his mam really does have cancer."

Ignoring that, I turned back towards Walt. "Christ, lad," I said drolly. "Where's yer dignity?"

"I'm sorry," he continued to sob. "I swear…I…I didn't know that he…that his…his brother was cartel. Honest, I…I didn't know…"

What Walt didn't know was that Isaiah Florez wasn't in the Mexican cartel. Isaiah had been pushing bravado to impress Walt once he'd gotten caught with a crate of our guns, and Walt had believed him. If Isaiah Florez had really been in the cartel, then we'd have bigger problems than a missing crate of weapons. Plus, we were in fucking Maryland; this far out, we dealt with smugglers, not bloodthirsty cartels.

Just then, my phone chimed with an incoming text, and when I pulled my phone out to see that it was Declan, I turned to Cathal, then said, "Do what you want with him. Your brother needs me."

Cathal grinned. "And who says that Santa never comes early?"