Twenty-eight years earlier

“You piece of shit! Get back here! I’ll have your ass in jail for this.”

I plowed through the crowd, slamming into tourists and spinning around to lose the man charging after me. It was a total waste, because I didn’t even get to use the distraction to lift more of their fat wallets or nice watches.

All because I’d wanted a goddamned Snickers bar to shut up my growling stomach for a couple hours, and didn’t feel like parting with my hard-earned cash for it. Being a street kid in New Orleans wasn’t for no weak-ass punks. The dark side of this town would chew you up and spit you out faster than you could spell body bag.

Don’t make friends; make allies. But don’t dare trust them further than you can see them.

“I see you, kid! Cops are coming! This time, you’re done!”

Ernie, a douchebag convenience-store owner with the easiest candy to lift in the Quarter, was determined to get me sent up the river for good. But he had to catch me first.

Three years on the streets, and no one knew them better than me.

I slipped through the crowd, bolted down an alley, and squeezed between two bent rails in a wrought-iron fence. Ernie’s fat ass would never be able to fit. I sprinted down a brick walkway and ran into a metal gate. Locked. Not a fucking problem for me.

I climbed it like a monkey and landed on my feet on the complete opposite side of the block. That asshole would never find me. I shoved my hands in my pockets and yanked out the wallets I’d picked before I hit Ernie’s. I had to ditch them in case I got pinched.

I scanned the street, up and down, before I turned my back and flipped one open. I yanked out the two twenties inside. Not bad. I’d eat for a few weeks on that. I glanced at the ID it contained for a second before I tossed the wallet down the sewer drain.

Rocky Mount. Sounded like an asshole. Who would name their kid that?

As soon as the thought hit, I shut it down. At least they bothered to give their kid a name.

I flipped the second wallet open and found a crisp hundred. Nice. I’d be set for at least a couple months if I were careful, or if I wanted to risk it, I might be able to double my money.

I glanced at the second ID. Lachlan Thorpe. Better than Rocky Mount. A little, anyway.

I tossed the second wallet down the drain and unwrapped the Snickers, then shoved the entire thing in my mouth to get rid of the rest of the evidence, chewing hard even as it stuck to my teeth. My stomach gnawed at my spine like it was eager for what was coming. I tried not to go more than a day or two without eating, but sometimes I didn’t have a choice.

“I see you, punk!”

I swiveled my head in the direction of Ernie’s voice.

Shit.

His bulk came hauling around the corner, two cops behind him, and I bolted in the opposite direction.

I was faster. Smarter. At least, that was what I told myself as I beat feet down the cracked pavement.

“Stop, kid!”

Footsteps pounded behind me, and I looked back as I hit the intersection instead of keeping my eyes forward.

Rookie mistake.

A black Mercedes blew through the stop sign and clipped me.

Shit, that hurts.

My body tensed at the impact but I tucked and rolled right up the hood. My elbows smashed into the windshield as the car slammed to a halt, throwing me forward again. Something jabbed into my side before I flipped off the metal and ate concrete.

Goddammit, that fucking hurts. I held in a groan as I planted my palms on the pavement and pushed off the ground.

Ernie and the cops, all yelling like idiots, closed in.

Unsteady, I shoved to my feet. I had to get out of here or I’d be done.

My ankle burned and gave out as I put weight on it, making me fall forward again, and I gripped the car to try to hold myself up. My ribs screamed in stabbing pain, but I clenched my teeth. Wasn’t the first time I’d broken them, so I knew from experience how much this was gonna suck. I just had to get away. Find a place to pass out before the pain took me down right here. Because if I went down, I was really fucked.

The car doors opened—the driver’s and one in the back—as I clung to the bent hood ornament to stay standing instead of hitting my knees again.

Damn rich people in their nice-ass cars with these fancy hood ornaments.

“Don’t you fucking move, kid! You’re going to jail this—”

Ernie’s words cut off, and black spots dotted my vision as I tried to focus. Both the store owner and the two cops behind him stood stock-still in the middle of the street.

“Mr. Morello, so sorry, sir. We’ll take this piece of trash out of your way.” That came from one of the cops.

“Care to explain what’s going on here, gentlemen?” The voice was deep and had a faint Italian accent.

Morello. Morello. My brain wasn’t working like it should, but the name was right there. I should know it. Morello.

“Just a street kid shoplifting. Been trying to catch him for damn near two years now.”

A deep laugh followed Ernie’s explanation.

“So either he’s smart as hell, or you’re all fucking incompetent. Which is it?” The man’s tone held no respect for Ernie or the cops, and it clicked in my head.

Holy shit. Morello was Johnny Morello, current acting head of the Morello crime family. They ran this town. Owned this town.

I was screwed, any way I looked at it. I fucked up Morello’s car, and his goon would probably put a bullet in my head for it while the cops watched, their dicks in their hands, because they couldn’t touch him. No one could. And if the goon didn’t kill me, he’d leave me for the cops and Ernie to deal with, and there was no doubt in my mind I was going down. They were trying kids as adults these days for everything they could. No doubt, Ernie would make it his mission to land me in prison for life.

From my bent-over position hanging on to the car to stay upright, I watched as two shiny black leather shoes stepped into my line of sight. I swallowed the urge to puke my guts all over the Mercedes and the shoes, and instead forced myself to stand straight despite the burning and stabbing pain in my ribs as I breathed.

“What’s your name, kid?” Morello’s question was quiet but carried the unmistakable weight of authority. From everything I’d heard, he was a man you didn’t fuck with and live.

I met his gaze, determined to show no fear, which was more than I could probably say for Ernie and the cops. Bet they’re pissing themselves right now.

I hadn’t had a name in the two years I’d been living on these streets. I’d left Michael Arch behind the Dumpster I used for cover while I watched the social worker pick up Hope and Destiny from the church shelter. I was born nameless, so I lived nameless. But I couldn’t tell that to Johnny Morello. And I sure as shit wouldn’t give him the name Michael Arch. Far as I knew, he was still wanted for murder.

“I don’t repeat myself, kid.”

Someone nudged me from behind and I straightened, my ribs crying in pain I’d never show.

Morello’s black eyes drilled into me as my brain scrambled for something to tell him. I remembered the IDs I just tossed down the gutter, and made something up.

“Name’s Lachlan Mount, sir. I apologize for the damage I caused. It wasn’t intentional. I meant no disrespect.”

Morello studied me, no doubt taking in my roughed-up appearance, hard eyes, and sharp features. “Lachlan Mount. Strong name for a smart kid. Is that what you are, Mount?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You been dodging the cops for two years?” His eyes narrowed on me like he was waiting for me to lie. But Morello didn’t realize I had nothing to lose anymore.

“Yes, sir.”

His dark eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Today didn’t work out how you planned, then.”

“No, sir. Not at all.” I gritted my teeth as the pain intensified the longer I stood up straight.

“You fucked my car up, Mount. You owe me for that.”

I nodded and reached into my pocket to pull out the cash I’d just lifted. “My apologies, sir.” I handed it out toward him. “This is everything I got.”

He looked down at the bills in my hand and laughed, a deep booming noise that seemed to echo off the tall brick buildings hemming us in and blocking my escape.

“You know how much this car costs, kid? Because what you got there won’t even fix the hood ornament.”

“It’s all I got, sir.”

I waited for the press of a barrel to my head from behind, because I’d heard these Mafia types preferred execution-style, but it didn’t come.

Morello tilted his head to the side, studying me. “How long did it take you to steal that money?”

“A few minutes. Grabbed ’em on my way to that fat fuck’s store.”

“Hey—” Ernie yelled, ready to defend himself, but Morello raised a hand and he instantly went silent.

Morello rubbed a hand across his dark mustache that was already going silver and studied me some more. “How old are you, Mount?”

The more he said the name I’d just picked, the more I liked it. It felt right. Like I was born to it.

I straightened my shoulders, despite the blinding pain. I had pride, and that was stronger. “Fifteen, almost sixteen.” I made up the last part because I didn’t have a clue when my birthday actually was.

Morello dropped his hand from his mustache and drilled me with a stare. “You got three choices today, Mount, because I’m feeling generous.”

I kept quiet, waiting to hear what judgment he was gonna deliver.

“One, I hand you over to the cops and they try you as an adult, toss your ass in prison. I doubt you make it a day before you’re someone’s favorite bitch.”

I forced myself not to react, even though his statement made me want to hurl my guts up, because I knew he was right.

“Two, Frankie will shoot you right here for fucking up my favorite car, and we’ll leave your body in the gutter, which is probably where you figured you’d die.”

He wasn’t wrong about that, but I didn’t say shit to reply.

“Or three, you get in the backseat, we take you to the doc to get patched up, and you work your debt off to me until you’ve paid for every penny of repairs to my car. If you don’t fuck that up, we’ll see how you fit in, and maybe you’ll have yourself a real job instead of picking tourist pockets.”

One of the cops finally found the balls to speak. “Mr. Morello, sir, we can take him from here. There’s no need for you to bother yourself with—”

Morello’s attention snapped toward him, cutting off his words. “If I wanted your opinion, pig, I’d ask for it. Now, shut the fuck up.”

His gaze cut back to mine as I heard the slide of a gun. I assumed it was Frankie, Morello’s goon, getting ready to either carry out option two or kill a cop in broad daylight.

My insides turned liquid, but I wouldn’t show fear. I made the only decision I could.

“Three, sir. I choose option three.”

Morello nodded. “That’s what I figured, because you’re not a fucking moron like those assholes.” He jerked his head at the cops before glancing over my shoulder. “Put him in the car. Call Doc. Have him meet us.”

As soon as the man’s hands landed on me, I spun around, grinding my teeth to keep from screaming out in pain. “I can help myself into the car.”

A glimmer of amusement flitted through Frankie’s eyes. “Get in the front seat, kid.”

I hobbled toward the door and opened it, practically collapsing inside before slamming it shut. Thankfully, no one could hear my hiss of pain because Morello and Frankie were still outside, facing Ernie and the cops. Their voices came loud and clear through the open back door.

“Sir, with all due respect—”

“You’ve never heard the name Lachlan Mount. You will never repeat it. You’ve never seen him before. You will forget he exists. He’s part of my organization now, and if you so much as think about going after him, I’ll watch while my people skin you alive and laugh when you squeal like the pigs you are. Then I’ll put bullets in the heads of everyone you love. How’s that sound?”

All three men, including the two in uniform, bobbed their heads like idiots and sputtered out replies.

“Understood, sir.”

“Never heard of him before.”

“Don’t know who you’re talking about, Mr. Morello. We’re just heading back to the station.”

Their fear of Morello rolled off them like stink. Or maybe one of them shit themselves. From the way the cops’ legs were quivering, I’d believe it. And then there was the wet spot spreading down Ernie’s pants.

He really did piss himself. No fucking way.

Then again, I wasn’t surprised. Morello’s posture was rigid. His orders absolute. I had no doubt in my mind he’d kill them all right here and follow through on everything he said.

I’d never seen that kind of power in action before. Never seen that kind of fear on any cop’s face. I soaked it up.

What would it be like to command that kind of respect?

Morello climbed into the backseat of the Mercedes, and Frankie closed the door.

“Don’t make me regret this, Mount, because I will fucking bury you alive if you betray me or mine.”

“Understood, sir. You won’t regret it.”

“Good.”

Frankie climbed in and fired up the busted car that saved my life. Somewhere along the bumpy ride to wherever the hell we were going, I silently passed out from the pain.