Patrick folded his arms and made a face at the rain pouring down outside. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’d rather be at the bachelorette party right now.”

I rolled my eyes, finished my pizza roll, and left the kitchen. “I understand the concept of work is hard for you.” Our break was over, and I trailed through the ground floor of the main house to get to Pop’s study in the back.

My brother caught up with me. “You’re turning into a Michael.”

I frowned, side-eying him. “What a Fredo thing to say.”

“Fuck you, I’m Sonny,” he chuckled.

“They both end up dead, you fucking moron.”

“Oi.” With a firm grip on my shoulder, Patrick swiftly halted me and pushed me against the nearest wall. His arm locked over my chest, and his eyes showed sheer fury. “What the fuck have I done to make you think so little of me? You’ve been treating me like a Murray, for chrissakes. I’m your big brother—”

“Then act like it!” I growled, shoving him away from me. The anger rose instantly, and I jabbed a finger at his temple. “I remember when you used this more than your dick. We were supposed to go into this together, and somewhere along the way, you quit on me. You couldn’t give one fuck about what happens to John, admit it.”

Patrick glared at me and said nothing for several beats.

I deflated, disappointed, and took a step back.

My stag night wouldn’t set any records. It was all work and no play. I was cool with it; our safety mattered more, and I was glad Emilia was distracted by her bachelorette party. She needed the fun after days of being hounded by two of my guys. The security was grating on everyone, and we hadn’t made much progress in figuring out what to do, so things weren’t likely to change anytime soon.

At the very least, I wanted Patrick on my side, but maybe that was too much to ask. Pop had finally woken up, for which I was thankful. With each day that passed, he grew increasingly pissed that John’s shit had fallen into our lap.

“I’ve been trying,” Patrick said quietly. He ran a hand over his head, looking tired and older. “With Sarah, I mean. After seeing you and Emilia this week… I want that with Sarah. I want her. I’ve gotten glimpses—she’s hurting, I think. But she fucking refuses to let me in.”

“Because you act like a dryshite most of the time.” There was no heat to my voice. He just needed to realize that they wouldn’t find common ground by him throwing money at everything. “Pay attention to her.”

“You’re saying you’re no dick?” He cocked a brow.

“Not at all.” I shook my head. “But I make an effort too. That’s how I know to cheer up Emilia with Netflix and pizza instead of diamonds.”

I’d fucked up plenty, and I had enough guilt hanging over my head because I’d yet to tell Emilia my estranged Italian uncle was married to her mother.

Heads would be rolling the day she found out, and it was a miracle she didn’t already know. Because I was willing to bet the Avellinos did.

“Do you love her?” Patrick’s stunned expression was comical.

“You just figured that out now?” At this point, I was sure even Emilia knew. I couldn’t hide that for shit. My work took a direct hit if I didn’t get a regular dose of her, more so if we’d argued.

I’d already confessed my love for her, though I didn’t think she knew that. I’d written it in Irish in one of the letters I’d sent her when I’d suffered through one of the worst moments of my life. And I’d spent five years in prison. I knew misery. Yet, that handful of days—fuck, I despised thinking back on them. I’d felt fucking broken.

“Dude, that wasn’t the plan,” Patrick replied.

“Neither was you getting in my way of ensuring her safety,” I told him. “That’s what you’re doing right now. I need you on your A game.”

He blew out a breath and scrubbed at his face. “You’re right. I hear you. That’s what’s so frustrating. I keep trying with Sarah, and whenever I fail, I take it out on my job.”

That was a cheap excuse. “How long have you been trying, as you call it?”

“Almost two weeks now, man.”

I scratched my nose, then let out a chuckle. Two weeks. Motherfucker. “You little bitch. I’ve been with Emilia a couple months, and I still risk losing her. Two months is nothing. It’s just long enough to fall in love and possibly get smashed like a bug.” I shook my head and left his punk-ass behind.

I’d pick him up later, figuratively speaking. We all went through rough patches, I guess. He was a good man, and I loved him. I missed him. I had faith in him. But right now, giving him the kick in the balls he needed wasn’t my priority.

I rejoined the men in Pop’s study, a place that was now off-limits to sneaky women who knew too much about planting another type of bug.

Thomas, Aunt Viv’s husband, was here. So were Pop, Ian, Kellan, and— “Where’s Eric?” I asked.

Pop closed the liquor cabinet and returned to the two couches where the others were gathered for my non-stag night. “Checking out the gadgets, of course.”

Yeah, I shouldn’t have asked. “Speaking of. Did you consider what I asked yesterday?”

I wanted to show Emilia why we called this a compound.

“I did, and you have my permission—once you two are married.” He sat down and poured them all more whiskey. “Damn girl nearly made me mushy earlier.”

“What did she do?” I frowned and took my seat in the chair at the head of the coffee table.

Pop smiled a little to himself, setting down the bottle. “She asked me to walk her down the aisle at the wedding.”

There was a flurry of concern that proved how fucking whipped I’d become for Emilia. Did she miss her dad? I sincerely hoped not, ’cause it would be difficult to mend that relationship now. Had Pop agreed to Emilia’s request? Fuck, he better have. I couldn’t imagine how vulnerable she must’ve felt to ask him.

“You said yes, right?” My forehead creased.

“Of-fucking-course I did. What’s wrong with you?” He scowled at me. I merely relaxed. Shit was good again. “She’s the daughter I never knew I wanted.”

I laughed. “She has that effect.”

“Viv says Emilia’s warming up to her now,” Thomas said. He didn’t speak often and blended in easily. He was one of the few who’d managed to hide what he did for a living from his wife. Aunt Viv had no clue he was a Son.

“I wore her down the fastest,” Kellan said and toasted to himself. “She didn’t stand a chance.”

I snorted.

“What’re they doing down there?” Ian wondered. “What do women do at hen parties?”

I’d gotten four texts from Emilia so far, and it was only three in the afternoon. They were at our house, a minute’s stroll down the hill. I had an inkling. “Given the number of typos in Emilia’s texts to me, I’m guessing they’re drinking.”

I couldn’t picture their party getting outta hand. Kellan had invited his annoying little sister to stay here where he could keep an eye on her, and she was the only one around Emilia and Sarah’s age. The rest were…well, Ma, Aunt Viv, and her eldest daughter, Brenda.

Shortly after, Patrick reentered the study, and he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt. “What’re you sitting around here for? We gonna head downstairs and work or what?”

I stared at him, and at his smirk, the relief hit me.

He’s in.

“Aye, let’s go.” I rose from my chair and clapped him on the back.

The fucker was slow to commit, but once he did…

There were a few ways to access the best-kept secret on my parents’ property. One of the entrances was in the nook next to Pop’s study. The door looked like it led to a closet, except for the fact that it was locked. Once inside, there was a set of stairs that took us into an underground maze of corridors.

This was the compound.

There were living quarters with four bedrooms, a fully stocked kitchen, two living rooms, and a handful of bathrooms scattered about. There was a garage, with the exit located at the northernmost point of the property, in the small forest. We passed the room where Pop and I stored our guns. Supply closet, two empty cells, storage, Pop’s vault, and then we reached the control room.

One half of it was all tech. Eric wheeled from side to side of the large desk, overseeing the dozen computer screens on the wall. The other half was where we could sit down around a big table and bitch at each other because we didn’t always get along. Lastly, wholesale quantities of chips and shit in the corner ’cause snacks were good for the soul.

Eric was on my crew, a sharp guy with ginger-blond hair who’d lost his spark when his brother and sister-in-law were murdered. If I had a right-hand man, he’d be it, though Kellan was a close second.

“How’re we doing?” I asked.

Eric threw me a glance over his shoulder, then nodded at a couple of the screens. “All set up, mate. Hit me with wedding security so I can move on to bigger things. No offense.”

I turned to Pop. “How many have RSVP’d?”

“All two-hundred and ninety of them.”

I winced. This wedding was gonna cost them a pretty penny.

“Pull up the ballroom on Four,” I told Eric. If it weren’t for Ma’s demand that we go all out on this wedding, I would’ve been fine with having the reception out here. But no, she wanted glitz and glamour at one of the finest hotels downtown Philly had to offer. “Six exits…”

“Two at each door,” Pop advised. “Four at the front. Possible targets?”

“Uncle John, of course,” I replied. “So no guards on him.”

The guys chuckled.

“Conn and Colm will be on Emilia,” I said. They were also on my crew. A crazy pair of brothers from Dublin. They already liked her, and she enjoyed dicking around with them when the mood struck. “We’re gonna want eyes on the kids too.”

“I’m with the twins,” Kellan said. “Eric, you bringing Autumn?” That would be Eric’s young niece.

“No. She’s with a friend.” Eric filled another few screens with various areas of the hotel that would need monitoring. Next, he pulled up the church on Two and Three. “I don’t see any problems here. With a few guys covering the doors, you should be set.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket, so I excused myself and stepped out into the hallway. The number didn’t have a caller ID, though that wasn’t too rare.

“Yeah, who’s this?” I answered.

“Finnegan, my boy, that you?”

Shite. I almost dropped my phone at the sound of that voice. “Uh, yes, sir. Were you trying to reach Pop?” Because Uncle John didn’t call me. Maybe once a year for family-related matters. Never work. I didn’t think he suspected I knew he was the biggest traitor this family had ever seen, but he was guarded around me.

He laughed quietly. “No, you’re the man I wanted to speak to. Is this a secure line?”

At a loss for what else to do in this position, I reached for whatever I could and threw it at Pop’s back. My lighter. He flinched and turned around with a frown, and I mouthed that it was Uncle John.

His brows went up.

“As secure as it can be on my end, sir,” I answered. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, first, I was wondering if you’ve got any flats in that building of yours,” he said. “In these times, I’d rather not stay at a hotel.”

“Of course.” I should have a couple condos still available. “Consider it done.”

“Good, that’s good. Anne and I are flying in a few days early with the kids, and it’ll be nice for them to be someplace safe.”

“I understand.” I didn’t understand. This was too out of the blue, and he wasn’t the type who chitchatted. If he was, he sure as shit didn’t do it with me.

He cleared his throat. “The…the other reason I called is because I reckon it’s time we have a sit-down.”

I scrubbed a hand over my mouth and stared at the floor, my mind sprinting to work out what this meant. In the last few days, he’d spoken to Pop several times, and it never ended well. They hadn’t argued, though it was clear Uncle John was holding something back, and it kept us from doing our jobs. We were flying blind, placing security where we guessed it would be needed.

Basically, there was a lot of guessing going on, whether it was security or…well, why the fuck the Italians were targeting us.

They couldn’t possibly have known it would be Emilia in my car that night, so I didn’t believe she was part of it—at least, not yet. Though, it didn’t stop me from worrying.

“Would who be there?” I asked.

He let out a gruff laugh and took a sip of something. “Most people simply agree, Finn.”

“I’m not most guys, Uncle John.”

Pop cleared his throat to get my attention, and I turned away from him. I didn’t need a reminder to be respectful. I was respectful. I was also done beating around the bush. We demanded answers.

“Actually, it would be the two of us,” John responded. “You can pick the place.”

I scratched my forehead, squinting. “You realize I find this strange, eh? All due respect, sir, with everything going on, I can only agree to meet with you if you can give me your word that it will clear up some of this confusion. I’m getting married in three weeks, and the thought of something happening to my fiancée is keeping me up most nights.”

“Sweet Jesus, he’s not my son,” Pop muttered behind me.

“He knows what he’s doing, Shan,” Ian murmured.

I waited for John.

“Aye, I think I can clear some things up, lad. I come for your trust, and I realize it will cost me.”

My head snapped up. Now we were talking. He wasn’t going to get my trust, and it was interesting he knew he didn’t have it. That said, I had no problems meeting with him and hearing him out.

“Dinner’s on me then, sir,” I said. “Looking forward to seeing you.” We wrapped up the call, and I spun around to face the guys, arms wide. “What the fuck just happened?”

“I don’t know, you tell us.” Patrick smirked. “You having dinner with Uncle John? Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I folded my arms over my chest and faced Pop. “He sounded tired. I think. And he wouldn’t call me if he had other options.”

Pop didn’t respond, going into calculating mode.

“You know, this makes sense.” It was Eric who spoke up. “Your theory, Finn. I mean, there’s a shitload of bad blood between Gio and John, but it’s not only restricted to them. Why ice just one when you can take ’em all out? If the Italians are coming for the whole syndicate—”

“And if they know there’s a rift between the O’Sheas and Murrays,” I filled in.

“They’ll exploit us from every angle,” he finished.

“That’s a grim theory,” Pop said, “but one we have to prepare for.”

“It’s not exactly farfetched.” Patrick threw in his two cents too. “No one but old Ennis wanted Gio initiated into the Sons.”

That was true, which made it even more likely that John sought out the O’Sheas to build some bridges. Because the rift was undeniable—for all of us. The syndicate had been at a standstill for years because so many of us had been—or still were—in prison. And now, as more men were being released, our members were going to demand action.

“Why a sit-down with me?” I asked. “John’s got higher-ranking crew bosses in Philly who’re more logical options.”

Pop was one of them, and he gave only a wry smirk in response before he lit a cigarette.

“You’ve made enough ruckus,” Thomas said quietly. “These past two years, you’ve gone from up-and-coming to being a threat. That gives John two options. Get you on his side to take down Avellino, or risk facing both of you in a war he wouldn’t win.”

I considered what he’d said, and I wasn’t wholly on board with it. I was causing a ruckus, definitely, and it was starting to pay off—in Philly. I had a good crew, I could give them all the work they wanted, my legit business was doing well, and I’d expanded. In a short period of time, I’d greased a lot of palms. However, for this to reach Chicago, I had to stand out. I wasn’t accomplishing anything my father and the three top crews weren’t already doing.

“You can count me out, son,” Pop added. “I never had the desire to take top rank, and John knows it. Jim pisses his pants just being in the same room as you, ’cause he was there to witness my father’s plans for you. That leaves Old Phil. He just lost the last strip mall north of Snyder to the Vietnamese, and I suspect you have more people on your payroll in Whitman than he does.”

“God bless that old fuck. Last time we saw each other, he talked nonstop about his arthritis,” I chuckled.

“Well, there you go, little brother.” Patrick clapped my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Uncle John probably knows you’ll rake in votes when that day comes.”

I wasn’t ready to celebrate or get my hopes up, but I took it as a partial victory—another step closer toward my goal.

* * *

A few hours later, I felt better in terms of security. We had every moment of the week of the wedding mapped out, and everything had been upgraded, from the vehicles we’d be driving in the city to the safety measures we’d take before going someplace.

Pop circled back to Uncle John to have him approve of the precautions we were taking. Despite his promises of clearing the confusion, we were still flying blind until my sit-down with him, and he reluctantly admitted everything we’d planned was necessary. Furthermore, he offered to cover our expenses, and that spoke volumes.

It was possible I ordered a few more cars for my firm because he was footing the bill.

“He’s ready to kiss ass,” Patrick said.

It sure seemed like it, but he would collect more points with us if he gave it to us straight rather than sugarcoating the situation in hopes of making it easier to get us to join him in taking down the Avellinos.

We weren’t the wife he had to protect from the truth.

Half sitting on the edge of the desk next to where Eric was working, I eyed his scribbled notes about the week we were returning to the city. The wedding was on a Saturday, and guests would start to arrive already on Wednesday, the Murrays included. It was going to be a stressful week with dinners, sit-downs, and making sure the women weren’t bothered by the security. We had to be three paces ahead of them; we had to know their every move and go there before they did.

Emilia had her final fitting with the girls on that Wednesday at one. Before then, she was having her last session with Father O’Malley. She would be out most of the day, whereas my only plan included picking up our rings.

It would be a good day to meet with John. And by then… A thought struck me, and I asked Eric to pull up the guest list on screen five. I scanned it quickly. Out of the almost three hundred guests, around sixty of them identified as Murrays and lived in Chicago.

“You’re planning something.” Pop was watching me.

“Everyone from John’s inner circle arrives on Tuesday or Wednesday,” I said, picking up the notepad. I began making notes for what I needed. “Chicago will be empty.”

“Of higher-ups, not eyes and ears,” Ian pointed out.

“We still have one man on our side there,” I replied with a smirk.

Pat knew where my mind was at. “Liam.”

I inclined my head. Our cousin loved his old man, but his loyalty had always laid with Ronan and Ennis. Like me, he was a man of protocol and tradition, and he was being released from prison in August with a big mouth and strong opinions. He was the one Murray I could trust fully, partly because he felt betrayed by John for how everything went down all those years ago. I bet John knew it too. He’d dug himself a nice little hole, and he needed our help to get out of it.

I spoke up. “If we wanna be one step ahead of John—without knowing what’s going on—we’re gonna have to go big. We can’t make any demands if we don’t have a hold on him.”

“But he needs our help,” Pop argued. “We won’t get more leverage than that. It’ll secure our position.”

Bullshit. This was an opportunity I wasn’t going to waste. “Why stop there?” I widened my arms. “The way I see it, this is a chance to give the O’Sheas something. We can’t forget we have men on our streets who count on us to make things right.”

My brother was with me. “Think about it, Pop. Our low-men ain’t gonna like working security at the wedding while the Murrays sit up there with us and enjoy the festivities. We gotta give them something, like Finn said.”

Pop sighed tiredly and sat down at the table. “Out with it, then. What do you have in mind?”

“On Wednesday, I sit down with Uncle John,” I said. “Emilia and I will take him and Aunt Anne out for a nice dinner first—we follow tradition and welcome them to our city—”

“Old-school,” Thomas noted.

“In the meantime, I want a crew in Chicago,” I went on. “With Liam’s go-ahead, we’ll have full access to Murray territory and—”

“What’re you expecting to find, a nonexistent paper trail to take down your uncle?” Pop asked in disbelief.

“Can people quit interrupting me?” I barked out. “Christ. No. It’s to send a fucking message. We don’t sit around and wait for answers. We get the upper hand. We’ll let him know we’re not just ready to invade his home—we’re already there.” I had two years of subtle surveillance to put to use. Within the syndicate, many of the Murray properties were common knowledge. In addition to that, I knew about a handful of other operations and locations Uncle John would’ve rather kept private.

Ian joined my father at the table, thoughtful. He didn’t look opposed to the idea. “You realize it’s no longer a sit-down, lad. John will see it as an ambush.”

“Funny, that’s how I see what the Avellinos did to my fiancée too,” I replied flatly. “I’m not putting all of that on John, but let’s not pretend he’s innocent here. If he knew what was good for him, he would’ve flown out here and delivered everything he knew on a goddamn platter.”

Pop sat forward, elbows on his knees, and rested his chin on his clasped hands. Worry creased his forehead, and he couldn’t let that hold us back.

“We’re just sending a message,” I repeated.

“Except you’re not, son. You’re challenging his rank. It comes with consequences.”

“Then so be it,” I answered. Under the circumstances, I wasn’t very concerned. Uncle John was fucked one way or another. “You said it yourself, he needs our help, and we’re all he’s got. Who else is gonna help him with the Italians? I’m not gonna tell him to surrender all his control. I’m only gonna gain some of it.”

“I agree with Finn.” Kellan spoke up for the first time in a while. “We’re not gonna rape his ass or nothing. Just finger him a bit.”

I let out a laugh and slapped my thigh. That was a good one.

“Your sense of humor, boy—I swear.” Pop shook his head at Kellan. And probably me too.

I appreciated my father’s worry, but it was time to let go. We’d been doing this since we were kids, literally. It was too late to go back.

“We can do this, Pop,” I said.

He waved a hand and sat back to light a smoke. “I don’t doubt that. It’s what happens once you succeed I’m worried about.” He blew out some smoke. “You’re making it clear to the entire syndicate that you’re the new head of the O’Sheas.”

I stared at him, waiting for anyone to speak up—to object. I was ready for this. I was prepared.

No one said a word.