The music’s leaking out into the street – and it’s pumping. Hell, maybe it’s just the blood in my veins; with the way I’m feeling, it’s hard to tell. All I know is I’ve gotta be quick. I ain’t got time to burn, not when every second’s another where freaks could be doing god know what to my girl.

Royale nightclub, near the Leather District: it’s Boston’s favorite nightclub, and that counts double for Mickey Morello and his crew.

Me? Hell, it’s never been my idea of a good time. I’m more of a pub with a pint of beer kind of guy – preferably my own pub, with a pint I’ve pulled. Just because a place has a girl, in a cocktail dress, outside taking names, doesn’t mean it will get me all excited.

“The fuck are you?” The bouncer grunts.

I don’t blame him. Me and my boys – all four of my brothers – we just sauntered up to the front of the line to get in like we own the place. I bet he sees this kind of thing all the time. After a while, I guess you don’t even see faces anymore.

The thing is, when you work the door for a club owned by the Morello family, or so rumor has it, and five guys with patches of white in their hair rock and roll up to the door, you’ve got two choices: run or fight. This idiot has chosen door number three.

You don’t choose door number three…

“Hey, asshole!” Someone calls from the well-dressed, young crowd. “How about you and your jackass crew wait in fucking line like the rest of us?”

Kieran spits out his gum. “You gonna do something about that?” He asks, staring the thuggish doorman down. “We could be paying customers. I mean, we’re not. But we could be.”

The bouncer shrugs. “So the guy’s an asshole; it doesn’t make him wrong.”

Kieran pounces, quick as a flash. I know what’s about to happen, and even I barely see it. Kieran pulls a pistol from underneath his jacket and presses it into the bouncer’s stomach. He does it all quiet-like, shielded by our bodies. To the crowd behind us, it just looks like he’s stepped in to talk privately.

“Here’s the thing, buddy,” Kieran grins, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You see my brother, there?” He jerked his thumb at me. “That’s Declan motherfuckin’ Byrne. Ring a bell?”

The man nods dumbly – I swear, he goes white all over. The rest of his body has frozen up, but his eyes are darting left and right like he is looking for a way out. “What I’m saying, buddy … no, this isn’t right.”

“What –?”

“I can’t just keep calling you buddy. What’s your name, guy?”

“Dan. Dan Fox,” the bouncer whispers.

“Here’s how things are going to go, Dan,” Kieran says, picking up where he left off. “You’re going to take a walk, go home, put your phone on silent, fuck your girlfriend and fall asleep. You got it?”

“I’ll get –”

“Fired?” Kieran says, raising an eyebrow. “It’s better than getting dead, Dan.”

We push past him and a stupefied blonde holding a clipboard. I see Kieran’s eyes rove across her body, but he’s never been into blondes. It’s still never stopped him from sampling in the past. He winks at her for good measure.

“Keep those eyes on the prize, brother.”

The music’s louder inside. I can feel it in my organs, rattling around inside my lungs, and vibrating my kidneys. We move through the crowd, pushing aside glassy-eyed partiers whose jaws don’t stop chewing; a nasty side effect of whatever they’ve snorted up their nostrils. I grimace with disgust. I prefer my nose clean and my head clear.

There’s a reason the Morellos own the clubs, and it isn’t just so Mickey can get his dick wet. Royale is the perfect hunting ground for their dealers. We shoulder past one, and he knows who I am instantly. He runs off, and Kieran starts off after him. I pull him back.

“Brother, he’s probably going to warn –”

“My ass,” I growl. “He’s a pussy. He’s saving himself.”

The crowd parts before us like the red sea until finally Mickey Morello himself comes into view. He’s sitting on a raised, roped-off, stage with a short set of stairs leading up on either side – drowning in strippers. And these aren’t ten bucks girls, either.

Kieran whistles at them; not that I can hear it over the sound of the bass. “It’s good to be king …”

I turn to Ridley, Mac and Liam. “You know what to do,” I grunt. “Kieran – you’re with me.”

My younger brothers drift back and left into the crowd, disappearing without a trace. They don’t offer a word of complaint. I know if I’d suggested attacking the Morello family yesterday, they’d have kicked up a fuss. Today, it’s different. Today the Morellos have struck us. This is payback.

“You: stop right fucking there.”

Mickey’s bodyguard pulls a pistol from his hip and levels it at my eyes. “I know you,” he growls, his eyes lighting up with recognition. “You’re –”

“A Byrne,” Ridley grins, appearing from behind him and tickling the bodyguard’s temple with his own weapon. “Guess what? So am I.” He reaches over and takes the man’s weapon. “So,” he says with mirth in his voice, leading the bodyguard to a nearby couch, “is he, and he and –”

“Enough,” I growl.

Mickey has finally taken his eyes off the two stocking-clad, eighteen-year-olds dancing in front of him, and he looks fucking terrified.

“You, you, and …” I say, pointing at all three women on the platform in turn, “you. Get the fuck out of here.”

The two young strippers run away squealing, tottering like baby giraffes on six inch heels. The third girl, about Casey’s age, relaxes back onto the couch opposite Mickey. “Actually,” she says with an amused smile, “I think I’ll stay.”

“Your death warrant,” I grunt. “Kieran, look after the –”

“Sonia,” she interrupts, “Sonia Morello.”

Kieran grins. “Two for the price of one,” he says, settling down on the white leather couch next to her. To her credit, she doesn’t once look at the pistol he’s cradling in his hands. I can’t say the same for her brother.

I sit down next to Mickey. I sigh. “Mickey, Mickey, Mickey. I thought we had an understanding?”

He squeaks instead of talks. “We did. We do.”

“Then where’s my girl, Mickey. You better start talking, because you’ve got three seconds before I blow off that tiny little cock of yours.”

“You’ll be doing the world a favor,” Sonia chips in. “It’s about time –”

“Sonia, you whore –”

I backhand Mickey across the face. Sonia giggles. “Do what the man says, big brother.”

I glance at her, and can’t help but notice that Kieran’s eyes are locked on her face. He looks besotted.

“You’re telling me you’re not behind this?” I ask Mickey, studying his bitch face for any hint of a lie.

He shakes his head wildly from side to side. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”

“Oh? What about Vince. Vince Amari. Where is he?” Mickey’s eyes widen with understanding. I grin. I’ve got him. And he knows it.

“Said he was going after some deadbeat bitch,” he whines. “I didn’t know –”

I reverse my pistol in my hand and press it against Mickey’s balls until his eyes bulge. His sister giggles.

Jesus, this is one fucked up family, I think.

“I need an address, Mickey.”

“Three.”

“Two –”