Peyton walked out three days ago. Nothing prepared me for it. It’s for the best. She shouldn’t be near me. I’ll only hurt her. My life was meant to be lived alone. I learned that from a very early age. My father never lied to me. He never gave me empty promises and told me one day I’d be able to have a family.

Even after walking out and leaving my family behind, I can never leave this life. I know that now. My office door swings open, and Callan saunters in with a grin on his face.

“What?” I question, sitting back in my office chair.

“There’s a redhead downstairs I’ve been chatting up,” he tells me. He’s a flirt. My brother is worse than me. His dick is perpetually wet.

“I didn’t allow you into my club to fuck everything with tits, Cal,” I huff, shoving the paperwork over the desk toward him.

He chuckles as he lifts the folder from the wooden top. “Not my fault my brother has so many delicious little cunts walking around.”

“Jesus, would you have some respect, man?” I bite out. Rising from the chair, I make my way over to the bar. With a quick glance downstairs, I notice Savvie and Peyton sitting at one of the booths. They’re leaning in, a heated conversation, and I wonder what they’re talking about. As if she can feel my eyes on her, Peyton’s jade eyes lift to the window. Even though this is one-way glass, I know she sees me. Knows I’m here watching her.

“You stalkin’ the lil blondie?” Callan’s voice comes from behind me, and I shake my head.

Grabbing two crystal tumblers, I pour a three-finger-deep shot in each of the Scotch Leigh brought me as a gift. Setting one down for Cal, I take a swig of mine.

“She’s into you,” my brother tells me.

“Don’t you think I know that?” I’m angry, frustrated. Running my fingers through my hair for the millionth time today, I recall how she walked out, and also why she walked out. Because I told her to. I gave her the out. Forced it on her.

All the women in my life have come and gone without so much as a blink of my eye. I could so easily turn and find another. I’ve indulged in countless scenes, with countless women, but somehow, Peyton has turned my world upside down.

“Rick, you’re allowed to be happy, you know,” Callan tells me. He gulps his drink, and I watch in silence as he pours another. His words are shot directly at my heart. “She’s not here anymore. You can’t keep living in the past,” he says, not looking at me.

I cast a glance down to the club and notice a man in an expensive suit talking to Peyton. My blood burns with jealousy so profuse I can’t breathe.

“There comes a time when you need to stop and think, what would happen if that asshole” --my brother gestures with his tumbler at the man I’m shooting daggers at-- “takes her to a room at the back, gives her all she craves and more? Do you think he’ll push her away because of his own stupidity?”

“Fuck you, Callan.” There are times over the years my brother has pissed me off. Since we were younger, he’s been there, giving me advice. And even though he’s older, I’ve never really listened to him. We fight, we laugh, we drink. The two O’Leary boys have been a force to be reckoned with. “Why do you always have to—”

“Be right?” he interrupts, finishing my question. “Tell me, Rick. Would Rory want you to be angry at the world all the time? Would she want you to be living in the past?”

“I’m not angry at the world, Cal. I’m angry she’s gone. That one man took her from me.” The raw honesty in my tone is enough to have my throat burning. Fighting with him is second nature. I’ve never been one to appease my brother, but he’s never allowed me to wallow, which is why I respect him. He’s given me more than I can ask for, been there for me when I needed him most, and now I feel like an asshole for arguing about this.

“Then we finish this so you can go down there and claim your girl,” he tells me easily as if everything is black and white. I wish it was that easy to just walk down there and take Peyton, telling her how I feel. But there’s no way I can bring her into my world.

“I can’t. She’s too good for me. Look what happened to Aurora,” I tell him earnestly. He’s never seen me cry. I’ve been broken, but never once did I allow my sadness to show. The steel expression I wore at Rory’s funeral showed a man who didn’t allow the world to get to him. Not even when he buried the love of his life.

“Look at me, Rick,” my brother murmurs, and I do. “Do you love Peyton?”

I took everything from her. And the thing that has my chest tightening is that I gave her something I never wanted to. I allowed her in, and now I know without a fucking doubt I’m falling for her.

“Because, from where I’m standing, brother, you seem to. This girl has given you something, offered you all of her. And from the look on your face, you’ve given her everything too.”

He’s right. Every word he utters is the truth. She broke the down the walls I’d built for so long, and as they crumble slowly and effortlessly, I find myself riddled with guilt. I find myself nodding before I can voice the words. The shame that I’ve moved on from Aurora hits me in the gut, and I know my brother sees it.

“You can’t love a ghost. She’s gone, and you need to move on.” He points at my chest, prodding me, and I know he’s trying to get me to see reason. “Your past is just that. Put it behind you. I’m not saying you’re going to forget Rory. She’ll always be a part of you, but this shit that you’re doing to Peyton is wrong.”

“I . . . I don’t know how to let Rory go.” For the first time in years, I feel agony. Real, gut-wrenching agony, and I find myself gripping the glass so tightly I’m willing it to shatter, because this is too much.

“There’s only so much anyone can tell you. Only so much advice we can offer. It’s your choice, brother. If you ever want to feel a semblance of happiness, you’ll say goodbye to Aurora, and let her go now. Nothing can change what happened, but you can change how you deal with it.”

“When did you become so wise?”

“The moment my little brother needed me,” he smirks. Draining the liquid from his glass, he sets it down and leaves me to wage war with my thoughts. Turning, I watch as Peyton smiles up at the man who could probably love her, give her everything her little heart desires, and I almost walk away. I almost decide to let her go, but then her gaze finds mine through the window.

She’s watching me as I watch her. She knows I’m here. Then she darts her gaze away and back to her suitor. Shaking her head, she smiles politely, and he leaves. And in my heart, I wonder if that was her answer. If she’s telling me with her actions that she wants me. She wants what I have to offer. But that makes me wonder, what is it that I can offer her?

Shaking my head, I turn to my desk and settle on the chair. I can’t hurt her. At least, I can’t have her hurt by my enemies. The farther away she is from me, the better. Callan was right. I should move on. And I choose to move on alone. At least, that way, no one can get hurt again.

Years ago, when I was brought into this life, I’d made a choice to spend my existence without casualties. Of course, I broke that promise to myself, and I won’t do that again.

* * *

The car is almost at the house, and I know soon, I’ll see the man who took everything from me. Callan pulls up to the gates, and the first thing I notice is there’s no security. Perhaps they’re inside.

“Are you ready to get your vengeance? I can do it, if you want me to.” My brother has always been there for me. He loves this shit. Stalking, killing, watching someone’s life drain from their eyes. The one to do the dirty work because he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. But this is my fight.

“I just need you to get the evidence,” I inform him. My father will need video proof that the man confesses, then watch him die on film. I know it’s needed. As much as I know I should do it, I hate knowing I’m going to be forever captured killing someone.

We park on the sidewalk, and I ensure my gun is safely in my holster at the back of my belt. When we exit the car, the scent of freshly mowed grass wafts over to me, and I note there’s a neighbor in her garden about four houses down. She doesn’t look my way, but being vigilant is always a necessity.

It’s late evening. The sun is just disappearing on the horizon as I push open the small pedestrian gate. Strangely, I didn’t picture a mobster sitting in a small house in a suburb. But then again, I know he was meant to be lying low.

Callan follows me onto the property. His steps ghosting mine as we head toward the door. My gaze is dragged up to the second floor where a man is standing in the window watching me. He knows. I do too. It’s time to finish this.

We make our way to the door. Before I can knock, it opens, and I’m greeted with a maid who is old enough to be my grandmother.

“Hello,” she says, her tone wary, the Irish lilt present. It’s her eyes that give her away. She knows who I am. Once she steps aside, I enter, and as soon as she shuts the door, he steps out of the shadows.

“Carrick Aiden O'Leary.” His brogue is heavy as he calls me by my real name. The accent thick, and it rumbles through me with familiarity.

“Seamus Moran,” I respond as he nods, gesturing for me to step inside his space. There’s nothing here that suggests he’s a murderer, and there’s also nothing to give away the fact that he is one of the most dangerous men in Europe, and possibly now in Chicago.

“You’ve come here to collect your penance,” he says easily, settling in the arm chair. He’s old. Much older than I thought. I’m confused as to how he is the son of the Moran. “And you didn’t expect to see me.” He meets my glare easily, not fazed that I’ve pulled out my gun. The silencer is in place as I watch him, taking in the man who stole lives, countless innocents died because he wanted to rule the fucking country.

Callan has his phone out, recording this to send to our father. I’ve never been sure what Dad does with the videos, but with each job I’ve completed in the past, it’s been a necessity. The man watches me, gesturing for me to sit. I do. My brother stays standing as he regards the man warily.

“I’ve come to make sure you pay your dues,” I tell him. There’s no mercy, but he doesn’t ask for it. I drop the barrel, aiming at his left knee and pull the trigger. The anguished cry that’s wretched from his mouth is all I need to put another bullet in his other kneecap.

That’s when his men appear. Four of them flank him, two on either side of the asshole who’s gripping his bloodied legs. The sticky crimson liquid that spurts from the holes I’ve made oozes as he keels over. His hands holding onto the wounds does nothing to stop the bleeding.

I sit back, settling myself on the sofa as I watch him wallow around the floor. The four men who appeared pull their weapons on me. I don’t move. It’s best to play cool when you’re outnumbered. Callan is silent beside me, but his hand is on his gun, which is in the holster. I notice his phone is gone, and his gaze is trained on the men in the room.

“They say cockroaches never learn. They never die either, but I’m here to ensure that you’re on the path straight to hell, Moran,” I smirk, crossing my arms in front of my chest as he glares up at me.

“As you know the code we live by, O'Leary. An eye for an eye. This is done. The men behind me will escort you from this house, and I suggest you stay away. I’ll move on, back to Ireland, but you’re not to follow. Your father will know I’ve paid with my legs.”

“You fucking took her from me!” I roar. Shooting up from the sofa, I make a move to grasp his shirt. The men cock their guns, but he holds a hand up to stop them.

I’m not sure why he’s done it, but I continue dragging him over to the sofa where I was sitting. I lean in, taking in his cold green eyes. He doesn’t flinch, but he shouldn’t. We’re both trained killers. We’ve both tortured men, maimed them. This is child’s play compared to what we’ve seen.

“You killed her,” I hiss in his face as my anger finally releases itself. My fists make contact with his face, again and again. I don’t see anything but the violent rage that envelops me in its thick fog.

The crunch of bone, the splatter of blood, and the way his body shudders under each violent punch doesn’t stop me. I don’t know how many times I hit him. I lose track of time. It’s only when I finally collapse on the floor do I realize I’m crying.

Callan grips my arm, pulling me to stand. “It’s done, brother. We need to leave.”

“Remember, O’Leary, there’s always a time and place for everything. You’ve gotten what you came for. If you ever come near me again, I’ll ensure you don’t walk out the door.”

I should kill him. But the four men behind me will take me out without breaking a sweat. I knew I’d be overpowered. There wasn’t a time I didn’t think I’d be walking out of here alive, and that’s why I let Peyton walk away. I watched the woman I love walk out the door because I knew I wouldn’t walk out of this alive.

For years, I’ve held my agony in my chest. And for years, I’ve lived with rage and guilt, and revenge that seemed to riddle my heart. But one woman strode in, her blonde hair, green eyes, and sassy mouth broke me. She fucking shattered me, and I realize I love her.

“Callan, wait outside.” It’s an order. I don’t outrank him, but he obeys. Once I’m alone, I pull out my phone and hit the send button on a message. The back door of the house is shattered, as I raise my gun. I didn’t want my brother to see this.

My finger presses the trigger as my team appears, and I watch in awe as the man who stole Rory from me slumps. Suddenly, my ears prick at a sound from behind me. I don’t have a moment to move because the pain that sears through me is relentless as I slump and black takes over.