“You sure you’re ready?” Liam asked as he shifted Cian’s Kevlar vest, settling it more firmly on his shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m good. Really.”

Liam leaned down and picked up Cian’s dress shirt off the chair in the tiny office at the back of Banshee.

“I don’t like this,” he said as he handed it to Cian. “I should be going.”

Cian shrugged on the shirt and began buttoning it. “You know it has to be me. Mario Consuelos is never going to agree to a meet with a surrogate. He wants me to recognize him as the new head of the Vasquez organization. That’s a huge part of our negotiating leverage.”

Liam leaned on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms, causing his biceps to bulge more than usual, the banded Celtic tattoos that decorated them standing out in stark relief.

“Then let me stand with you. Tell him you want seconds there. Pop would never have gone to a meet like this without a second.”

Cian snorted in disgust. “Pop would have slit the hostage’s throat and tossed him on Mario’s front lawn before he blew up a Vasquez warehouse or two last night. Then he’d have eaten six eggs and a rasher of bacon before calling it a day.”

“What the hell is a rasher, anyway?” Liam asked shaking his head. “But, yeah, I know he’s not really a negotiator.”

“You think?” Cian deadpanned.

Liam’s brow creased in concern.

“And what if you’re too much of a negotiator?” He put a big paw on Cian’s shoulder, the weight of his hand comforting in a way Cian couldn’t put into words. “You’re the smartest guy I know, bro. And the best damn leader this family could ever have. That’s why Pop gives you so much shit. He realized it when you were sixteen and all the guys were coming to you with questions about business instead of him. He’s always known you were the better leader, and he can’t stand it.”

Cian smiled wryly at his best friend in the world, the man who always had his back no matter what, the brother who’d given up his entire future to protect and follow Cian. Some days when he looked at Liam, it nearly broke his damn heart.

“But…” Cian said as he pushed his arms through the sleeves of a dress jacket.

“But, I worry you don’t see how many people in this business don’t earn respect the way you do. How many of them lead by fear instead.”

Cian’s gut turned cold. “You know damn well I lead by fear too, whether I ever wanted to or not.”

Liam shook his head sharply. “No. They fear losing your approval. They don’t fear you’ll be vicious. But guys like Vasquez and Consuelos are. They’re vicious, and they won’t hesitate. They won’t bother to weigh the pros and cons and how it’ll affect their families. They’ll just blow your damn head off.”

“You mean the way Connor did to Alejandro earlier?” Cian raised an eyebrow.

Liam shook his head. “Connor’s not vicious either. Not like that. He’s hotheaded and righteous, but not vicious.”

Cian chuckled. “Righteous. That’s a big word for you.”

Liam flipped him off before pushing away from the desk. Cian gave one last tug to his tie and held his arms out. The double-breasted suit jacket hid the Kevlar well. While there was no reason he shouldn’t wear a vest to the meeting, it spoke of mistrust, and he didn’t want to set that tone before he’d been able to reel Consuelos in with the bait of a rat’s name.

“All I’m saying is…” Liam looked away, taking a breath. “Don’t fucking get yourself shot, all right?”

“Hey.” Cian squeezed Liam’s shoulder. “Don’t go soft on me now.” He winked. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do. More than anyone on the planet.”

“Then trust I’ve got this. I’m not going to let Consuelos get one over on me, and you know I’m perfectly capable of defending myself. I kick your ass in the ring at least once a week.”

Liam grinned because no one kicked his ass in the ring, but Cian came closer than anyone. He was savvy, focused, and in damned good shape.

“Okay, then, let’s go before Danny comes in here bitching at us for being late.”

Cian nodded and opened the door to the hallway. One way or another, an hour from now the Vasquez problem would be solved. Either they’d have a deal, or Cian would be dead, because he wasn’t going to lead a war, no matter what his father ordered.

* * *

“So, give me one good reason I shouldn’t send my guys out to blow up every member of your family tomorrow,” Consuelos said as he stared at Cian across the cracked pavement at the parking lot they’d chosen to meet at. It was on the border between their two territories and designated as neutral.

“I have two things you want,” Cian replied levelly as Liam watched from a car twenty yards away. Consuelos’s driver was the same distance away in the other direction.

Consuelos spat on the asphalt. He shifted his shoulders, the tight white T-shirt he wore showing his defined pecs and abs. He rubbed a knuckle across his lips, the five thick gold rings he sported catching on a ray from the one working overhead light that left most of the parking lot in shadows.

“My guys want blood,” Consuelos said, eyes narrowed. “I’m going to have a tough time explaining it if I let you walk away, bro. Alejandro was mi primo, you know? That’s family, man. I can’t just let that go.”

Cian refrained from rolling his eyes. Consuelos had been waiting for years to take over his cousin’s territory. His crocodile tears weren’t fooling anyone.

“Look, I don’t know what happened to Vasquez. I told you, I met with him, he left, that’s it.” Cian gave Consuelos a dead stare, daring him to contradict the lie they both knew he told. “But I understand it looks bad at the moment, so I’ve come with a peace offering. I didn’t have to. I could have hit you tonight, taken out your warehouse on Canal Street—” Consuelos’s eyes widened slightly, telling Cian that, just as Finn had predicted, the Vasquez people had no idea that location was public knowledge.

“But I didn’t,” Cian continued. He stood with his hands linked in front of his crotch, his legs slightly spread. It was a relaxed stance, but communicated he was serious, not complacent or arrogant. “Instead, I kept your man alive for the last two days even though he assaulted a female civilian who’s working for us. Then I went to a lot of trouble to follow up on a piece of information I was given that involves your business.”

“Tell me your terms, then, if you have such special information.”

Cian shifted slightly, glancing quickly at Liam where he sat in the car, his eyes glued to Consuelos.

“We call it even. The scoreboard is reset to zero. We shake and put things back to the way they were before last summer. We’ll stay on our side of the DMZ. You stay on yours.”

Cian exhaled mentally. “In return, I’ll give you your guy back in one piece and tell you the name of the rat you have in your house.”

Consuelos swore softly in Spanish. “Where did you find out about this supposed rat?”

Cian just raised an eyebrow.

“Fucking pendejo,” Consuelos snapped. “Alejandro was shit for brains as a boss. It’s going to take me months to clean house.”

Cian nodded. “His priorities were…” He searched for an appropriate word.

“I want something else,” Consuelos said suddenly.

Cian didn’t move a muscle, just waited silently.

Consuelos paced in a tight loop as he talked, taking out a cigarette and lighting it at the same time.

“Alejandro’s second, Gordo, is going to challenge me. He’s a stupid fuck, but he had Alejandro’s ear, and there’s part of the family who want him in charge because he’s easy to cheat.”

Cian nodded in understanding.

“I want you to make it public you’ll negotiate with me and only me as boss. They need to know if they don’t back me, they’re risking a war with the MacFarlanes.”

Cian pretended to think it over for a moment. He could give a shit who was in charge of the Vasquez operations. As long as they didn’t go after his family, he was happy to let them have their territory and do their thing. There was plenty to go around.

“Okay,” Cian said. “We’ll put the word out first thing in the morning.”

Consuelos stopped pacing and dropped his cigarette, stubbing it out. “Good. Boundaries stay the same, business goes back to usual. We’re even, and you back me to take over for Alejandro.”

He put out his hand, and Cian stepped forward to grasp it. As he did, he pulled the shorter man toward him.

“The name you want is Juan Vasquez,” he said softly. “You can pick up your soldier at the Briggs Hotel on Halstead, room seven hundred.” Consuelos started to pull his hand away, but Cian squeezed tighter, his voice roughening to a growl. “You ever touch a woman under my protection again, and I’ll slit you from dick to chin and stake you in your mama’s yard to rot in the sun. Alejandro got off easy. You won’t.”

He pulled back as Consuelos hissed in anger.

“I’ll have word out about my support in a few hours,” he said as he started toward the car at a leisurely pace. “Nice doing business with you.”

* * *

Cian had grounded Connor. Connor knew his brother had every right to do it. Once again, he’d made a mess, and now Cian, Liam, and Finn had to fix it. But this time, something felt different. This time, he wasn’t justifying it to himself or sitting around chafing at his punishment. This time, he knew he’d gone too far. This time, he’d taken a life.

Killing someone wasn’t something Connor had ever thought much about. He’d assumed eventually he’d do it, probably in a bigger shootout where it wasn’t so immediate and personal, but all the same, he’d always assumed he’d kill at some point. When you were in the mob, that was what you did.

Unlike the Cosa Nostra, the Irish mob didn’t have elaborate rules and hierarchies. The MacFarlanes had been high up in the US contingent of the Dublin Devils since it had been imported along with Robbie MacFarlane back in the 1980s. Now the Devils and the MacFarlanes were synonymous. Without the MacFarlane family, there would be no Dublin Devils.

And because of that, there was never any issue over who would run the organization. As oldest son, Cian was the boss, and the rest of the brothers took on whatever tasks suited them. There’d never been the kinds of tests Italian mobsters had to fulfill—no killing someone to become a “made” man, no pyramid schemes created to funnel money up the chain of command.

In the MacFarlane organization, the family was in charge, all income went to them, then employees were given their pay. Just like in an ordinary business. And all authority rested with them as well. Connor hadn’t needed to prove he was worthy of his authority. He was born with it.

But tonight, he’d done something he knew his older brothers had done. He’d killed someone. He’d never asked Cian about who he’d killed or when, but Cian’s reputation preceded him. Men talked about his older brother in hushed tones, and no one ever challenged him.

Liam was a different story. Since he was sixteen, Liam had been working to be the family tough guy. Liam had always been…basic. But it was as a teen he’d seemed to evolve into the kind of guy who enjoyed being a threat. He’d begun spending hours at the gym, learning to fight, bulking up, carrying a gun with him everywhere he went, spending hours with their father’s enforcers, following them like he was job shadowing.

Connor knew Liam had killed more than once. He’d heard it discussed by the guys, had even heard Cian and Liam argue about it.

Then there was Finn. There was never a question about Finn’s place in the family. He was the student, the brain, the one who didn’t even need to get his hands dirty. If Finn had ever killed anyone, it was with some sort of top-secret computer program that reached out and choked the person at their desk.

Connor smiled wryly at the idea as he climbed out of the car in front of Jess’s house.

“We’ll have guys at both doors,” his guard said. It was code for Don’t try to sneak out the back, but Connor didn’t mind. He had no intention of going anywhere—unless Jess refused to let him in, which was a distinct possibility.

“Okay, thanks,” Connor said before he strode up to the worn front steps. Jess was on the ground floor of the building that had three units like so many old Chicago row houses. One on the second floor, one on the main, and one in the basement.

Her old man had a place just down the block. She could have lived in one of the other units in the house he owned. He rented out the other two flats, but she’d wanted her independence, to feel like she’d left home, so she’d moved down the damn street. Connor thought it was the dumbest thing he’d ever seen, but since he hadn’t offered to have her move in with him, he really couldn’t say much.

He felt queasy at the memory of his selfish, immature self two years ago. He’d moved out of his parents’ house the minute he’d started getting a salary from the business at eighteen and never looked back. When he started dating Jess, she’d been working at the gym doing bookkeeping and other office stuff for her dad and living at home. She wanted some kind of independence, and he’d been unwilling to take their relationship to the next level—because he was a stupid little shit, he thought, knocking on the door.

He waited, his head tilted toward the door, listening for footsteps.

“Who is it?” Her voice came through the flimsy wood.

He leaned his head on the door. “It’s me, Jess,” he said softly, his heart so desperate to see her, he thought he’d die from it.

She opened the door slowly, chains still in place, and looked out at him, her bruised face beautiful and broken. It nearly choked him.

“Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey. Can I come in?”

She nodded and shut the door to remove the chains. After she’d let him in, Connor stood in her tiny hallway and just looked at her for a moment. She smiled uncomfortably. “Almost as pretty as yesterday?” she asked. “Everything’s starting to turn purple instead of just red.”

He swallowed, following her into the kitchen that took up the back end of the house, while the living room was at the front.

“Do you want something to drink? I have some beer, or, you know, coffee or whatever.”

He leaned against the kitchen counter as she nervously dug around in the refrigerator.

“I should be waiting on you, Jess,” he said softly. “You just got out of the hospital.”

She shut the fridge and paused for a moment before turning around, pinning him with her swollen gaze.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I had to see you.”

“It’s okay, Connor, I forgive you. You don’t have to carry a bunch of guilt about this. What happened, happened. The sooner we move on, the better. And the less we’re seen together, the safer, I guess.” She walked across the room and flipped the switch on the electric kettle.

“I’m not here because I feel guilty,” he said. She narrowed her eyes at him before turning back to the cabinets, pulling out tea and mugs. “I mean, of course I do, but it’s not that.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Jess,” he whispered. “I did something I can’t take back. I finally went too far.”

He saw her shoulders tense, and she leaned her good hand against the countertop, her head dipping as she let it hang between her shoulders.

“Don’t, Connor, okay? I know I shouldn’t care anymore, but I do, and I… Just don’t tell me about her. You’re a free agent. You shouldn’t feel like you need to confess to me. And I don’t want to hear it. I can’t hear it. Not now. I’ve had all I can take for a few days.”

He was across the kitchen, standing behind her in a flash, his head bent over hers as he spoke roughly into her ear.

“There is no her, I swear it. That’s not what this is about. I told you I love you, and I meant it. I don’t give a shit about other women.” He gently took her shoulders and turned her so he could see her face where a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“I was so angry about what they did to you. I couldn’t stand the idea of Vasquez not being punished. Cian was going to negotiate, and I was so…” He ran a hand through his hair.

“Oh God, Connor,” she whispered. “What did you do?”

He knew he couldn’t tell her. If he was ever crossways with the cops and they questioned her, she’d be at risk. She’d have to testify against him, and his father wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in her to keep that from happening. But she was his moral compass, and he couldn’t live if he kept it from her.

He compromised. “He’ll never touch you or anyone else again.”

Her eyes grew wide, and she gasped slightly. Then he told her the rest.

“But it doesn’t feel good,” he admitted sadly. “In fact, it feels like it might eat me alive.”

She didn’t say anything else, just wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him as he buried his face in her soft hair.

* * *

Jess held on to Connor and felt him shudder in her arms. Goddammit. This man. This man was actually going to be the death of her if she wasn’t careful. But she loved him so much, she thought she might burst with it some days. No matter what she said or did, her heart couldn’t seem to let go of him completely.

She took his hand and led him away from the kitchen and toward the bedroom.

“Jess?” he asked as she pulled him to the bed.

“I’m tired,” she said. “Can we talk here?”

He nodded, and they lay down as he pulled her into his side and stroked her hair.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. Her heart cracked a little at his tone. He sounded like a lost little boy. And in some fashion, that was what Connor had always been to her. Still a little boy in certain ways, a jaded man in others. But always lost. Caught in a lifetime of following his older brothers, hoping for someone to notice him, praise him, help him.

She knew she suffered from that age-old affliction of women confronted with beautiful, damaged men—she’d thought she could fix him. But she’d come to terms with the fact she couldn’t. No one could fix Connor. As long as he was a MacFarlane, he’d be lost, no matter how hard she loved him.

And she did. She loved this man more than her own life.

“You did what you had to,” she said softly, her hand curling around his waist in the dark. His T-shirt was warm and soft, the skin beneath even warmer, and while Jess was too tired and too hurt to think about more than holding him, her mind stored the feeling for later when she’d be without him again.

“I was afraid Cian’s negotiations wouldn’t keep Vasquez away. All I could see was the way you looked when I walked into that hospital room.”

“It’s okay,” she consoled.

His voice cracked as he said the next words. “Who have I become?”

“Someone who protects the people he cares about,” she answered, lifting her head to look at him fiercely.

“What if there was another way…what if Cian knew what he was doing? God.” He raked his free hand through his hair, clearing his throat painfully.

Jess rested her chin on Connor’s chest and put steel in her voice she didn’t necessarily feel. “You’re a good man, Connor. It doesn’t matter what your family does, it doesn’t matter that you’re not perfect. I know you, and you’re a good man. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

His hand found her hair, and he stroked it softly, the repetitive motion seeming to soothe him. “I haven’t been good to you, baby.”

She squeezed her eyes tight to hold the tears at bay. “It took both of us to get here,” she finally admitted. “I was pulling away, I knew deep down I couldn’t keep on. I should have said something to you. Maybe then, you wouldn’t have…”

“Don’t you dare,” he snapped, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Don’t you make this your fault. Yeah, you were pulling away—because you didn’t want this to happen. Strange men breaking into your house and attacking you, a boyfriend who comes home with blood on his hands, in-laws who might end up in maximum security one day. You pulled away because you’re too smart for all this, Jess. I knew it, and I should have let you go. Instead, I tried to avoid it by going to someone else.”

She sighed. Jesus, they were a mess.

“You need to know…” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t enjoy it…with her. I’m not just saying that. I hated it. I hated myself. I’d change what I did with her before I’d change what happened with her brother.”

Jess closed her eyes and pictured her happy place—a beach, sunshine, happy children playing nearby, her ID card from an important job lying on the towel next to her, and a man, her man, smiling down as he leaned in to kiss her. And he didn’t have Connor’s face. He couldn’t have Connor’s face.

Jess clung to the only man she’d ever loved, even as she knew it couldn’t be his face in her future.

* * *

Several hours later, Connor sat up in the dark, a jolt of adrenaline rushing through his head. He took a few breaths, calming himself, listening carefully for anything out of the ordinary. When it seemed quiet, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and fired off a quick text to the guys outside. When they confirmed all was fine, he lay back down on the bed and rolled to one side, looking at Jess’s small form next to him.

They’d fallen asleep with all their clothes on after talking for hours. It had been the closest to the old them Connor had felt since he’d ruined it all. It was also the first time in his life he’d ever wished to be someone other than who he was—other than a MacFarlane. Because he knew he’d never be with her like this again. At the age of twenty-four, Connor had only now learned the full truth about what it meant to be him.

He’d learned when you were a MacFarlane, you couldn’t afford to love anyone.

“Hey.” Jess’s sleepy voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

She rolled onto her side and threw one leg across his in such a familiar way, it made his whole chest ache.

As her head settled in the cup of his shoulder, he tipped his face down and kissed her forehead.

“Just go back to sleep, baby,” he whispered.

But her hand snaked out, sliding under the hem of his T-shirt and into the waistband of his jeans.

“Jess?” he asked, swallowing down the lightning-fast arousal that shot through his body.

“One last time,” she murmured as she leaned up and began to kiss his jawline.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“I know.” She stopped, gazing down at him in the dark. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he could hear the sorrow in her voice. “I want to.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered as her lips came down over his.

She arched into him, her T-shirt sliding up as he slipped his hand along her smooth stomach.

Their tongues tangled, and Connor felt that familiar squeezing of his heart, a racing in his gut, and the hardening of his shaft. There was no one like this woman. Everything about her, from the silk of her skin to the scent of her hair to the tiny gasps she made when he reached her nipples and rolled them between his fingers seemed designed to fit him perfectly. Like the lock to his key, Jess was meant for him and him alone.

“I love you,” he whispered as he traced her bottom lip with his tongue.

“I love you too,” she answered, her fingers pulling at the button of his jeans.

He slid her T-shirt off and stared down at her bare chest in the darkness. Her breasts were full and lush, and his pulse raced as he traced them with his index finger. She was like a goddess. Perfection laid out beneath him, and he knew he didn’t deserve her. Not a word from her lips, not a touch from her fingers, not a taste from her tongue. Yet, here he was, being given one last moment with her. He’d go to church tomorrow and he’d give thanks to the Holy Mother, but in the meantime, Connor would make sure Jessica O’Neil never doubted how much she truly meant to him. He slid his hands beneath her yoga pants and stroked her core, eliciting a moan from her.

“This is all about you, baby. You are everything. Let me show you.”

And under cover of the dark, while his brothers risked everything to fix his mistake, Connor MacFarlane said goodbye to the love of his life the only way he knew how—with the slide of skin, the slick of sweat, and the whispered regrets of a man who’d never stood a chance. Because he’d been born to a life that had no room for things like love or women like Jess.