Robbie MacFarlane sat at the massive desk in his home office and considered his life. For the most part, he was pleased. He’d risen higher and achieved more than he’d ever dreamed was possible.

Raised in Dublin in the 1950s and ’60s, he’d gone from living in a single room with his ma and three younger sisters in the Mount Pleasant tenements to running a small gang of boys working for the Dublin Devils in the streets of Ranelagh. In his early twenties, when he’d been offered the chance to go to America as the Devils began their slow and calculated expansion, he’d known it was his chance to break out of the cycle of poverty his people had been in for generations.

America was the land of opportunity even in the 1970s, and Robbie had made every use of those opportunities. He’d risen through the ranks by being unyielding and merciless. Other gangs had known not to cross him, and other Devils had known not to turn their backs on him.

Now, at sixty-eight he sometimes wondered why Lady Luck had changed her mind and decided to kick him in the ass. His heart condition had sidelined him, and while his beautiful bride Angela Milligan MacFarlane might think it was a blessing in disguise to have him out of the business, all he could think was that God had it out for him.

After forty-plus years of working to amass power and fortune, Robbie was stuck in a body that had betrayed him, with an heir who was doing the same. Cian had never had what it took to be Robbie’s replacement.

The kid was plenty smart, and he’d gotten the Milligans’ height, with Robbie’s thick hair and blue eyes. Robbie had always been popular with the lasses, and he knew Cian was as well. All his boys had become good-looking men in fact, strong and imposing. Even Finn, the biggest disappointment of them all, was able to handle himself in a fight. At sixteen, the kid had once karate punched someone at school so hard, the victim had been sent to the emergency room with a broken nose, cheek, and eye socket. Robbie had bought Finn a pint at the pub that night, he was so proud of him.

But no matter Cian’s assets, he was lacking the one thing he needed to maintain the Devils’ dominance in an increasingly competitive world—Cian wasn’t a killer.

Being a killer meant you were willing to do whatever was necessary to win. It meant if you had to tie a man to a chair and burn him with a hot poker for a few hours to make your point, you did it. It meant you didn’t hesitate for anything or anyone. Whether it was keeping records on enemies so you could blackmail them or knowing when a rival was having a family gathering so your attack could do the maximum damage, if you were a killer—like Robbie—you never hesitated.

Robbie looked through the window at the roses his wife had planted outside. Cian had warned him all those years ago he’d get revenge, and now Robbie was afraid that was exactly what his oldest son intended to do. He knew Cian didn’t always tell him things about the business, knew he ran things how he wanted and kept certain pieces of information from Robbie.

But until this whole Vasquez business, Cian had never openly defied Robbie. He’d never blatantly ignored an order from his father. Robbie couldn’t let it pass—wouldn’t let it pass. Which was why he had to leverage that which Cian loved most. And that had always been his brothers.

Robbie didn’t want to put his own boys in prison, but, like the killer he’d always been, he’d do what he had to. Only now Cian had stolen the photographs Robbie had asked Danny to take.

Robbie fisted the picture of Cian and the other three boys taken a few years ago when he was in hospital. They were all around Robbie’s bed, two on either side, leaning down and smiling. But in Cian’s face, Robbie recognized the look—anger. Yes, his oldest son had been angry with him since the kid’s eighteenth birthday. And it was obvious that wasn’t going to change.

He needed a new way to remove Cian from the equation. If he could keep the other three boys around so they could continue to run things under his direction, that would be preferable.

Robbie tapped his finger on the arm of his desk chair. What else did Cian love enough Robbie could use it to break him? He turned and picked up the phone on his desk, swiping to open the contacts list. He hated damn technology, but the boys had told him he couldn’t use a landline anymore and expect anyone to take him seriously.

He found the number he wanted and tapped it. He might use the smartphones, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to text where everything you ordered was recorded for anyone to see.

“Yes, sir?” Danny answered on the first ring.

“I need to talk to you,” Robbie ordered. “When can you get here?”

Danny gave him an ETA, and Robbie disconnected the call. He’d figure it out. Somewhere, there was something or someone he could use against Cian. It was just a matter of finding it. Once he did, Cian would come to heel. The kid was weak, after all. He always had been.

* * *

Cian squinted at the computer screen in his office at Banshee. His vision was blurring from exhaustion, but he’d been putting off the regular work to deal with one crisis after another. He couldn’t ignore the new internet sales, and that meant looking at the numbers. Luckily, they were better than anyone could have foreseen.

He sighed as he rubbed his forehead. At least one thing was running smoothly.

“Hey,” Connor said as he peeked around the partially open door.

Cian motioned for him to come in. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, minimizing the spreadsheet.

Connor shut the door behind him and sat in the armchair on the other side of the desk. “I was checking on the packaging for the Rogue product,” he answered.

“Sales are going wild. Packaging and distribution running okay?”

“Yep. I brought in a few new people to handle the increased demand, and the system seems to be running fine.”

“Good.” Cian looked harder at Connor. His brother was nervous. It was obvious. Shit. What now?

“So, can we talk?” Connor asked, elbows resting on his knees.

Cian sighed. “Yeah. What’s going on?”

Connor looked down at his hands where they hung between his knees. “I’ve, uh, been spending some time with Jess.”

Cian nodded. “I know you’re still torn up about the stuff with Vasquez, but Consuelos isn’t going to come after us again. You can trust me on that. Jess is safe.”

“For now,” Connor said, shooting his brother a look that said Cian needed to quit blowing sunshine up his ass.

“Okay.” Cian waited.

“I love her so damn much,” Connor said softly.

“I know, man. And it was scary, but she’s okay. You’re okay. I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

When Connor’s gaze met his again, Cian saw something there he’d never seen in his youngest brother’s eyes before—cynicism. Connor had grown up. He wasn’t the same kid he was a few weeks ago.

“I know you’d stop at nothing to keep us safe, but I also know there are some things you can’t control.”

Cian didn’t answer, because as much as it tore him up to admit it, Connor was right.

“Jess and I have been talking. There are things we want to do, you know?”

Cian’s throat was thick. “What kinds of things?”

“Normal things. Live together. Travel. Have friends. Go places in public.”

“You don’t do those things now?” Cian asked. He knew the answer, but he wasn’t ready to concede quite yet.

“You know we’re not like other people. Jess—she doesn’t want to live this way. And after what happened, I can’t blame her.”

Cian scowled at the top of his desk. What the hell was his brother trying to get at?

“What do you want, Connor?”

Connor’s gaze met his, and there was a steel there Cian had never seen before. A new determination that made his heart swell with love.

“I want out.”

Cian froze, not even blinking as he stared at his youngest brother and the world shifted around him. Yes, he’d planned to get Connor out with a witness protection deal, but he’d thought it would only work if Connor was choosing between that and prison. He’d never in a million years thought Connor would voluntarily opt out of the life.

How wrong he’d been.

Connor leaned back in his chair, turning his eyes to the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I want to leave Chicago, take Jess, and go somewhere new. Get a regular job, live together, pay for our own shit, get married. I want kids and bills and friends.”

He cleared his throat. “I know it means I might not be able to see you guys as much, or that I couldn’t see Mom and Pop at all, but…” He shook his head sadly. “I don’t think I can live like this anymore, Cian. And I know I don’t want to live without Jess.”

Cian nodded, so damn much pride swelling inside him, he wasn’t able to speak for a few moments.

“Well, damn,” he said, his voice rough. He chuckled softly. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I’ve always told you to come to me with anything. This is exactly the kind of shit I was talking about. It’s a surprise, but I’m glad you’re talking to me.”

“Pop will never agree to it,” Connor lamented.

“Yeah, and that doesn’t mean you can’t do it, but it’ll require some significant planning.”

Connor’s gaze grew sharp. “You’d let us?”

Cian smiled warmly at his baby brother, that kid who’d snatched his heart twenty-four years ago and never given it back.

“I’ve always told you I only want you to be happy and safe. If we can figure out a way to do that, then we’ll do it.”

“And Jess too?”

“Of course. You won’t be happy without her, so she’s a big part of the equation.”

They both sat quietly for a moment. “You can’t tell anyone, not even Finn and Liam,” Cian cautioned.

“Okay.”

“And I can’t make it happen overnight. I’ll need to figure out the details.”

Connor nodded, a smile spreading across his face.

Cian ran a hand through his hair. “And there’s no questioning how I arrange it. When it’s all set, I’ll come to you, and you’ll do what I say, understand?”

“Yes. No questions, no arguments. And Jess too. She knows this means leaving her old man, but she’s ready.”

“You can tell her not to worry about Sean, I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.”

Connor’s voice was hoarse as he gazed warmly at Cian. “I knew you would. How will we ever thank you?”

Cian didn’t hesitate. “By having a great damn life.” He stood and walked around the desk as Connor stood at the same time. He pulled him into a rough hug. “I’m so proud of you, I can’t put it into words. Hang tight, and I’ll fix this.”

“Thank you,” Connor whispered. “Thank you.”

After Connor left his office, Cian sat alone while the sounds of the club coming to life filtered into the dingy little room. The scents of dust, old papers, and stale cigarettes lingered in the air as he closed his eyes for a moment and, for the first time in almost over a decade, felt maybe it had been worth it. Maybe. If he could get Connor out of this life, away from Robbie for good, he’d be one step closer to redeeming his blackened soul, one step closer to finally paying penance for his worst sin.

His mind traveled back to the night of his eighteenth birthday. That was the night he’d realized he’d never earn his father’s approval. It was the night he’d learned his father was more monster than man.

Robbie started Cian and Liam in boxing as teens, making sure they knew how to fight their way out of virtually any situation as well as how to burn off their sexual energy. On their sixteenth birthdays, he’d gotten each of them their own guns and taught them how to use them. But he’d promised their mother he wouldn’t let them work in the family business until they turned eighteen.

On Cian’s eighteenth birthday, Robbie took him and Liam out to celebrate. He bought them a good Irish dinner at the pub, gave Cian his first official bottle of Connemara, and then said they could come do a deal with him. Liam was there to watch, Cian to practice what it took to be a real leader.

Cian was excited, pumped with fantasies about impressing his father with what he knew about business. Unbeknownst to Robbie, Cian had been reading about negotiation, investments, and entrepreneurship for months. He was ready to blow his father away with his ideas and enthusiasm.

But he never had a chance, because Robbie wasn’t interested in business but in power, and power was something Cian hadn’t studied.

After the birthday dinner, Robbie took Cian and Liam to one of the family’s warehouses, and when they arrived, Cian’s godfather, Dylan, was just regaining consciousness.

Dylan had been one of the original men sent over from Dublin with Robbie. He’d served Cian’s father and their family for three decades, killing for them, fighting for them, and being a friend. He’d been the best man at Robbie’s wedding to Angela and godfather to Cian. He was valuable, and more than that, Cian loved Dylan. Which was why Robbie chose him.

“What the fuck!” Cian shouted when they walked into the old warehouse and saw Dylan duct taped to the chair. “Uncle Dylan! What happened?”

“Don’t touch him,” Robbie ordered. Cian turned from where he was about to release Dylan and was stunned by the evil that flared in Robbie’s gaze.

“What’s going on, Pop?” Liam asked warily.

“Rob,” Dylan said, his tongue thick from drugs. “Ní thuigim…”

No, Dylan hadn’t understood.

“Géill dom,” Robbie had told Dylan. Forgive me.

Cian’s heart raced, his mouth turning dry as he realized what was about to happen.

Dylan realized then as well, and he’d taken it like a man, just the way Robbie liked.

“Why?” he asked calmly.

“Because you need to be Cian’s first,” Robbie answered. “Get your gun out, Cian.”

Cian’s heart raced faster. He only thought he knew what was coming. “What are you talking about, Pop?”

“Do what you’re told.”

Cian’s hand shook as he removed the gun from the back of the waistband of his jeans. He held the gun out to Robbie like an offering.

“Not me,” Robbie growled, “you.”

No, no, no. “Me what, Pop?” He heard the desperation in his own voice, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Liam’s gaze widen.

“You’re eighteen now—a man—and if you expect to make it in a man’s world, there are times you have to do things you might not like. It’s better you learn this now.”

“Pop!” Liam said in horror. “It’s Uncle Dylan.”

Dylan hung his head then, taking one long, shuddering breath.

“No.” Cian said it with more vehemence than he’d ever used with his father. Too bad it was the wrong answer at the wrong time.

Robbie reached over and grabbed Cian’s forearm, squeezing it so hard, Cian gasped, his jaw tightening. Robbie lifted Cian’s arm and pointed the gun at the back of Dylan’s head.

“Pull the fucking trigger.”

“No!” Cian shouted hoarsely, wrestling his arm away, his stomach nearly catapulting out of his mouth. “Why the hell would I hurt Uncle Dylan?”

“Because I’m your father and your king, and you will do as you’re told!”

“Cian, son,” Dylan said softly, turning his head so Cian could see the side of his face. “It’s okay. The Lord will forgive you. It’s not your choice.”

Cian knew Dylan’s Catholicism had always disgusted Robbie. “Religion,” Robbie had once said, “was best left to the women. No God helped me climb out the slums of Dublin and become filthy rich. That was all me and my gun.”

“Pop, I’m not going to shoot Uncle Dylan,” Cian said, turning away from Dylan and desperately trying to shove the gun back in the waistband of his jeans.

But Robbie had also always told his boys that “you lead by example.” So he drew his own gun, pointing it at Cian.

“Fuck!” Liam shouted as Cian froze, the muzzle of Robbie’s gun an inch from his forehead. His life didn’t flash before his eyes. It simply flew away, like his soul and his heart, and everything he’d ever thought he knew about his family and their lives. Because while Cian had always understood his father was a bad man, he’d also always thought the badness was only for other people, never for the family. Now he knew different, and his world was changed forever.

As they stood, staring at one another, Cian finally saw the deadness in his father’s eyes. The darkness, the violence, the hate. He stared at Robbie, and Robbie stared at him. No one moved, the only sound in the room Dylan’s heavy breathing where he sat slumped in the chair now, resigned to what came next.

“Pop,” Liam said, his voice small and shaky.

“Shut up,” Robbie snapped, never taking his eyes off Cian, who was motionless. “You expect to be me someday?” he asked, his voice low and deadly. “You think you deserve to inherit this business? The money? The power? You want all that to be yours? Then you’d better learn how to do what a king does, because there’s no room for pussies when you’re at the top.”

Cian swallowed hard as Robbie pulled back the hammer on his gun. The sound seemed to echo through the warehouse.

“Do it,” Robbie said, his voice low and dangerous. “Or I will.”

Without making a conscious decision, Cian felt his own head slowly shift from side to side. Then he opened his mouth, and one word came out, the rattle of a dying man. “No.”

Robbie looked almost pleased for a moment, but then, like a rattlesnake striking, he jerked, and Cian blinked. When his vision refocused, Robbie held the gun to Liam’s left temple. The blood rushed so hard through Cian’s ears, he didn’t even hear his father say, “What about now?”

Cian slowly raised his arm to one side and pointed his gun at the back of Dylan’s head. His gaze was still fixed on Robbie’s as he rasped, “I’ll make you pay if it’s the last thing I do.” Then he pulled the trigger, and Dylan slumped forward, the back half of his skull blown to bits.