Page 24

"You're being paranoid."

"I'm being careful." He leans close, breath warm against my ear. "These men see women as things to possess and use for their personal, often perverted, gratification.”

I shudder from the chill his words send through me.

“Don’t forget that, Lucy.”

I nod, finally giving this situation the seriousness it needs.

I watch him walk away, admiring how he moves through the crowd. There's a fluid grace to his stride, like a boxer already warming up. Or maybe more like a wolf stalking its prey.

He glances back, catching me staring. A hint of a smile plays at his lips before he disappears into the registration area. My heart shouldn't flutter at that little gesture. I'm here for a story, not to moon over some mysterious maybe-cop with too many secrets.

As I sit as ordered, I wonder what those secrets might be. What drives a man to infiltrate the most dangerous crime family in Boston? What makes him risk everything to protect a nosy journalist he barely knows?

Flynn emerges from registration, now shirtless as he warms up. The tattoos I glimpsed earlier are fully visible, intricate designs spanning his muscled torso. They should make him look thuggish, but instead they enhance his raw magnetism. I can’t stop the desire to trace each image with my fingers. To feel the heat of his skin, the hard muscles underneath.

He catches my eye again, and this time there's no mistaking the heat in his gaze.

God help me, I’m going to go up in flames.

I sit and focus on the conversations going on around me. A woman in diamonds whispers about Ronan Kean's latest real estate acquisition and how she’d dump her husband to spend one night in Ronan’s bed.

Two men in tailored suits discuss territory disputes with rival families, but there’s no mention of the Ifrinns. But why would there be? They’ve been gone for ten years. Surely, organized crime has moved on and mostly forgotten them except as folklore.

"Did you hear about Mickey?" A gravelly voice catches my attention. "Stepped outta line last week. They found him a charred heap. Used his car as the incinerator."

"Classic Kean move," his older companion replies. "They came to power through fire. Burned their rivals into the ground.”

“Really. Who was that?”

“Ifrinn.”

I tilt my head to better focus, working to silence the din of all the other noise around me.

"He refused to bend the knee to Hampton,” the older man continues. "Next thing you know, whoosh. The house and everyone in it, up in flames."

“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard that story. Everyone was torched?”

“Yes… well… there is a question whether the sons were there, but if not in the house, I’m sure Hampton dealt with them another way.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Hampton doesn’t let anyone survive. And those boys haven’t been seen nor heard from in over ten years. They have to be dead. Otherwise, they’d be here avenging their family.”

Ice slides down my spine. How can people be so cruel and callous to exterminate an entire family?

“Or they’re wimps. Clearly, the Keans got the jump on them.”

This isn’t necessarily news to me. Yes, it’s different from the official accidental fire report, but the rumors of Hampton Kean killing his one-time partner have been around for a long time. These men are confirming what I’ve suspected. The Keans’ fast rise to wealth and influence wasn’t simply filling in the void the Ifrinn family’s demise left but a deliberate, calculated act. The Keans murdered their way to the top. And somehow, they’ve escaped any official suspicion.

“Heard they had help on the inside,” the older man says. “Opened the door and let them.”

What?I lean forward nonchalantly, as this is news to me.

“No shit? Was it one of the kids?”

“Nah, those boys worshiped their father. It was someone who worked for them. Not sure who, but I think they still work for the Keans.”