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CHAPTER ONE

Three Months Ago - Sean

LIFTING MY GUN , I aim for his head. “Tell me what I want to know.”

“I can’t.” Benny replies. His lips trembling. The stench of piss in the air. It’s not fresh. He’s been strapped to this chair for two days.

“You’re already going to die. I can either make it quick, or I can drag this out for days, weeks even. You know this. You’ve seen me do it.”

He’s sputtering and crying now. Weak. Pathetic.

A small flicker of pity ignites in my gut. I squash it before it can grow. He betrayed the family. You don’t betray the family.

Two days ago Benny played a role in the attempted coup, and failed assassination of our boss, Liam Doyle, head of the Doyle Irish Mob. Liam is now in a coma, fighting for his life after being shot in the chest. His nephew, Patrick, was the one to fire the gun in the hopes to forcibly take over as head of the Mob.

While Liam is incapacitated, his son, Killian, has taken his rightful place as our new leader. Just as he was always meant to. Killian’s first act was to declare Patrick and his father Peter traitors. A steep ransom has been placed on both their heads. Any man found to be working or coordinating with Patrick or Peter will be deemed a traitor and the punishment will be mete out according to the family bylaws.

Ignoring Benny’s cries and pleas, I turn to my table. Pretending to peruse the various tools. As if I don’t already know which one I am going for. I play this game with all my victims. Fear plays just as big a role as pain, if not bigger in getting men to talk.

After ample time has passed, I pick up the cleaver. Turning back to Benny, the man who has worked for the family for twenty years. The man I once considered a friend. He was loyal, or so we thought.

“What has Patrick done to deserve such loyalty?” I ask as I take slow measured steps towards him. He doesn’t answer. His breathing has slowed. You can see the wheels turning in his head.

Patrick has always been jealous of his cousin Killian. Much like how his father, Peter, envied Liam. Neither hid their disdain at being a spare to the throne of our family. Ever since Liam announced his upcoming retirement, Patrick has been on a smear campaign to convince members of the family that Killian is unfit to lead. He’s been trying to convince anyone and everyone who will listen that he is the wiser choice to take over. Patrick’s claims are false and based on no real evidence. Not only is Killian the rightful heir by birthright, he has also been training and preparing to take over since he was out of diapers.

We had ignored the rumors at first, thinking they would lead nowhere. Patrick’s lies had no foundation. Besides that, most people in the family only tolerated him and his father due to him being blood family to the Boss. Both were spoiled, materialistic pricks.

Somehow, despite his previous unpopularity, Patrick has been gaining supporters to his cause. We are working to find out how, so that we can stop him before a full on civil war break outs, complete with shoot-outs in the streets.

“Has he offered you a seat at his table? Has he given you money? Tell me, how much is the going rate of betrayal?” I pause to give him a chance to respond. He doesn’t. “Did he blackmail you? Kidnap someone you loved?” My voice rises with each word I force out of my mouth. Finally, I can contain my anger no more. I slam the cleaver down on two of his fingers. Severing them at the second knuckle. “What has he given you?” I scream. Spit from my mouth hitting his face.

Benny’s cry of pain echoes off the cement walls.

I use the knife to tilt his chin up, letting the blood from his finger drip down his neck. “Was it worth it?”

He shakes his head. His voice barely a whisper. “No.”

“Then tell me. Tell me and I will end this.” I say a little gentler, as I move back to my table and allow him to watch as I fill a syringe of Morphine. “Tell me, and the pain will end.”

His head lowers briefly before he nods. With a smile teasing my lips, I plunge the needle into his neck, allowing him a moment for the medicine to take effect. Then the interrogation begins. If he had failed to speak after the Morphine hit his veins, he would have learned how painful it is when you continue to lie to me.

Three hours later, I fire a single bullet.

My body shakes from the fury coursing through my veins.

Benny admitted that Patrick has made a deal with the Cartel. He is selling their drugs, and making a play for the Skin Trade. It’s a practice the Doyle family has had a ban on for decades. We dabble in guns, drugs, prostitution, and gambling, along with countless legal businesses. Unwilling skin is one we never touch.

Partnering with Ramirez, the Chicago Cartel Captain, gave Patrick access to millions in cash. He has been using the money to buy loyalty from weaker men. True loyal men cannot be bought, no matter the price. In a way, I should thank Patrick. When this is all over, he will have helped us clean our ranks of the snakes that are unworthy to be part of our brotherhood.

I tuck my gun back into my shoulder holster, then do up the button on my jacket. Turning, I give a nod to two of my men, Oscar and Rian. They are my cleaners, who also double as my driver and my bodyguard. They have proven their loyalty time and time again. They also know several dozen discrete ways to eliminate a body and all evidence. It’s why I put them in charge of clean-up whenever I’m done in the basement.

Moving to the elevator, I place my thumb on the scanner, then enter in my eight digit code. I change it regularly. You can’t be too careful with security in an operation like ours. There is no need to hit a floor number once inside. This particular elevator only goes between my basement playroom, and the third floor of my club, Eclipse.

It’s one of the most popular venues in Chicago, and it’s all mine. Killian, demanded it remain in my name only. A gift he called it. For all my years of loyalty and dedication. It’s just another reason why the men in our family, the true Doyle family, are loyal to him. Killian recognizes hard-work and dedication. It’s also why I am proud to serve as third generation mafia, though I have no intention of adding a fourth. My life is too dangerous, too busy, and too filled with women begging for a night in my bed.

The elevator dings as the doors slide open. The crimson colored hallway is off-limits to the guests of the club. Black accents with hints of gold add to the grandiose atmosphere I meticulously curated all throughout Eclipse. There are three rooms on this floor, each with windows looking out over the club below. There is my office, Callum’s office, and a conference room.

Callum is my best friend, my right-hand in much the same way Grady is the right-hand of Killian. Together we make up the inner-most circle of the new generation of the Doyle Family.

Most of our work is done as a divide and conquer situation, with each of us focusing on specific aspects of our organization. Callum and I handle the club, the bars, pubs, restaurants and hotels of the family. Grady handles the weapons, finances, and real estate, while Killian oversees the gambling, drugs, and underground fighting. To ensure our operation is solid, we meet up several times a week to report updates and bounce ideas off of one another.

Opening the door to the conference room, I can see that Callum and Grady are already here and waiting. I greet them with a nod of the head, before moving to the bar cart. I keep it filled with each of our preferred liquors. True to my Irish roots, I go for the Redbreast whiskey.

Hearing the door open again, I don’t bother looking before pouring a second glass with three fingers of Jameson. Turning, I take the second glass and hand it to Killian. He takes it in his left hand. His right arm is currently in a sling.

It wasn’t just Liam that Patrick shot at. Killian also suffered a gun shot wound, only his was to the shoulder.

He hates wearing the sling. Thinks it makes him look weak. He’s only been wearing it behind closed doors and around us, knowing that the more he wears it, and keeps his shoulder immobile, the quicker he will heal.

“Sláinte”. Cheers.

In unison we move to our respective chairs. It’s a dance we have done for months. Hell, more like years. The only thing that changes is the location of our meetings. Killian always sits at the head with Grady to his right, myself on the left, with Callum beside me.

Once upon a time, Patrick, sat beside Grady. It was a place of honor. A place he never respected.

“How’s our guest?” Asks Killian.

I take a long sip of my whiskey then fill them in on everything Benny was able to tell me.

“Fuck.” Grumbled Killian.

“We sure his info is credible?” Questions Callum.

I nod. “Yeah. Benny had a cloud account where he stored photos he planned to use as blackmail if Patrick ever fucked him over. He had promised to make him Underboss when he took over.” I pull up a few of the photos on my phone and pass it around the table. Several images are of Patrick and Ramirez meeting, talking, shaking hands and shit. “I’ve got Oscar going through the rest of the files tonight, seeing if there’s anything else of value in them.”

Killian nods. “Should have guessed he was working with the Cartel. He’s neither smart enough, nor resourceful enough to make a play against us without someone backing him.” Relaxing back into the seat, his thumb running along his chin. “We need to cut off Patrick’s money supply. If he proves useless to the Cartel, they’ll either drop him, or kill him.” Grady and Callum nod in acknowledgment.

Killian turns to me and Callum. “Need you both to focus on the club. Both fortunately and unfortunately, it’s the perfect hunting ground for Skin Traders.”

Callum replies for the both of us. “Yes boss. Already planned to double our camera coverage, and add night vision lenses to some so we can see into the darker corners. We’ve also added two of our men to the bartender roster.”

I can’t help but to laugh. “Jake and Zack were pissed when we reassigned them. Bitched about wanting in on the violence, not wasting hours pouring beers and shaking martinis.” I pause and smile. “They were singing a different tune after their first shift when they realized the amount of pussy they had thrown at them.” Grady and Killian both chuckle.

In all seriousness, I turn our attention elsewhere. “How goes the wedding planning?” I ask Killian.

He runs a hand over his face. “Slow. Keira understands the need. She is on-board with the plan.”

Killian and Keira are not in love. Their relationship is one of convenience.

Killian owed Keira a life debt after she saved his life. She cashed it in by requesting refuge and protection. She was on the run from a dangerous man. The Italian Mafia’s Consigliere, Santo. The fucker had threatened her life, and her boyfriend Val’s. She didn’t know until that day that Val’s family was part of the Italian mafia, or that his brother tagged to inherit the throne.

Faced with the threat of the person she loved most in this world, Keira ran, and Santo’s been hunting her ever since.

To best protect Keira, Killian and her agreed to an arrangement. It started as fake dating, then evolved into a marriage of convenience.

Killian had known, as next in line to lead the family, he would need to show his dedication to keeping the organization strong, to keep the line of succession going. For that, he needs a wife and heir. More than that, he needs someone by his side that he can trust without hesitation. One who is willing to take secrets to her grave. More than just the usual mafia secrets.

His wife will also need to be willing and able to undergo medical treatments.

It isn’t widely known, in fact few outside this room know, Killian is infertile. An unfortunate repercussion of an accident in his teens. The same accident that pushed his twin brother Kiernan to want to fake his own death.

We all loved Kiernan like a brother. We also knew he wasn’t cut out for this life. He was too kind, too gentle. We protected him the best we could. As time went on, and we saw the nightmares he suffered after completing his initiation into the family, Killian knew he had to get his brother away. Technically there is only one way to leave the family. Death. So that’s what we did. In a way.

It took us a few years to plan everything and execute it. The plan included not only getting Kiernan out of the city, states away with a new identity, and staging his murder, but also leaving behind a donation of his sperm. As identical twins, Killian could use it to produce a child that was genetically his. Keira has been read in on the plan. She is willing to use her eggs and carry the child. She’s a doctor, a surgeon, so she understands what the procedure will entail.

“I sense a but coming.” Chimes Callum.

Grady nods before answering. “She is reluctant. She is still hurting. Seven years and she still holds onto the hurt of leaving Val. Deep down, she still loves him, even though they have not seen nor spoken to each other in years.”

“What can we do?” I ask.

“Nothing.” Answers Killian. “She doesn’t want us going after the Italians while we are still dealing with the mess Patrick has caused.”

That brings a smile to Grady’s face. He loves a good fight. “So, what you’re saying is…Santo and anyone aligned with him is fair game after we put Patrick in the ground?”

Killian gives a laugh. “On two conditions. One, we don’t hurt Val. We all know Keira holds a grudge and won’t forgive us if we do.”

“That, and she packs a mean right hook.” Adds Callum as he rubs his jaw, as though still feeling the impact of her fist. We’ve all spared with her. We’ve all been knocked on our asses in the ring by her.

“Two, we don’t kill anyone except for that asshole who threatened her. She doesn’t want a war, only retribution”

“What fun is that bullshit?” Whines Grady.

We all laugh a bit at that. He loves a good fight. We all do. And for Keira, we’d gladly go to war.

None of us are sexually attracted to her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s beautiful, intelligent, and funny. Literally the ideal package for most men. For us, she is the sister none of us ever had.

We are all quiet for a moment before Callum asks the question we’ve all silently wondered. “And, if after Patrick is handled, and Keira’s nightmare is put to bed…” He’s unable to finish the question. I give him credit for having the balls to start the question at all.

Killian sighs. “She deserves happiness. If Val still feels for her, what she does for him. And he can prove he had nothing to do with the tortures she endured, then I will let her go. I will give my blessing.”

“Do you have a back-up plan?” I ask. “You will still need a wife and an heir.”

“I will cross that bridge if and when I need to.” He pauses. I don’t like this pause. He’s taking the time to make eye contact with each of us. “Even after we win this war, we will be facing an uphill battle. The family will need to know we are working towards a stronger future. A new generation.”

Fuck I know where he is going with this, and I don’t like it.

Callum slumps forward. “You want us all to get married.” It’s not a question.

The smile Killian has is not a friendly one. “Yes. Preferably in the next few years.”

And with that he has ruined my mood, along with ends the discussion and turns our focus to updates on our legal enterprises.

Once the meeting wraps, we each go our separate way. I head for my office, I’ve still got blood all over me. I need to clean up before I head down to the club floor and make my rounds.

After stripping out of my clothes, I toss them in the chute built into the wall. It leads to the basement where the guys will later incinerate them.

Ten minutes later, I’m staring out the window of my office and down to the dance floor below. I’ve got the blood rinsed off, and am doing up the last of the buttons on my shirt. That’s when I see her. My partner for the night.

Honey blond hair, and a little black dress. Her legs are long, and her strappy heels are sexy as fuck. She’s with a group of friends. Admittedly they are all pretty hot, but there is something about this woman that intrigues me. She’s a ten, acting like she’s a six. She’s hanging back in the group. Letting any and everyone else take the lead. I watch as a man wraps his arm around her and tries to entice her into a dance. It won’t be a dance. I already know the type of man he is. He will rock back and forth while letting his crotch rub against her backside. He’ll whisper in her ear promises of a night she’ll never forget.

She’ll forget.

A night with me, that, she won’t forget.

She takes only seconds to shrug him off and grab the hand of a friend to dance with in the hopes he will give up.

He does. Of course he does.

Pathetic.

I don’t take home unwilling women, but I do enjoy a bit of a chase, and I have a feeling this woman is going to have me running. I can’t wait.

I grab my suit jacket off the hanger and head for the door. My eyes stay locked on her as I prowl down the stairs that wrap around the outer wall and allow guests a view of the entire club as they move from the lower level to the VIP floor.

She sways to the beat. Like she’s trying not to garner attention by keeping her movements reserved. Subtle. Little does she know, she’s caught the eye of a dozen or more men. Only my eyes matter though. The rest are inconsequential since she’ll be going home with me.

Halfway down the stairs her eyes meet mine. I don’t stop moving while maintaining the connection. Silently letting her know I’m coming for her.

She blushes and tries ducking her head to hide. A few moments later, after weaving between her friends to the far side of the group, she looks back at me. I see the surprise on her face as we lock eyes again. She twirls around, as if to hide from me. It doesn’t deter me.

I love a shy woman that turns into a vixen in the bedroom. Just takes the right bit of coaxing. And I can tell this woman is a nervous kitten with a hellcat spirit waiting to be let loose.

Two hours and three drinks later, we both have a decent buzz going as we stumble into my hotel suite. It’s not available for guests. It’s my private oasis for seduction, and always available to me. Best part is, I can sneak out when I’m done. Save myself from kicking my partner for the night out of my apartment, or risk falling asleep next to them. I’ve learned the hard way that it sends the wrong message. It happens no matter how many times I tell them before we shed our clothes that it will only ever be one night. One night, unless we enter into an agreement. I currently have three. Those women know the score, when I need them, I message them, never the other way around. No dates, no small talk, no cuddles, and no overnights.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve never done this.” Tara says breathlessly as I tear my mouth from hers to get my shirt over my head.

“You want to stop?” I’m teasing her. At least I hope I am. I’m not sure my balls will recover if she walks away from me right now. I’m too worked up. I need her.

“Fuck no.” She growls as she practically rips her own dress off and pushes me down onto the bed.

Hellcat!

I love it when I’m right.

“Condom?” She asks as her hands struggle to work my belt off. She’s jumpy and excited. I made sure she had a few drinks to relax her, yet not impair her in anyway.

I help her get my pants off then roll to the side and open the drawer of the little table and pull out a strand of four rubbers. Thank fuck one of my regular girls Jessica brought extra with her last time. I’ve got a feeling we are going to go through several of these tonight.