Page 62 of Sins of Arrogance (Syndicate Sins #1)

MICK

Dierdre is pacing the cell when I release the biometric lock and walk inside.

"Micky, what am I doing here? I don’t know what that devious woman you married told you, but I love you. You must know that." She throws herself at me, clinging in a way no woman but Kara has a right to.

I shove Dierdre from me hard enough that she lands on the cot across the small room. Eyes wild, she jumps up again.

But I put my hand up. "Stay there."

For once, real tears fill her eyes and spill over. Unlucky for her, the only woman’s tears who matter to me are Kara’s.

"You tried to take my heart from me," I inform her dispassionately. "You will die. And you will be in excruciating agony when you do it."

Dierdre starts screaming and I leave the cell.

She’s still alive because she has one more job to perform, but when that's done, she will die in terror and pain.

A just ending for someone who wanted to kill my wife and threatened my son.

Later that night, I stand in the shadows of the boathouse watching the water on the bay. The access door for the slip connected to the main room of the boathouse is open and Dierdre is sitting in a chair bathed in the light of a single lamp like she’s waiting for someone. What she is, is drugged.

Just Special K this time. I only needed her malleable and suggestible.

Despite my warning about her death, when I tell her I need her to do something, the drug makes her willing. Her delusions make her eager.

But by the time Darakov realizes the trap, it will be too late for him to escape.

The sound of an outboard motor reaches me before my eyes tune to the dark shadow crossing the water.

We’ve turned off the alarms on the bay side of the boathouse and the guard underwater is one of my men. No word of tonight’s events will reach Northie ears from any mouth but my own.

And that narrative will only have a loose resemblance to what actually happens.

Darakov waves at Dierdre and like the well-prepped, drugged-up bunny-boiler she is, she waves back.

He moors the boat at the edge of the pier and steps out.

"You got the prototype?" he asks when he's only a few feet from her.

She nods. "In the duffel."

He moves forward quickly to grab it and that’s all I need.

I give the signal and the two guards he brought with him are taken out with head shots, the only sounds the thud of a body hitting the decking and the splash of the other going into the water.

Darakov turns to see what's happening and I strike. Taking him down is almost anticlimactic. Clearly too used to having his men do all the fighting for him, his resistance is pathetic.

I have him cuffed at the wrist and ankles with a gag shoved in his mouth and duct tape over it in less than a minute.

It's ridiculous.

"With a leader as weak as you, no wonder your bratva is about to get wiped off the face of the earth." By me.

I shove the aerosol mask prepped with the benzo compound over his nose and wait for him to inhale before pressing the release on the canister.

He stops squirming after his third inhale. The cuffs on him are designed not to leave marks even if he struggles against his bonds. But I'm not taking chances.

If something is worth doing, it's worth doing right. And the stage I'm setting for this narrative precludes bondage or interrogation marks on his body.

I instruct Conor to dispose of the two dead bodies of Darakov's men and transfer him and Dierdre to holding cells in the mansion.

Getting the information I want from him, and a lot more that might prove useful in the future, will take too long for us to accomplish step two of our plan before the bay gets busy with potential witnesses this morning.

It's after dinner the next day and I'm finishing up Darakov's interrogation when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I pull it out and realize it's a video call. Connecting, I step into the hall. The subbasement is one of the few parts of the mansion that don't have video surveillance.

That Brogan is aware of.

I have cameras down here, but the only people with access to their feeds are my lieutenants and me.

" Mo chroí , you look beautiful." Her natural curls frame her face.

She stopped straightening her hair and pulling it back into ponytails all the time. More evidence my queen is settling into herself and her rightful place.

Her smile is warm and intimate. "Thank you. I know you're busy, but Fitz wanted to talk to you."

She wouldn't have called me like this before, even if our son asked her to. It fills me with satisfaction that she does now.

"I'm always happy to talk to our son."

"Told you he wouldn't mind, mom." Fitz's voice comes through clearly though I can't see him yet.

Kara rolls her eyes and then the video feed shows the wall, the ceiling and finally my son's eyes and nose. He's holding it too close to his face again.

"Hi, da."

"Hello, a mhac . Are you and your mom having fun?"

"Mom is letting me watch three episodes of Spidey and His Amazing Friends before bed." My son’s voice is soaked with glee.

"Your mom is a pretty wonderful woman, isn’t she?"

"Aye, Da," my son says, mimicking my Irish burr. "She’s savage craic."

"Who taught you that one?" He didn’t learn Irish slang at school.

"Uncle Rory. He says the best stuff."

"Well, that’s bang on. Your mom is savage craic." And in ways my son will never know about.

"Will you be home soon, da?"

I calculate how long the rest of the interrogation should take and nod. "I’ll be there in twenty minutes."

I make it to the apartment in time to watch the third episode of my son's favorite show before Kara and I tuck him into bed.

Kara wants to know how the interrogation went and I tell her. "He wanted the whisper gun prototype, but he hasn't told the pakhan about it. His bratva is the only one involved in the attempt to steal it from us."

"Except that Albanian gang leader you told me about."

"His gang was hired for a job. He doesn't have any information." Which won't stop me destroying his gang.

Helping me with that will be Wraith's final test for induction into our mob.

But I have more pressing thoughts to attend to right now.

Like how many times can I make my wife orgasm before she passes out?

The answer is four.

I gently clean her body, my cock giving a jerk as I wipe the combination of my spend and her juices from her thighs.

But I let her sleep and force myself to shower and dress.

After checking on Fitz, sleeping with Gobby beside him on the pillow, I return to the subbasement for the next step in my plan to rid the earth of Dierdre and Darakov.

Without going to war with the Northies.

Brice steps out of the holding cell when I reach it. "He’s ready, boss."

Only the men in my crew, those under my lieutenants and my private security detail, call me boss . The rest of the Shaughnessy soldiers call me underboss.

But my men's loyalty is to me first.

I already run this mob, even if Brogan thinks he’s doing it.

"Good." I enter the cell and find a naked Darakov strapped to a chair, the clarity in his eyes testament that he is indeed ready.

The benzo compound has mostly worn off, so he'll appreciate what I'm about to tell him fully.

I slap Darakov first on the left cheek, then on the right. He'll be dead before a bruise can form on either.

There are no overt marks on him.

"Wraith is as adept as you or I at doling out pain without leaving bruises behind," Brice says with approval.

I nod toward Wraith. "Good to know."

He inclines his head. "I prefer using those techniques on bastards like him who deserve it."

I don’t ask him what he means. I don’t care. "I prefer to use my skills on behalf of my family too."

Wraith's gaze probes mine. "You meant it when you said that when I’m inducted into the mob, I’ll be part of the family?"

"I did. That’s how we work in the Irish mob. Soldiers are soldiers, but they’re also family. Their wives, their children, they’re all our responsibility."

"That’s not how Besnik sees it."

"He’s a waste of space. And his chosen heir is going to take down his syndicate from within if an enemy doesn't do it first." An enemy like me.

Wraith doesn’t smile, but there’s a lift at the corner of one of his eyes. "You’re right about that, boss. You’re right about that."

Darakov stares up at me. "You can’t do this. If you kill me, you’ll be declaring war with my bratva."

"You declared fucking war with the Shaughnessy Mob when you tried to break in and steal what is not yours. I’m already working on the destruction of your bratva."

He tries to look like he’s not affected, but I can tell that hit home. "You can’t destroy us. We’re too strong."

I laugh with some humor but more cruelty. "You mean the Odessa Mafia is too strong."

Not that I believe any syndicate is too strong to take down, but Odessa isn't my enemy. Darakov and his bratva are.

"Your bratva is just a tiny part of their organization," I deride.

"An important part. I'm the best weapons dealer they have."

"You'd sound more impressive if your tiny dick wasn't shriveled and on display," Brice mocks.

Darakov glares at my lieutenant. "I'm still part of Odessa and if you kill me, you're declaring war on them."

"Nah. I spoke to your pakhan."

Darakov doesn't look afraid yet. "So? Then you know he stands by his vor.

Vor being what they call their soldiers.

But I shake my head. "Not this time. I showed him proof of your attempt to steal from me. If you had gotten away with it, he would’ve praised you. But now? You make him look bad. You make him look weak."

He starts yelling at me in Russian.

I just shake my head in mock sympathy. "If you had asked permission, or told the pakhan about the Whisper gun, maybe. He thinks you put his neutral relationship with the Shaughnessy Mob at risk for a nonworking prototype of a more reliable weapon undetectable to security scanners."

"You lied to him!"

"And?"

"He won't let you get away with killing me." This time, there's desperation, not confidence in Darakov's tone.

"On the contrary. He doesn't want war with us. Where Odessa has uneasy truces, the Shaughnessy Mob has allies. All over the world."

There it is. That look of terror that feeds my dark soul.

"Don't kill me. I can get things for you. Things no one else can."

I don't bother to reply to that or his other begging.

Finally, I taze him just to shut him up. It works. "Dress him now or after?" I ask Brice his preference because he'll be the one doing it.

"Now. The venom might trigger instant rigor mortis. Some do."

"Venom?" Darakov croaks.

Brice administers chloroform and then he and Wraith dress the unconscious man.

Darakov comes to as the two men lift him to hold him between them.

"What are you going to do with me?" Darakov asks groggily.

"Well first…" I grab a syringe and lift it. "I’m going to inject you with this."

His face pales. "What is that?"

"You’re well known for using the venom of the Siberian pit viper on your victims. I thought you would enjoy dying the same way." I didn't have to give up my favorite parts of my original plan after all.

He starts to struggle, knowing what’s coming: excruciatingly painful death that will leave no marks on his body.

Important, because the best way to get rid of him and Dierdre is to continue the ruse of star-crossed lovers.

Their boat will capsize in the bay, and they will both drown.

Conscious, but unable to save themselves.

I give him enough venom to incapacitate him and cause him excruciating agony. It would probably result in death after a few hours, but he'll drown in the bay first.

After going to the cell next door and injecting Dierdre with a paralytic, we take her and Darakov down to the boathouse.

We used Kara's program with some modifications for the new security programs to temporarily disable motion sensors and cameras outside, replacing their feeds with the one of Dierdre walking down to the boathouse the night before.

That footage was replaced with the back acreage devoid of movement.

Once we get our victims onto Darakov's inflatable raft, Brice and I row it out to the middle of the bay, no outboard motor to attract attention. Then, while Brice dons his scuba gear, I take care of business.

Dierdre is aware, but completely unable to move her limbs. She looks at me with terror in her eyes and I smile.

It’s not a nice smile.

Most of mine aren’t.

The only people who get good smiles from me, smiles that reflect real feeling, are Kara and Fitz. And hopefully one day, there will be another child for this sociopath to love.

"You’re going to drown. And the entire time you’re drowning, you will know that you brought this on yourself. Because you threatened the only woman who matters." I shove Dierdre over the side.

There’s no flailing, just a splash as she sinks in the cold, salty water.

Turning to the now convulsing Darakov, I say, "I will kill every vor in your bratva."

Unfortunately, with the two already dead, there are only five more to dispose of.

"I will destroy the biological weapons you wanted to sell to my old mob. My blackgloves will dissect your computers. We'll raid your inventory stashes and take what we want."

Even in his state my words reach him, and he swears at me in Russian.

It's his turn to be the recipient of my less than friendly smile. "We'll destroy everything I don't want and erase you from existence."

After that pronouncement, I push him into the water. He tries to swim, but his convulsing body won't let him and I watch while he flounders and eventually drowns.

I put on my scuba gear while Brice drops into the water and disconnects our DPVs from the boat. The inflatable raft might be painted dark for stealth, but it's inferior design is easy to capsize.

Brice and I use our DPVs to return to the boathouse unseen.

I shower before climbing back into bed with Kara. Sensing my presence, she turns naturally to me in her sleep.

Like she always does.

Because I’m her sociopath.

And Kara? She is my everything.