Ruthless Vow (Boston Elite Syndicate #1)

Prologue

LORENZO

The candle never goes out.

It's my father's rule. One of his men tends to it every morning before sunrise, replaces the wax and wick before it burns to nothing, keeps the flame burning.

Cesare Mariano is meticulous about ensuring his facade is still that of the unyielding bastard he always is.

Losing my mother in the manner that we did, the way that the power slipped from us at the hands of those somewhat closest to us, shook my father to the core.

So, the candle is his way of pretending that he had some semblance of love for a woman that devoted her life to him, rather than looking like the cold bastard that he truly is.

The candle is for Beatrice Mariano, my mother.

She was murdered fifteen months ago when the Harrington family decided they wanted more power than God had given them and started dismantling the people standing in their way.

Syndicate members, crime family heads, wives, children, basically anyone who represented a threat or a leverage point. My mother represented both.

The Harringtons weren't enemies when they started, they sat at the same tables as the rest of us. We shared information, shared businesses, along with access to parts of the Syndicate that should have been protected, but they decided they wanted it all.

They spent years building alliances in secret, positioning themselves where they could do the most damage when the time came.

By the time anyone realized what they were doing, it was too late.

Men were dead, routes were compromised, businesses were burning, and every family in the Syndicate was trying to figure out who they could still trust.

My mother was one of the casualties. The aftermath of their betrayal wrought chaos.

I've spent the last fifteen months watching what betrayal does to people, watching my father become even colder than he already was, and watching my siblings carry grief in different ways.

Our men who had trusted each other for decades have started questioning every conversation and every alliance.

Trust is expensive in this world, and the Harringtons made sure everyone remembered that.

They killed her early in the morning. I remember because I was supposed to be in a meeting with my father's men and I left early.

I was in the car when the call came through, and I remember the way the driver's hands tightened on the wheel before he said a single word to me.

That moment, that half second before the world changes.

I can still feel it in my chest when I stand in this chapel.

My mom was forty-one years old. She had dark hair and green eyes that could see right into the heart of you.

My mom didn't show much affection, but she made sure her children knew that she gave a shit about them.

She had survived twenty-one years inside the Syndicate without flinching, and she understood this world better than most of the men who ran it.

My mom knew that showing love was a weakness and she made sure that we knew that while also showing us that she did in fact love us.

She deserved better than what she ended up with. She deserved better than being in a marriage to a man who didn't love her and barely respected her. She deserved better than my father being re-married again less than a year after her death. He re-married a woman who’s younger than Elisabetta.

I don't let myself linger on that thought for long.

It doesn't change anything, it never has, and never will.

I stand at the back of the chapel and watch the candle burn.

The room is cold and the smell of incense fills the air.

My mother used to bring me here when I was young.

She would hold my hand and light a candle before closing her eyes, and her lips would move without any sound coming out.

She'd say her prayers, bless herself and then we'd leave.

I used to ask her what she prayed for, but she never told me.

Instead, she'd say that a prayer is sacred and shouldn't be repeated to anyone but the Lord himself.

I move forward, light a second candle and place it beside hers. I don't pray. I haven't prayed in fifteen months. If God was listening in this chapel the way my mother believed, then he made his position clear when he let the Harringtons put a bullet in her head.

I blow out the match and walk away.

The hotel conference room is huge. Then again, what else do you expect from the four biggest players within the criminal underworld?

I take my seat between Ciro and Giovanni and I don't speak, but neither do they.

My father taught us early: you don't speak in rooms like this until you understand what the room wants from you.

You watch first, you listen, and you let the men who think they're in control show you their hand before you show them anything.

My father sits at the head of the table. His dark brown eyes, so much like mine, are cold and calculating as he surveys the men around the table.

Across the table, Ronan Delaney has settled into his chair, staring right back at my father.

He's got broad shoulders, a beer belly, and gray hair, but a smirk sits on his face.

He loves this sort of shit and thrives being around powerful men.

His sons flank him. Dáithí, Conn, and Caden, all of whom are surveying the room, too.

You'd be stupid not to. If you underestimate your enemies you'll end up losing your life.

While the men at this table aren't technically our enemies, the results of this meeting could very well change that.

To the left, is the Pakhan of the Russian mafia, Olezka Morozov.

His sons Daniil and Rurik sit to his left.

Rurik is the one I watch closely, he's the second eldest of Olezka's sons, but he's by far the most dangerous.

Not because of how ruthless he is, but by how sheer fucking chaotic he is.

He's always in some sort of trouble. If it's not fighting, it's fucking women who aren't to be touched.

He finds it challenging and once he has the women in bed, he's done with them.

This leads to fights with either the women's brothers, fathers or even husbands.

The East Street Kings take the far end of the table. Prior, Landon, Scanter, and Miller. All four of them are present, which is surprising as none of the four men particularly like being in meetings and have actively avoided them in the past unless absolutely necessary.

My father opens the meeting, sitting back in his chair, and takes a sweeping glance around the room before he begins to speak.

"The Syndicate was built on four families," he says. "It grew to five because we were practical men who understood that war costs more than alliance. And then the Harringtons reminded us that no structure survives complacency."

The room is quiet, everyone in it lost something in those attacks, friends, soldiers, men and women. The Harringtons were also friends, before they fucked everything up and went on the warpath of trying to take over everything.

"We are four families again," my father continues.

"And we are being watched. Every remaining organization in this world is measuring the distance between what the Syndicate was and what it is now.

They are calculating whether we can be taken.

Whether the gaps the Harringtons left can be exploited.

" He pauses, his gaze meeting each man in the room.

"We are going to show them they cannot."

Ronan Delaney leans forward slightly. "You're talking about marriages."

Now how the fuck did he know that just by my father's words alone?

It is not the first time that I have felt as though Ronan and my father are thick as thieves.

They grew up together, became heads of their families and together, along with Olezka and the East Street Kings, showed not only Boston but the world that they weren't just a faction within the criminal world, but were deadly players.

"I'm talking about what holds a structure together when it's been damaged," my father says. "By binding alliances that aren't just agreements on paper but families that cannot afford to move against each other without moving against themselves."

Ronan nods, and so does Olezka, and Prior, which means they either all knew or they suspected it was going to happen. Thank God, our father had let us in on what was going to happen in this meeting before we got here. I'd have been pissed had I been the only one not to know.

The men at the table talk about the benefits along with the disadvantages of marrying within the syndicate itself, but no one is opposed to the idea.

In fact, both Ronan and Olezka seem to be beyond fucking thrilled which makes my stomach clench.

They want more power and being aligned with three other families by marriage rather than a pact makes them even more powerful than before.

“Cesare, your eldest son, Lorenzo, will marry my eldest daughter, Dáire," Ronan Delaney says to my father with way too much fucking happiness.

My father nods. "Agreed."

Just like that, I am to be married.

I don't react. I've been trained my entire life not to react, and that training holds now the same way it holds when I'm across a table from a man pointing a gun at me. I keep my face neutral, my breathing steady, and give nothing away.

I'd rather not marry Dáire Delaney if I had the choice, but I don't have a choice, it’s a done deal.

The reports I've received about Ronan's eldest daughter haven't been particularly flattering, but reports are just that. Reports. I'm willing to keep an open mind.

Ronan leans back in his chair.

"My eldest, Dáithí will marry Olezka’s second daughter, Odessa."

Olezka nods once. "Agreed."

"And your eldest Daniil will marry Cesare's oldest daughter, Elisabetta."