Chapter 6
Six
“I wear my mask so well, even the devil forgets who I am.”– Cyan MacBrady.
As I step out of Cannonics Enterprises Corp.
, the late afternoon haze blankets Boston.
The city hums around me, horns blaring, conversations overlapping, and the distant sound of a police siren.
Once, I thrived in this chaos. Now, it only amplifies my need to return to Crescent Bay.
Beside me, Salvo, my driver and head bodyguard, walks with his usual silent efficiency, flanked by more of my men.
My mind should be focused on vengeance, but today it’s different.
Dammit, she’s distracting, those doe-brown eyes lodged in my mind.
That fucking laugh and that body. Hayden is dead more for touching her than for the fucking money he stole.
The discipline I’ve perfected over the years wavers with every memory of Aria Concetta Boschett.
She shouldn’t consume my thoughts, but she does.
When she took off that dress, her curves wrapped in lace, I wanted to break my own rules.
Usually, I prefer tall, leggy women. The slight bite of her lip as she met my gaze. Fuck. Get your head straight, MacBrady.
The ironclad self-control I prided myself on was tested when I let her out of the car.
No woman has ever affected me this way. Usually, I fuck when I feel the need, Aria pulls at something in me I can’t name.
Why? I haven’t figured it out yet. Her scent of sweet hibiscus mixed with a hint of coconut tugs at me.
Protecting her isn’t logical, yet the thought of someone else laying a hand on her burns through my veins.
I have never been interested in learning more about anyone outside my chosen family.
When Troy almost shot her, my reaction was immediate and violent.
It took all my control not to act as the fury surged through me in that moment.
My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen.
Don Lorenzo, the current head of the American Syndicate.
Hatred simmers beneath my skin like a slow burn, threatening to consume me.
He did what this city couldn’t, dragged my thoughts from her and straight into the inferno of my past, where the memory of my sister’s carefree laugh once lived.
Ciara was long dead thanks to him. My Da’s words flicker through my mind, clear as day.
“We live in a society, Cyan. Rules exist for a reason. You follow ’em.
” Same sermon every time Collin got hauled home for cracking someone’s skull.
The look of hopelessness, that shuddering cough, before Ma took her last breath.
Blinking away the past, I swipe right and bring the phone to my ear. “Don Lorenzo.”
“Cyan, my boy. I need you in New York.” A command, not a request.
“Understood.” The line goes dead. I clench my jaw, locking down my bitter hatred. Not yet. But his day is coming.
Don Lorenzo, the celebrated kingpin of America, the man who commands crime families with a flick of his wrist, marked my family for death.
I still see their sightless eyes, and their lifeless bodies.
Da, Mam, and Ciara. Guilt coils around me like a snake.
It whispers the same question over and over: Why?
One day, I’ll have my answer. One day, he’ll beg for mercy he won’t receive.
I turn to Salvo. “Have someone bring my car.”
“Yes, Capo,” Salvo replies then turns to get it done. I pull up my contacts and dial Trent. He picks up on the first ring.
“Yo, C. What’s up?”
“I’ve been summoned to New York.”
“What do you need?” His easygoing tone vanishes. He knows what that means.
“You and Liam. Get him up to speed. We leave tomorrow.”
“Done.”
I end the call and exhale slowly. Lorenzo’s time is running out. For years, I’ve played my role, his on-call fixer. Let him believe I’m his loyal dog. Let him think I’m just another soldier in his army. He won’t see me coming, and when I strike, he’ll never rise again.