Chapter 1 #2
As a child, I’d always loved to sneak in and read them late at night, stories of Alexander the Great’s conquests and the history of Attila the Hun.
While my brothers spent their childhoods trying to earn my father’s respect through strength and brutality, I preferred to hone my intelligence.
My mind is my greatest weapon.
It was the best thing I had to defend Sandro against our father’s abuse.
I might be physically fit like my brothers, capable with weapons and lethal with a gun, but none of that could hold up against my father’s fists.
My words, on the other hand… I might not have been capable of ending his abuse entirely, but I found I could talk Sandro out of a punishment far more often than not.
I learned to wield language with ruthless precision at a very young age—learned to speak for Sandro as well as myself when my brother struggled to talk at all.
Pushing the family skeletons back into their closet where they belong, I focus on the challenge at hand.
This conversation with the Murrays could go one of two ways.
Very well, or catastrophically.
At this point, we need their support, their numbers, if we want a decisive victory against the Tanakas—which I do because I refuse to put my brothers or their families in jeopardy ever again.
But more than that, I need to know that even if we don’t have their support, they won’t intervene on the Tanakas’ behalf.
And that’s the sticking point.
I’ve always felt a certain unspoken comradery with the Irish.
A feeling that only intensified after Sandro found a passion for participating in their bare-knuckle boxing competitions when we were still teenagers.
Despite our Italian lineage, they took us in as something of honorary members to their clan.
At least on the nights when we chose to cast off our family name and slum it in their fighting pits.
So, even if the Murrays owed my family no loyalty, seeing them on the opposing side of the battlefield, side by side with the Tanakas and Pyotr Novikov, it had felt like a massive betrayal. I don’t know how I’m supposed to trust them after that.
Despite the fact that our survival might depend on it.
The faint knock signals that my time for strategizing is up, and I press my palms against the desk, leaning forward as the guards open the doors to the old Chiaroscuro estate’s war room.
The Murrays file in like they own the place—four men in cable-knit sweaters, the father in front, his face carved from the same stone that’s built the walls around my patience.
The scent of cigarette smoke clings to them, mingled with blood and expensive whiskey.
“Rafael Chiaroscuro,” Callum Murray says, his Irish brogue as smooth as aged scotch. “I appreciate your agreeing to see us.”
I motion for them to sit, though my body stays tightly wound. “I didn’t realize I had a choice.”
Callum smiles like we’re friends, but he’s the only one who settles into the seat I offer. They don’t trust me any more than I trust them.
“I hope you understand that we don’t think of you as our enemy,” the Irish leader says.
“Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter. “Last I checked, your family stood with the Yakuza when they tried to burn our house to the ground. You were there when my father’s blood hit the floor.”
His smile doesn’t waver, though the men behind him stiffen. “It was business. Nothing personal. But business turns sour fast when your partners refuse to pay their debts.”
“So, now you want to switch sides.” It’s nothing more than I expected, but still, I’m not ready to let it go without question. I cross my arms, studying them. “Tell me—what’s stopping me from putting a bullet in your head for the betrayal?”
Callum doesn’t flinch. “Because you need us.”
The words hang in the air like smoke.
I hate that part of me agrees with him. In truth, this is exactly what Sandro and I have been hoping for, for months.
But now that it’s here—now that they’re coming to us—I can’t help but listen to the tingling intuition at the base of my neck that’s warning me they can’t be trusted.
Still, the Chiaroscuro empire isn’t what it used to be. We’ve got Miko’s crew, a decent army of loyal Russian soldiers who will stand behind the true heir to the Novikov empire.
And the Lombardis—Evi’s family, who are bound to us through not just marriage but by blood now that my brother’s wife is carrying his children—are critical allies.
But it’s not enough.
The Yakuza have the manpower, the money, the territory.
If I don’t find a way to even the odds, we are going to drown.
Callum leans forward. “We have resources. Men. Weapons. We know the inner workings of the Yakuza’s network. We can help you take them down.”
“And your price?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “A lasting alliance between our families.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “And after what you’ve done, you think I’ll believe for a second that you won’t turn around and betray me the moment it’s convenient? Tell me, what could possibly make a ‘lasting alliance’ in your eyes?”
He smirks faintly. “A marriage will seal it.”
I blink. “You can’t be serious.”
“But I am.”
“You came here to barter your daughter?” I sneer, my pulse kicking up a notch.
That’s when Aisling Murray steps forward.
I hadn’t even seen her behind her father’s towering sons.
But when my eyes land on her, for a second, I forget to breathe.
She’s older now—her face sharper, blue eyes harder—but I would recognize her anywhere.
Burgundy hair that shines like spun copper in the waning sunlight, the azure gaze that pierces straight through me, a smattering of freckles that makes her button nose look impossibly more adorable, and an air of defiance that still radiates from her like a live wire.
I’m screwed.