Chapter 11 Declan
DECLAN
I'm in a pretty good mood. Tonight's fights went perfectly.
The money was good, my fighters performed, and watching Lyra work under pressure was, well, entertaining.
The way her hands move, never hesitating even with the clock ticking down.
The subtle flush that crept up her neck when I stood too close.
Vegas, my ass. She's running from something bigger than she's letting on.
Either way, I'll figure it out in time.
Now I get to enjoy my newest obsession, I think, running a hand across the polished steering wheel like it's a lover.
I've been waiting months for my personalized Rolls Royce Wraith to be delivered, and it finally came.
I love cars too much to have a driver, though most people in my position do. There's no fun in being a passenger. Not when you can drive things like this.
Not much can make me upset when I'm driving a new car.
I speak too soon as the speaker announces an incoming call from Shane, one of my most reliable guys, not one for late-night check-ins unless necessary.
I hit the answer button on the touchscreen. "What?"
"Boss. You need to come see this. Now." His voice is laced with panic.
I sit up straighter, adrenaline instantly flooding my system. "What is it?"
"It's one of the docks. You'll want to see for yourself."
"Shane, I swear to Christ—"
"Just hurry. I need to get what I can."
The line goes dead. I jerk the wheel hard, cutting across two lanes to make the exit ramp. Tires screech as I take the turn too fast, the back end of the car fishtailing before I straighten it out.
My mind races through possibilities as I push this new half-a-million-dollar car harder. Shane wouldn't call unless it was serious. The docks meant it was something to do with our pharmaceutical shipping operations. Could be a raid, could be a theft, could be—
I see it before I even reach the harbor.
An orange glow pulses against the night sky, reflecting off the low-hanging clouds and turning them the color of rust. A thick pillar of smoke curls upward like a goddamn signal flare.
As I get closer, I see a ship engulfed in fire.
My ship.
I slam on the brakes in the parking area, leaving the car half on the curb as I jump out.
Fire trucks are already here, their red lights spinning across the faces of dockworkers and my crew standing back from the inferno.
Hoses snake along the ground, spraying down the ship that's ablaze.
The air is thick with the smell of burning metal, fuel, and whatever the fuck was exactly in the crates on deck.
It shouldn't be traceable to me. The registry was buried under five different shell companies. The paper trail cold. Only a handful of people even knew what that ship was carrying, let alone who it belonged to.
But I know.
That ship was bound for Chicago. Four million dollars' worth of high-end pharmaceuticals, lined up to move next week. A three-way split between my family, the Bonventis, and the Kastaris.
Twelve million in potential street value, turning to ash right in front of me.
"Jesus Christ," I say, rubbing my forehead.
The fire roars, feeding on the chemicals inside, popping and crackling as it devours everything.
Shane spots me and jogs over, his face grim.
"What the fuck happened?" I ask, stepping toward him.
"Started about twenty-five minutes ago. Explosion below deck, from what the night watchman said."
"Where the fuck was security? How did someone get close enough to plant something?"
"I don't know," he says. "We got here before the fire trucks." He takes out his phone. "I saw something. Took a picture of it."
He swipes to a photo and holds it out to me.
It takes a second to register.
It's the side of the ship, the rusted metal illuminated by the first licks of flame. Spray-painted across the hull in black is the unmistakable silhouette of a feather. A large black feather. Deliberate.
Just like the one stuffed in Knox's mouth.
Just like what Callum mentioned about the driver.
I stare at the image, everything clicking into place. This isn't random. This isn't bad luck or carelessness.
My blood runs cold.
"Boss?" Shane's voice seems far away. "What does it mean?"
"It was deliberate," I say, my voice low.
Cold fury settles in my bones as I watch the ship burn.
This isn't petty sabotage.
This isn't street-level bullshit.
It's a message.
And someone out there just declared war.
"Get Dempsey and O'Malley down here," I say, my voice firm. "I want every camera feed from every angle for the last forty-eight hours. I want to know who was on that dock."
"Already on it," Shane nods. "We're pulling footage now."
A firefighter approaches, his face streaked with soot. "Sir, you need to step back. We're concerned about secondary explosions."
I ignore him, turning to Shane again. "Call Callum. Tell him what happened. Tell him I said to tell the Bonventis and Kastaris it was electrical. Nothing else before we speak. Then get word to Rodgers. I want to know if any other families have had similar hits."
"And the feather in the picture?" Shane asks quietly.
The flames reflect in my eyes as I stare at the burning ship. "For now, we keep that between us. I need to figure out what the fuck it means before we start throwing it around."
The firefighter steps closer. "Sir, I'm not asking. You need to move back now."
I finally acknowledge him with a cold glare. "You know whose dock this is?"
He hesitates. "Look, we're just trying to do our job."
"Then do it," I snap. "Put the fucking fire out."
He backs off, returning to his crew.
I walk farther down the dock, needing space to think. The ship groans as its structure begins to fail.
I've never been hit for this much. Never lost four million. Son of a bitch.
Whoever did this knew exactly what they were hitting. They knew the schedule, the cargo, the lack of security cameras on this particular stretch of dock.
They weren't strangers to us.
And that damn black feather connects it all.
Someone is making a play. Picking us apart, piece by piece, and they're leaving their signature to make sure we know it's not a random act.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Callum.
"Declan." His voice is razor-sharp. "I heard. How bad?"
"Total loss," I answer, watching as part of the ship's superstructure collapses inward with a shower of sparks.
"FUCK!" he yells.
"The Bonventis. The Kastaris."
"I know."
"We need to talk," Callum says. "Not over the phone. Family meeting, first thing tomorrow morning."
"I'll be there."
"You better fucking find whoever did this."
The line goes dead. I stare at the phone for a moment before slipping it back into my pocket.
A massive section of the ship buckles and the firefighters scramble backward as the deck gives way, sending a column of flame shooting up.
Shane approaches cautiously. "Should we start damage control?"
I shake my head. "Not yet. Let's see what the cameras tell us first."
But I already know they'll show nothing. Whoever did this was too careful to get caught on camera. The feather wasn't just a signature, it was a taunt. They want us to know they can reach us anywhere, anytime.
And they're just getting started.
I turn away from the inferno, back toward my car. "I need the name of every person who knew about that shipment. Every. Single. One."
"Boss, that's dozens of people across three organizations."
"Then you better get started," I say aggressively.
As I walk away, the reflection of the flames dances across the puddles at my feet. Four million dollars burning behind me, and all I can think about is a black feather.
Someone is coming for my family.
And I'm going to find them before they strike again.