The Criminal Redemption (A New York Criminal Empire #5)

Chapter 1

CIAN

“You look good, Cian.” Cormac Gifford, my older brother, stands next to me in front of the mirror as we adjust our ties to smooth out all the invisible creases and inconsistencies we can barely see.

I look at his reflection, studying the aging wrinkles and fine lines that have deepened over his face in the five years he’s been Captain of the Gifford Clan. It’s been a turbulent five years for all of us but the past six months might have been the roughest to date.

“You have to say that,” I reply. “You’re my brother.”

“I’ve never bullshitted you.”

“Fuck off.” I snort. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Well, okay.” Cormac smirks and finally pats his tie now he’s satisfied with it. “But I wouldn’t bullshit about this. What you went through…” He cuts himself off briefly and sighs. “I just want to say I’m glad you’re by my side for this.”

I squint at him. “It’s just a party.”

“Sure, but when was the last time we had Irish, Russian, and Italian blood all under the same roof and no one wanted to kill one another?”

“Probably never. It’s weird how we’re all connected now. Does this mean we have to give up the competition?”

Cormac rolls his eyes as he turns to face me and takes over adjusting my tie. “Never. We all just talk about shit now instead of trying to kill one another.”

“How boring.”

Cormac tightens my tie too much for a second and laughs. “Honestly, I’m relieved. I’m tired, Cian. We’ve spent the past five years scraping by our existence. I want to start living. All of us.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me now.”

Cormac finishes with my tie, then slightly claps his hand to the side of my neck. “Seeing you walking around makes me sentimental.”

Just as I’m about to reply, there’s a soft knock at the door and Evelyn, Cormac’s wife, pokes her head around the door. “Sorry to interrupt. Cormac, Rocky’s here.”

“Excellent!” Cormac claps his hands together and smiles widely at me. “See you down there, Brother.”

It’s lucky Evelyn interrupted when she did because the retort I had became stuck in my throat. Cormac leaves with a smile and silence falls in the bathroom, broken only by the occasional rise of the music several floors below.

Cormac. What a sentimental old bastard.

Studying my reflection, I smooth my hands down my suit jacket, but as much as I try to stop myself, all my attention eventually sinks down to my left leg.

Eight months of intense physiotherapy is the only reason I can stand here unaided.

Eight months of dragging myself through stretches and challenges that somehow felt more painful than the actual torture I suffered at the hands of rogue Italians and the Chinese Triad.

People look at me and I smile, telling them I’m fine.

Inside, I try not to think about it. I focus on the positives.

I can mostly walk unaided now, and my clothes no longer feel like they’re stripping my skin off each time I move.

Improvement has been slow but steady, and that’s all that matters.

Now I have to plaster a wide smile on my face and attend a party my brother is throwing to celebrate all the missed birthdays, anniversaries, and general delight that somehow, we’re at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel.

“Cian?” Another soft knock at the door and my twin, Saoirse, appears with a soft smile. She steps into the bathroom clad in a golden dress that trails along on the floor behind her. A glittering white shawl wraps around her shoulders and it shimmers as she approaches.

“Hey.”

“You look good.” She smiles, standing next to me. “You ready to go down?”

“Did Cormac send you up?”

“No.” She shakes her head and tucks some strands of her matching auburn hair behind her ear. “I know you, though, and I know you don’t want to walk down those stairs by yourself.”

“I was thinking of taking the elevator.”

Her eyes widen. “What elevator?”

“The drain pipes outside the window?” Jerking my thumb in the direction of the stained-glass window, I laugh at the truly alarmed expression on my sister’s face. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

“Fuck you.” She snorts. “You know I can still kick your ass.”

“One, you wouldn’t because it wouldn’t be a fair fight, and two, don’t women lose their edge after they give birth?”

Saoirse has me in a headlock within seconds, tightening her arm around my throat as we laugh. “Oh, really? You’re still slow, little brother.”

“Little!” I gasp, fighting to escape her. Not that I’ve ever managed to in the past.

“I’m two minutes older, remember!”

“Yeah, I can tell by the wrinkles.”

“You asshole!”

We wrestle for a few minutes longer until Saoirse releases me, panting. Facing each other with breathless smiles, she attempts to adjust my messed up tie while I do my best to fix the curls that have fallen loose from her hair.

“You ready for this?” she asks softly.

“To face everyone and know they only see me as the wreck scraped off that stairwell and not the general I’m supposed to be?”

“Don’t do that,” she scolds softly. “Everyone down there has their shit, you know that. No one has a single leg to stand on if they want to judge you. And I won’t let them.”

I roll my eyes and then finally take her offered elbow. “Do you think Brenden would be proud of us?”

Saoirse pauses when we’re halfway out the door. “Yeah,” she says after a soft pause. “But I think he would be mad that Ma isn’t here.”

“Seeing Italians under our roof is a harder pill for her to swallow after what happened to us.”

“I know.” Saoirse pats my forearm. “But tonight is all about forgiveness. I just wish she were here.”

Saoirse was right about one thing. No one stares at me as we descend the grand staircase in Gifford Manor down to where friends and family mill about the entranceway and the lounge, sharing drinks and stories.

Cormac is near the door with his wife, Evelyn, greeting Holly Franks as she walks through the door in a bright yellow two-piece suit.

Cormac made good on his promise all those years ago and she’s been like one of the family ever since we learned she was the love of Brenden’s life.

Taking care of her is the best way we can honor him.

We greet her with a smile, and Saoirse keeps a tight grip on my arm as we walk through the party.

Rocky Barati, the new Italian Don, greets me with a smile and an apology.

He’s been saying sorry for the actions of his advisor, Domenico Del Prete, ever since the truth was revealed some eight months ago.

That bastard had been working with the Chinese Triad and one silent, mysterious benefactor to fill the gap in human trafficking ever since the Russians tried to shut it all down.

He’d been working in secret for years and even planned to use it to make a grab for Italian power.

He might have succeeded if he hadn’t kidnapped me and my sister, Saoirse.

Unbeknownst to him, Saoirse had long caught the attention of Domenico’s distant son, Bruno, and together, they were able to bring a stop to Domenico’s reign of terror.

No matter how often I tell Rocky that I don’t blame him, he won’t stop apologizing.

His wife, Sarah, a detective down at the NYPD, also offers her apologies but quickly directs our conversation on to happier topics like their children.

Saoirse’s eyes light up in delight for a chance to brag about how great her son Liam is doing.

On cue, Bruno appears with a sleeping Liam in his arms. “I’m going to put him upstairs,” he says softly to Saoirse. “He’s done his rounds as expected of any eight-month-old.”

Saoirse leans down and presses a light kiss to her son’s forehead, then hastily wipes away the lipstick stain. “Alright. I’ll check on him in an hour.”

Hugo flashes me a smile and departs in time for the Russian Godmother, Anastasia Remizova, to make her appearance.

She’s dressed in a blue dress that moves around her like it’s made of water.

She greets us warmly and congratulates Saoirse on her son while praising the beauty of the party.

Her partner, Erik, lingers nearby, and we make brief small talk about the latest football game until they move on.

“How’s your leg?” Saoirse asks as we pause by the bar for a rest. “Do you want me to get your cane?”

Shaking my head, I order a bourbon. “It’s fine.”

“Like really fine?” She presses me. “Or a macho kind of fine? No one here will judge you.”

“You keep saying that and it makes me feel like people are judging you.”

“I guess it’s because I feel like they’re judging me.”

Our eyes meet. “Why would you think that?”

She shrugs one shoulder and leans on the bar next to me. “I see the way they look at me. Ever since Liam was born, I’ve tried my best to hunt down this third mysterious benefactor, but I keep getting caught up in things like my own health or caring for my son.”

“None of those things are bad.”

“I know, but I swore to find out who else was behind all the bullshit that happened to us. And I feel like the longer I take, the more people judge me for not putting an end to this disaster and the more suspicious I look.”

My brow shoots up to my hairline. “Saoirse, no one has ever suspected you.”

“I know that but…” She leans up from the bar and places one hand below her collarbone. “Ever since Liam was born, I have these huge bouts of anxiety like the world is about to end.”

“Because you were captive while you were pregnant. You had a traumatic birth and then spent months clinging to the side of Liam’s incubator, hoping he’d make it.

Of course you’re going to feel anxious. I feel it too.

I mean, even now…” I take her hand. “I can’t go in my closet anymore because any small, confined space makes me want to kill myself.

There’s not enough therapy in the world to fix us. ”

“So, what do we do?”

I wish I had the answer. Seeing my twin in pain is a unique sensation that feels like a ball of barbed wire is tightening around my heart. I want to help her. I want to take her pain away so she can spend her days enjoying her life with her partner and her son. But I don’t have the answer.

If I did, I wouldn’t be waking up screaming or drenching the bed in cold sweat. I’d be able to run the track around the manor without fearing my leg muscles are about to pop. I’d be able to cross the road without flinching at every car.

“We stick together,” I say softly, fighting to maintain a level voice.

“We’re family and we care for one another.

And look.” I jerk my head toward the happy, laughing party guests.

“Our family has expanded more than we ever could have dreamed. We’re sharing drinks with old enemies, nursing old pains.

You married an Italian, Italians have married Russians—and cops, of all things. I think we have to focus on that.”

Saoirse blinks and her eyes shine. “Brenden would be so proud of you,” she whispers.

Fuck. She’s going to make me cry.

“What?”

Something about the way Cormac’s tone drifts through the crowd toward me with the sharpness of that single word makes all the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

I glance through the crowd, following the sound to seek out my brother, and when I spot him near the outer wall with his ear pressed to a phone, my heart begins to pound.

“Saoirse—”

“I see it,” she says as she pulls her hand out of my grip and starts toward Cormac.

She makes it three steps. Cormac’s head snaps upward, his eyes wide and wild, and his mouth hangs open. “Evelyn!”

His single scream is the last sound before a gigantic explosion rips straight through the middle of the party and Cormac is instantly swallowed in a cloud of dust and smoke.

The explosion rips up through the floor and throws Saoirse back against me with a scream.

We crash into the bar, my skull cracking against the pine wood, and then we slump to the floor.

Explosion after explosion bursts through the estate like kernels popping at just the right temperature.

The noise is deafening and a sharp ringing takes over in my ears.

I can’t breathe through the searing heat from the fire that blazes in front of me, can’t move under Saoirse coughing desperately on top of me.

People are running and screaming in all directions and suddenly, Saoirse is pulled from me by Erik.

“No!” She yells, twisting in Erik’s arms.

His face is streaked with blood and ash and one of his arms hangs awkwardly at his side. “Come on!”

“But Liam!” she screams. “Where’s Liam?”

Shit. The children. Every couple brought their child to this party because it was supposed to be all about family and togetherness.

I blink through a haze, watching the grand chandelier above snap on its supports and plummet down to the ground.

It smashes instantly, showering us in glass and crystal shards.

“Come on!” Saoirse’s hand on my shoulder drags me from my stunned, frozen form, and I stumble to my feet just as another explosion rips through the bar and throws me forward into the mess of the chandelier.

Glass slices into my palms as I struggle to get up.

Glancing behind, Saoirse and Erik have been swallowed by smoke.

I can barely see. Can’t hear anything over the crackle of the raging fire, distant streams, and the constant pop of whatever explosions are still occurring. “Saoirse!” My throat closes around my yell and I drop into a coughing fit. “Saoirse!”

I can’t see her.

Fuck! What the shit!

Liam. I have to get to Liam.

Stumbling over unrecognizable bodies on the ground, my leg aches with each step as I sprint from the room and take the stairs two at a time.

On the second floor, the heat isn’t as overwhelming, but everywhere I go is filled with thick, black smoke.

My eyes water and burn as hot as my throat with every breath.

I run toward the children’s wing just as warmth rises beneath my feet. The floorboards surge upward as another explosion rips through the home just underneath where I’m running, and for a moment, I’m thrust upward so abruptly that it feels like I’m flying.

Then I topple forward with a cry and smash right through the window. Glass shimmers around me like glitter, matching the stars I glimpse above that are being swallowed by the inferno consuming the Gifford home.

Then I plunge down into an unforgiving black abyss.