Chapter 17 Aiden
SEVENTEEN
AIDEN
Present, Five Years Later
New York City
The city outside my office window was a sprawl of steel and shadow—gray towers piercing a colorless sky, streets below swallowed by the hum of engines and indifference. Even the clouds seemed tired, sagging low over the skyline as if weighed down by the monotony.
Luca King DiMauro—my brother-in-law, who mostly stuck to Sicily—was on speakerphone, giving a full monologue about some fashion gala in Paris where all the Omertà heads planned to mingle.
The man had an opinion about everything, especially Enrico Marchetti, the Omertà boss he despised with a fiery, almost operatic passion.
Whenever “official” matters arose, Luca relied on me to play his stand-in for the sake of peace.
But this?
This didn’t sound official at all. Just another excuse for him to vent his frustrations and wish Enrico Marchetti dead.
So I let him rant, his words fading into the background hum of the city while my mind drifted back to my own problems—the contracts piling up, the missing shipments, the deal that was starting to rot from the inside out.
Every deal I’d touched in the past few years bore the same invisible bruise: Duncan Lyons. His name hung over every negotiation like a curse, poisoning trust before it even had the chance to breathe.
And still, none of it compared to the wound that never closed.
Five years and the ache still lived in my chest like a parasite that refused to die. Five years since that explosion tore an innocent life from me.
It had been five years since Raven died in that explosion—five years since I’d watched everything good in my life go up in flames.
I was the one who pulled her into this world, the one who thought I could protect her from it.
I ruined her. The guilt has a way of resurfacing in the quiet moments, curling cold fingers around my throat until I couldn’t breathe.
Moving on felt like betrayal, like erasing her. Especially after learning how Uncle Jack had approached Blair, what he’d said, what he’d offered. That truth still burns, festering beneath every deal, every handshake, every hollow victory.
A tremor started in my fingers and I pressed my other hand over it, but it didn’t stop. Some things you couldn’t steady—grief, guilt, ghosts.
“So, what do you say?” Luca’s voice cut through my thoughts.
I blinked, refocusing. “About what?”
“About going,” he shot back, impatience dripping from every syllable.
My brows drew together. “Going where?”
“To Paris,” he snapped sharply. “Haven’t you been listening?”
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I have. But from what you’ve described, it sounds more like a social circus than Omertà business.”
Five minutes later, I was booked for Paris. Damn him. Luca King DiMauro could talk the devil into being an angel.
I leaned back into the seat, my gaze locked on the skyline, but it would seem peace wasn’t meant for me today. The door of my office swung open and my uncle strolled in.
“I hear another one of our shipments went missing.” Uncle Jack’s voice slithered from the doorway, smooth as ever.
Uncle Jack had retired after a heart attack and left me to deal with this mess he started when he insisted on a marriage alliance, and afterwards Duncan Lyons blamed us for my wife’s death.
“We cannot tolerate missing shipments in our own city,” he continued. “What are you going to do about it, nephew?”
I didn’t bother turning around.
“Last I checked, you’re no longer head of our family,” I muttered, lighting a cigarette. “Besides, you only have yourself to thank for jumping the gun on Duncan Lyons five years ago.”
Lyons’s criminal empire roots originated in Scotland as a small smuggling ring run by Duncan Lyons’s ancestors along the rugged northern coast before evolving into one of the most influential underground networks.
Operating from a fortified estate outside Glasgow, the Lyons syndicate controlled a vast web of illegal enterprises, from arms trafficking and money laundering to high-end art theft and digital fraud.
Though outwardly posing as a legitimate shipping and import business, their operations spanned multiple continents, with footholds in Europe, Asia, and the Americas.
The family itself is both the source of Lyons’s strength and his greatest vulnerability.
His sister, who was once his most trusted confidant, had grown increasingly reluctant to assist him after Duncan’s disastrous outing with her husband.
Despite her hesitation, she remained entangled in the organization’s dealings, bound by blood and the secrets that could destroy them all.
“You really enjoy reminding me that you’re the boss, don’t you?” He let out a dry, humorless laugh that scraped against my nerves. “And you can’t still be holding me responsible for everything that went down with Duncan. How the hell was I supposed to know he’d react the way he did?”
I finally turned, my chair creaking as I faced him. His suit was tailored, his smile polite, and his eyes colder than a goddamn morgue slab.
“Is there a reason for your visit?” I inquired. “Or did you come to agitate me?”
He stepped further into the office and took a chair across from the desk. “Nephew, you have to let shit go. At some point, you might want to start living again.”
My jaw tightened.
“I am living,” I said evenly.
“Is helping your brother-in-law with the Omertà really benefiting us?” I ignored his question. He was out, and he was staying out. Unfortunately, he didn’t take the hint and pressed on. “So, what kind of business are you handling for that charming brute Margaret married?”
I stubbed out my cigarette and rose, straightening my cuffs. “None of your business.”
He chuckled, but I saw the flicker of irritation. “Still blaming me for Raven?”
“Don’t.” My voice came out low and sharp, slicing through the air like a blade.
“You have to put that matter to rest,” he replied softly, almost like he pitied me.
“Yeah, I do,” I said. “Much like you need to put your nose out of the business. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that it was your eagerness to make a profit that killed her.”
The words hung in the air, heavier than the storm pressing against the windows. His smile faltered just a fraction. I caught it. Good.
“It was an accident,” he protested weakly.
“Maybe, but I can’t help but believe that if you hadn’t visited her mother and threatened her that morning, Raven wouldn’t have lingered there. She would have dragged her mother out of there and brought her to me so I could provide for her.”
“You think I wanted that?” he asked in a quieter voice. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“No,” I said evenly. “She was with her mother, probably terrified for their safety—because you couldn’t keep your greed in check with the Lyons family.”
Jack sighed, turning his gaze to the skyline. “That Duncan Lyons is a crazy motherfucker.”
“He is,” I snapped. “And you led him right to them. My wife trusted me to protect her. Protect them. And I failed.”
“I did what was necessary for our organization,” he said finally.
For a moment, silence reigned. I could feel the rage simmering just beneath my skin. It was the same rage that had owned me for the past five years.
I took a step closer to him. “And now I’ll do what’s best, and you in the business and the organization won’t be it.”
I saw the twitch in his jaw. “Be careful, nephew. We need to stick together, now more than ever.”
I laughed, bitter and hollow as I moved past him, grabbing my coat.
My pulse was hammering, but I kept my voice even when I said, “I’ve got business to handle. And, Jack?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Next time you come here uninvited, I won’t be so polite.”
I left before he could respond.
The elevator doors shut, sealing him in with his ghosts.
And as the metal descended, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Cold eyes. Sharp suit. No trace of the man Raven liked and possibly could have even loved in the future.
Just another Callahan. Just another monster she’d hate if she were alive.
The bass had reached me before I even opened the doors. It was a deep, slow tune, like a heartbeat I’d been trying to forget.
The red neon sign bled across the wet pavement, flickering like a wound that wouldn’t close. I stood there for a second too long, letting the rain sting my face, trying to convince myself this was just business. But it never was. Not here. Not in this place where everything started.
Velvet Desire had become my brothers’ empire, but it was my own personal hell. I hated coming here, but I pushed through the doors anyway.
The ghost of my wife immediately hit me. Her black hair swung in the hallways that led to the stage while her heels lay discarded in the hallway as she ran toward freedom.
I gave my head a subtle shake, proceeding farther into the building.
The heavy perfume wrapped around me. The music swelled, lights flashed, and bodies moved in slow, practiced temptation. But I didn’t see them. I never did.
I only saw and thought about her.
My throat tightened. I could almost hear her whisper, You should’ve let me escape, Aiden.
She was right. If I’d let her get away, maybe she’d still be breathing. Maybe I wouldn’t be dragging ghosts through this place every damn time I came here.
I moved through the haze, ignoring the dancers who knew better than to stop me. They parted like shadows, whispers following in my wake. The smell of whiskey and smoke crawled under my skin.
The office was tucked away in the back, far from the music and the women.
When I got there, the door was half open.
Kyran’s voice drifted through—sharp with impatience—while Tyran laughed in that low, cocky way that used to drive our mother crazy.
She’d been gone almost five years now, but I could almost hear her sigh at the sound.
I pushed the door open.
Stacks of cash covered the desk while a bottle of something expensive was sitting between my brothers. Tyran looked up first, his eyes narrowing. Kyran leaned back in his chair, grinning like he owned the world.
“Look who decided to crawl out of the grave,” Tyran said. “Didn’t think you still remembered where Velvet Desire was.”
I didn’t bother commenting. Instead, I barked, “We’re leaving for France.”
“Leaving?” Kyran arched a brow. “Why?”
“Omertà business,” I answered flatly.
That killed the humor. They loved our sister, but they were tired of dealing with the Omertà.
“What kind of business?” Kyran asked.
“The kind that doesn’t wait,” I said, opting not to elaborate on the fact that it was some ridiculous fashion show. They might as well kill me in Paris.
Tyran shrugged. “I guess we can combine their shit with our own since you have a few shipments rerouted through France.”
“Then I’ll see you both in two hours at the airport strip. Don’t be late.”
I turned to leave, and my gaze caught the sight of a young woman with long raven hair serving tables. For a second, I swore it was her, but I blinked, and the figure was gone.
I swallowed hard, forcing air into my lungs while the ghost whispered accusingly, You should’ve let her go.
Maybe if I had, she wouldn’t haunt every breath I took.