A Mobster’s Obsession (The Ten Irish Fists #1)

Prologue

Red and orange lit up the night as I stood on the grass, staring at the flames, feeling the heat prickling my face.

Our family home, now a burning funeral pyre.

Ma’s porch that she’d painted, the kitchen where we crowded for family dinners.

All gone. My eyes moved between the house and my hands, slick with gasoline and blood, wishing it were all a nightmare.

But it wasn’t. I did this myself. The one who lit the blaze. Mam, Da, and Ciara their bodies were inside, being consumed by the inferno. Their names, their voices, everything that happened tonight played on repeat in my mind, never to be forgotten, like nails boring into my brain.

The tears brimming at my lids overflowed as silent grief took hold. I would never see or hear Mam’s soft voice again, or Da, the one who tried to make sense of everything. Ciara, my older sister, who would tease me—she was gone, all three their voices permanently quieted.

“Why?” The word came out of my lips on repeat. This was too much to bear. I would make him pay. I’d collect pound for pound and flesh for flesh. From now on, this agony would be my guide, fueling the hatred in my bones, burning brighter than the flames.

Sirens wailed in the distance, their arrival too fucking late.

I pulled my jacket tight, then reached over and tapped my brother Collin’s shoulder, signaling it was time to leave.

We turned and walked away from the flames, away from the heat, away from what we’d done.

The moral compass my parents drilled into me was a pile of ash behind me, and all the future held now was vengeance.