Chapter 29
Twenty- Nine
“He built his empire with blood-stained hands. Tonight, I return every drop.” – Cyan MacBrady.
The East River glistens under the moon, silver light slicing across the restless water.
Its reflection twists and fractures as the boat cuts through the water.
Everything tonight is a reckoning. Lorenzo started years ago when he ordered the hit on my family.
He took my parents and my sister, leaving me with ghosts instead of a childhood.
Collin, Troy, Thomas, Gabriel, Sebastian, and I stand on the deck of the weathered fishing boat.
Shifting I hear my boots scuff the deck.
I’ve prepared for this since that night so long ago when I set my childhood home on fire with my parents’ and Ciara’s bodies inside.
Every choice, every kill, every scar has led me here, the first move in Lorenzo Rizzotto’s downfall.
“Let’s move,” I order as the boat docks.
We disembark, boots carrying us down the pier.
Tonight, we don’t wear tailored suits. Tonight, we wear torn clothes, our faces smeared with grime.
If anyone sees us, they’ll forget us as most people instinctively avoid street dwellers.
We slip into the alley behind The Vista.
Lorenzo’s first restaurant, his most sentimental asset, and the heart of his money-laundering empire.
A relic of pride–and tonight, the first domino to fall.
Lorenzo still plays by the old rules. Still believes he’s untouchable.
What he doesn’t know is that I rigged the board against him.
The new DA and police chief are desperate for a headline.
I fed them enough breadcrumbs to drag them here. They’ll never know I lit the fuse.
I turn to my brothers. “We sweep the building. Top to bottom, plant the explosives. Clean in. Clean out.” They nod, six killers fueled by retribution.
A whisper echoes in my mind. Aria’s voice.
How can you even sleep at night knowing someone died because of your choices?
I made my choice long ago. But Chester’s blood is still warm in my memory. I won’t bury another family member.
I turn to face them. “Lads, we make it home. Every one of us.” A beat of silence follows.
Sebastian nods. “We’re with you, C… all the way. We all know what tonight means. No regrets. Only success. When the flames rise, we make sure Lorenzo learns what happens when you cross the Irish Fist.”
Thomas steps forward, his jaw set. “This isn’t just about blowing up a building. We’re ending what he started with our family.”
Troy snorts, rolling his shoulders. “Enough with the sentimental shit. The Vista is the first chain in the whole fucking necklace.”
Gabriel nods. “Cyan, your loss is our loss. We don’t forget. We don’t forgive.”
Collin cracks his knuckles. “We’re past the point of no return. If one of us falls tonight, that was our choice to follow you, C. Don’t start mother-henning us; it’s fucking annoying.”
Troy flashes a grin, the sharp glint of anticipation in his eyes. “C, there isn’t a chance of us biting the dust. Your plans always work.” He smooths a hand over his slicked-back mohawk. “Listen, if shit hits the fan, I’ll take a bullet… just avoid the hair, yeah?”
Cracking my neck, I let their words settle, grounding myself in their unwavering loyalty.
A low chuckle rumbles from my chest. “Still a cocky peacock, I see.” I glance at each of them, one last silent exchange before giving orders.
“Collin, Thomas, top floor. Gabriel, Sebastian, take the middle. Troy and I will take the first.”
We slip inside through the kitchen via the alley entrance using Jake’s override security code. The lock disengages with a soft click. Jake did his job well; the security cameras are deactivated.
Inside The Vista is eerily quiet. Troy and I move into the dining room, our weapons drawn.
The cavernous space is hollow and stuffy.
My gaze sweeps the room until it lands on the polished mahogany bar.
A single untouched whiskey glass sits there.
That’s all it takes; my photographic memory snaps the image into place.
Lorenzo lifting a glass the first night he summoned me here, as the newly anointed Capo of Boston. The memory drags me under.
Lorenzo sat at the head of the grand table, his presence suffocating.
I remember the way he looked at me, cold amusement lining his face swirling the same style of crystal glass in his hand.
“Cyan, my boy,” he’d said, voice smooth and venom laced with mentorship.
“You remind me of myself when I was your age–a man who understands that to rise, you must walk over the bodies of those beneath you.” I’d nodded, swallowing ash.
I can still see the way he bragged about The Vista, how he killed the original owner when the man refused to pay protection, then bought the luxury waterfront property along the Hudson River from his widow for pennies on the dollar.
Now, the same glass sits there, waiting for a king who’s about to lose his kingdom.
A slow smile creeps onto my lips. Soon, these walls will crack under unforgiving heat as everything burns to cinders. Ruin, like my childhood home. Troy elbows me in the ribs, pulling me from my thoughts. Shit, I lost my focus. Turning to Troy, he jerks his chin toward the hallway behind the bar.
“C, voices, down the hall,” he whispers.
I give him the signal for us to check it out. We head in that direction, seeing light from the open wine cellar. I strain my ears listening to the conversation.
“Boss wants everything cleared out tonight.”
“What’s the rush? Why are we moving all this weight?”
“I don’t know all the details, Julian, but it’s big. Giuseppe’s on edge, said it has to be done tonight.”
Troy and I exchange a glance. Jackpot, a weakness I could exploit.
Then, a fourth voice joined in. “Where the fuck is Mario? He took the trolley out the emergency exit. Should’ve been back by now.”
My spine stiffens. Fuck, there’s another one. I registered the mistake too late. A faint scuff behind us, masked by the hum of the industrial bar fridge and the voices ahead. Troy’s focus is on the cellar, as the cold kiss of steel presses to my back.
“Don’t fucking move, or eh fill you with holes. Who the hell are youse?” Troy and I freeze. Fuck. We should’ve been more alert.
I slip instantly into the lazy drawl of a street rat. “Easy, man. Giuseppe sent us to help move the weapons.”
“Yeah,” Troy adds, hands raised. “Call Julian if you don’t believe us.”
Mario doesn’t lower his gun. “Keep them hands where I can see ’em…
move… inside.” We do as we’re told, stepping into the dim cellar.
I see weapons on a table and more on the ground, in crates near the racks and hidden behind barrels of aged oak, another door.
Lorenzo’s hidden weapon cache. My brain fires instantly into assessment mode.
The lighting is dim enough to create blind spots.
Troy takes two steps to my right, now at a good angle, ready to act.There are five of Lorenzo’s dogs to put down.
One blocking the doorway has a gun to our backs.
The other four are in that room unloading crates.
The men emerge; arms loaded with crates.
One of them, a shorter guy with a scar above his lip, looks up.
Recognition snaps across his face like a gunshot.
“The Púca...”
He drops the crate, scrambling for his gun.
It begins…Troy reacts instantly, stumbling over a stack of liquor bottles on purpose.
The crash is deafening, glass exploding across the floor, splintering like shrapnel.
For half a second, all eyes flick toward the sound.
That’s all the time I need. I pull out both of my guns, squeezing the trigger.
A bullet rips through Julian’s eye, tearing clean through his skull and punching into the taller man’s chest behind him—a two-for-one.
The second guy lets out a choked grunt before collapsing in a heap.
Mario barely has time to react before Troy lunges, knocking the gun from his hand. But the bastard doesn’t go down easy. Mario rips a blade from his belt and slashes across Troy’s arm.
“Troy,” I call out, but he’s already moving, ignoring the blood.He pulls out his gun, wrenches his arm up. He shoots Mario once in the goddamn neck. His body drops like a gutted pig.
One man is left. He stands frozen, eyes darting between his dead friends and the muzzle of my gun. “Move and you’re dead,” I growl.
“C, look out!”
Troy slams into me. Another shooter barrels out of the hidden room, firing blindly. We hit the ground hard as gunfire erupts above us. A bullet grazes my arm hot, and biting. Troy fires his gun, and bullets punch through the man’s chest. He collapses, twitching.
I climb to my feet, ignoring the burn of my wound. “Troy, you good?”
He grunts before replying. “Yeah solid.” His posture is off, and I don’t miss the wince as he gets to his feet.
“You sure?”
Troy shrugs, rolling his shoulders. “Landed bad. Glass in my hand, and that fucker sliced me deep, but I’m good.”
“Lucky for us that dumb fuck didn’t know how to handle kickback on that M15.
Else we’d both be corpses. He even killed his buddy.
” I move toward the open doorway and slip into the room.
Lorenzo’s secret fucking treasure trove spreads before me.
Barrett M82 sniper rifles gleam under the dim light.M16s stand in rows.
MP5s stacked like playing cards. Ammo crates overflowing.
I spot a Desert Eagle collection, its weight familiar in my grip.
I pull my burner phone and send that anonymous text to the New York DA.
This room alone is enough to bury Lorenzo alive, and thanks to the fire-door, it will survive the blaze.
I step back into the wine cellar. Gabriel and Sebastian enter, guns raised. They take in the chaos.
Sebastian whistles low. “Shit. I thought this place was supposed to be a ghost town tonight.”
“Turns out Lorenzo had a little secret tucked away,” Troy mutters, leaning against the wall.
Gabriel peers inside and laughs. “C, this is better than fucking Christmas.” He takes quick photos. “I’ll send this to my girl at the Times. By morning, every news outlet in the city will be eating this up. Lorenzo’s reputation is getting burned before the embers are out.”
Sebastian grins. “I love it when a plan comes together.”
It’s not wise to linger. “Alright, lads, let’s ghost from this fucking place.”
Troy pushes off the wall. He groans, and my head snaps to him.
He’s holding his side now. Blood is seeping through his fingers.
I see a large bloodstain on the wall behind him.
His face is pale, his breathing shallow and too fucking uneven.
The memory of Chester breathing his last slams into me like a bullet.
Not again. Not tonight. “Troy?” He waves me off, trying to shift, but his legs tremble. He isn’t okay.
“I’m fine,” he mutters through gritted teeth.
“Liar.” I exhale, controlling the emotion beginning to boil under my skin, and rush over to him and grab him before he can fall.
“We’re getting you out of here,” I say, leaving no room for argument. Troy sends a half-hearted grin my way, but it’s weak, his usual cocky energy flickering like a dying flame.
“Shit, C, I thought I was supposed to be protecting you.” I don’t laugh. My stomach plummets, my blood turning to ice. Aria’s words claw through my mind’s chaos. How can you even sleep at night knowing someone died because of your choices?
I press my hands against Troy’s wound, making him wince. His eyes flutter, his lips parting, but no words come.
“Troy, stay with me.”