CHAPTER ONE
conall
AGE 17
The air felt thick and suffocating as I stood in the dim light of the living room, shadows stretching across the walls like fingers of a terrible nightmare. My mother’s lifeless body lay sprawled at odd angles on the floor, her face frozen in a grimace of pain—a sight I couldn’t have prepared for despite all the horrors I had witnessed over the years. At that moment, the world became a crystal-clear reflection of everything I loathed.
Cormac O’Kelly, my father, had become a tyrant in every sense of the word. I had always known him to be brutal, a man who ruled through violence and fear, but this? This was an all-consuming darkness that I couldn’t comprehend. My mother had been a delicate woman with strawberry blonde hair and laughing blue eyes, even amidst my father’s rages. To extinguish those bright attributes took a black soul.
Picking up her hand as I crouched over her blood, I closed her eyes with a sigh. Margaret O’Kelly had deserved more. The enormity of his crime pressed down on my chest, a weight I felt I couldn’t bear. It was hard to breathe with the knowledge that he was the architect of her death, the puppeteer who had yanked the strings of our lives every year into chaos.
I was seventeen, yet the weight of my siblings felt as heavy as an anchor. Cora needed me. Paddy and Brody depended on me. A shattered family would crumble. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t. Not ever. I had to keep them safe, to shield them from the behemoth that was our father.
My hands trembled as I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms while reminding myself to breathe steadily and slowly. Four counts in… hold… and three counts out. This ritual momentarily calmed the chaos swirling in my mind. It was a ritual I had begun to rely on recently for calming myself. But now, as the shadows danced, I could feel it slipping away, fragments of sanity scattering like dust in the air.
I glanced back at my mother one last time, etching her face into memory even as my heart howled with grief. The sight of her battered form stoked the flames of anger igniting within me. The fa?ade of calm I had constructed over the years began to splinter.
I made my way to the stairs, each creak of the wood beneath my shoes almost a warning. We lived in a garish mansion bought with blood money, but it was old, which meant creaky floors.
I opened the first door to the boy’s room, where Paddy and Brody slept next to each other in rooms that overlooked a courtyard. My heart pounded with urgency as I shook them in turn.
“Wake up, everyone. It’s time to go,”
I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. They stirred, blinking their eyes to clear the remnants of dreams.
“Con? Where are we going?”
Paddy rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His innocence stung like salt in a wound. A weight of responsibility unfurled in my chest as I rubbed their backs while they woke.
“Somewhere safe,”
I replied, my tone steadfast despite the dread gnawing at the back of my mind. I needed them to trust that I’d do the right thing, even as the fear twisted around my thoughts like barbed wire.
I helped them out of bed, two small figures against the backdrop of a crumbling home. I gathered their essentials—clothes carelessly crammed into a worn backpack—and led them down the hall toward the front door.
Time felt distorted, stretching painfully slowly as we descended the stairs. I could hear my heart pounding frantically, drowning out the faint sounds of the world outside.
As we stepped into the night, the chill of the air cut through the heaviness I carried inside. I led Paddy and Brody to the car, which I would have to ditch later.
“Stay here while I go back for Cora. Be sure to lie on the floorboards. We’re hiding.”
“From Da?”
Paddy asked, his eyes solemn and knowing.
“Yes, from Da. I’m taking you away.”
There are no arguments from them. No tears. In the O’Kelly household, you needed to have tough skin and be older than your years to survive.
Leaving them in the car, I rushed back for Cora. I wasn’t sure how much time I had before my father returned home with his second-in-command — likely to clean up the mess he’d made.
I had barely made it into the foyer when the door crashed open.
My father stood there, a dark silhouette against the flickering light. Rage radiated from him like heat waves in the desert. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
His voice was grim as he stepped forward, and I felt the world tilting and shifting under the weight of our confrontation.
I had seen him angry before, but this felt different—primal and raw. It was as if I were watching a beast shed its human skin to reveal the monster within.
“You killed her,”
I said, my voice trembling as the words spilled out, ignited by the fire of grief. “You killed her, and I’ll make sure you won’t hurt anyone ever again.”
He let out a cruel laugh that grated on my nerves. “What do you plan on doing about it? That bitch got what she deserved. You gonna kill me?”
His hands waved at me mockingly as if I was just a pest to him.
Something had snapped within me. A surge of life coursed through me, igniting my vision as details sharpened—the coarse lines of the floorboards, the glimmer of a weapon on the counter, the rise of his fists. Everything around me narrowed into a singular focus.
In one swift motion, I grabbed the knife, feeling the cold steel bite into my hand as I raised it. My father’s eyes widened briefly, disbelief breaking through the fury. Then, I lunged. The knife sank deep into his neck. He cursed in pain and rage as he moved to protect himself, but I could see in those few seconds that he didn’t believe that I’d make a killing blow.
I pulled the knife out and plunged it in again and again. Four counts in … hold … and three counts out.
Satisfied, I looked at the body—the shell.
Its eyes stared at nothing.
I went to the sink to wash off the blood, lathering and scrubbing, rinsing, and lathering until I was satisfied. Then, I changed my clothes and went upstairs to get Cora. Maybe I should feel bad. Instead, I felt… satisfied that he was dead. I had wanted to wait until my plans were more fully formed, but I knew what to do. My brothers were waiting for me, and my sister was still in danger.
She slept burrowed beneath her blankets as though trying to hide from everything, her shoulders hunched against her nightmares. Cora was only four years old, her doll tucked under her chin, her long black hair spread across the pink blankets like a princess. Gathering her up, blankets and all, I lifted her from the bed and strode out the door.
“Con?”
she asked. “Is it morning?”
“No, close your eyes. Don’t look,”
I commanded, fully aware that she wouldn’t listen. Cora was like that, as stubborn as a mule. “Go back to sleep.”
Carrying her to the car, I tucked her in next to the boys, trying to ignore the anxiety crawling over my skin like pinpricks. What was I going to do with three kids? How was I supposed to keep them safe from the Irish Mob? If they came after me, I’d be in serious trouble.
“We saw Da go inside, but I knew you’d still come.”
Paddy slid into the seat, glancing out the window to ensure the boogeyman wasn’t following us.
“Of course, I was coming. Buckle your seat belts,”
I ordered, my voice trembling yet firm as I slid into the driver’s seat. My hands shook on the wheel as I started the car, the engine’s roar drowning out my fears. We sped down the long driveway, leaving the house behind.
**
After settling my siblings, I sat at the kitchen table of the rundown motel where we were staying that night, staring at the list I had made. Supplies to buy. Jobs to look for. Safe routes to take if we had to run again. The pen in my hand moved methodically, its scratching against the paper soothing in its predictability. I reviewed everything twice, then again, to ensure it was all in order.
Yet, despite the numerous plans I devised, the persistent gnawing fear remained. My father’s second-in-command, Gallagher, had always shown unwavering loyalty to him. If Gallagher found us, there would be no mercy for either me or my siblings.
I couldn’t fight this alone. My thoughts drifted to the unexpected allies I had gained the night of the blood oath: Maxim Volkov, stoic yet sharp-eyed; Ilias Anthakos, with his calculating smile; and Angelo Santelli, whose humor masked a ruthless edge. We had sworn loyalty that night, bound by shared necessity, but would they assist me now? Could they?
I picked up the pen again and wrote their names on a fresh page. Although reaching out to them was risky, it might be my only chance to protect my family. Even though we were all still essentially children, we each had our own weapons: knowledge, perception, and awareness. They could help me.
For now, however, I focused on the immediate task: ensuring the locks were secure, the windows covered, and my siblings safe. I checked each one twice, then three times, before finally allowing myself to sit down.
As I gazed at the stained walls and the children squeezed closely into the double beds of the inexpensive room, everything felt heavy on my shoulders. The life we had known was lost, and the future seemed uncertain. But one thing was clear: I would do whatever it took to keep us together.