Connor
When I was sixteen, Declan left me overnight in the hands of the enemy. Teaching me a lesson, he claimed at the time.
We were supposed to intercept a shipment at the docks. I accompanied three other enforcers and was armed to the teeth. I knew my way around our docks, but I wasn’t prepared to fight twelve guys to our four. We lost all three enforcers, and our enemies kidnapped me for ransom.
Declan had the power and the means to pay them off right away and get me back to the estate. Instead, he left me with them for thirty-six hours. For most of that time, my hands stayed above my head, chained to a rafter.
The physical strain in that situation is real.
First, the numbness and tingling starts, evolving into a painful ache that radiates from deep inside your rotator cuffs.
Eventually, the agony reaches your collarbone and works its way down your spine before spreading to every inch of your body.
I swear, even my asshole throbbed. My fucking toenails. My earlobes.
When you finally get free, your arms behave like phantom limbs. They’re swollen and explode with a million pinpricks of needlelike pain, pure torture from nerve compression and restored blood flow.
Belinski transferred me from the hardwood bed to a standing position inside the weird building that functions as their office, where he chained my arms over my head.
Thanks for the walk down memory lane, you giant douche.
It hasn’t been thirty-six hours, though. Maybe…two?
Still, I’m no longer a teenager, and I could do without two Russian thugs treating me as a punching bag.
A cut inside my cheek bleeds, trickling a rusty flavor down my throat. One guy just keeps hitting me everywhere. His strikes are so misdirected, he might as well be blindfolded. If this continues, I’ll wind up with more bruises than an overripe banana.
The other guy returns to the torture table, apparently deciding to trade his fist for Belinski’s trusty pipe.
Before he can grab the weapon, his brain explodes like a pinata.
Fucking spectacular.
Brody.
It’s about time, bro.
When Finn bursts through the door, the other Russian spins, and Finn topples him with a bullet to the chest.
I’m so tired, I can’t even be thankful.
Brody follows Finn inside and shoots the chains above my head. They crash to the ground as I jump out of the way. As anticipated, the release creates jolts of pain that zing along my arms and spine, stealing my breath.
I drop to my knees, groaning and spitting blood on the ground.
Brody kneels beside me. “Con, you okay?”
With gunfire raining down, we roll under the table. I don’t have a weapon, so I stay down. Also, I don’t think I could lift a toothpick if someone offered me a million dollars.
Finn eliminates two more guys, and Brody ends a third.
After that, silence reigns as Finn strolls right out the front entrance, into the potential line of fire.
Dude is wild.
He reappears a minute later. “Clear!”
Once we scoot out from under the workbench, Brody helps me to my feet.
I stumble a little, still tingling all over, and manage what I bet is a hideous smile. “I owe you, bro.”
Brody grins. “This was payback for New Orleans. You saved my ass then. Consider us even.”
Finn nudges one of the Russians with his foot before grabbing the guy’s gun. “You look like absolute hell, Connor.”
“It’s nice to see you, too, Finn.” With monumental effort and a significant amount of pain, I manage to raise my hand high enough to shake Finn’s. My limbs feel foreign and wobbly.
The scowl on Finn’s face shifts as he laughs, the bastard. He accepts my hand and does the shaking for both of us. “Let’s not make a habit of this.” Finn eyes me pointedly. “But when Brody said ‘take the Porsche’ was your ‘Mayday,’ I wasn’t going to let him come alone.”
The emotion overwhelming me could be from lack of oxygen, and I blink rapidly to shoo the tears away.
So awkward.
Who knows. Maybe they’re burning because, in some strange way, our late mother just saved my life.
We’ve never needed to rely on the code before, and I can’t help but wonder what Brody told Finn.
Did my brother explain that the word Porsche in “take the Porsche,” stands for Portia, our mother’s name, and not the German automobile?
I guess it doesn’t matter. Brody and I know.
I meet Finn’s eyes. “I’m really sorry for all the shit I’ve caused.” I don’t bother making up some bullshit story that he won’t believe anyway. “I went rogue, thinking my way was the only way. There’s no excuse for me.”
Brody pats my back. “There never is, Con.”
Finn looks like my admission of douchery might topple him over. With wide eyes and a slack mouth, he leans back against the workbench. “That was…uncharacteristic. But I appreciate it all the same.”
Uncharacteristic? Maybe.
I’m not the same man I was even a few days ago, and going forward, I anticipate more of this strange, un-Connor-like behavior. They can figure that out on their own, though.
Cat.
The will.
I beeline for the desk, searching the drawers for Eduardo’s amended document. I find the papers right where Belinski claimed they would be.
The fucker really didn’t expect me to get out of this jam alive.
Asshole.
I walk back over to Brody and Finn. “Belinski went to Eduardo’s funeral, to stand by his man. But this,” I skim through the papers until I spot the wet signature, “is Eduardo Ricci’s amended will, which names Cat as his heir.”
Finn raises a brow. “Is that so? Well, I’d be interested in talking with her.”
Panic shoots through my chest, seizing my heart. Fuck. “Cat… Nino captured her too. We have to—”
“Con.” Brody grabs my arm. “She’s okay. I’ve already talked to her. She’s safe.”
The onslaught of relief almost knocks me to the ground. Bending over, I prop my hands on my knees, allowing myself to absorb Brody’s words and rein my adrenaline back in.
Cat broke free.
I peer up at him. “How?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know. But I called her as soon as you called me. She was in the basement of the estate with a guy named Frankie. And another enforcer, his cousin Carlo, was managing Nino and then driving her to safety.”
“She talked two of Nino’s guys onto Team Cat in under five minutes, and they snuck her out of the estate.” Finn whistles. “Impressive.”
Smiling hurts my cheeks, but I can’t help myself. “I imagine she’s talked a lot more onto Team Cat since. She’s a real leader.”
“A woman at the helm.” Finn runs his hands through his wavy, auburn, shoulder-length hair. “I definitely want to chat with her.”
Brody grins. “Ballsy move from the grave.”
“No one deserves the power more than she does.” My joy for Cat is short-lived. “Shit. The funeral.” I look from Finn to Brody and back at the boss.
Brody steps toward me. “What about it?”
“Can someone take me there? Cat’s going to walk in with her guys, and Nino’s going to lose his mind. That dude’s middle name is ‘unhinged,’ and I don’t have a car.” I face Finn directly. “I know I don’t have a right to ask for your help, but I love her, and I can’t let her die.”
If either of them are shocked by my confession, their reaction doesn’t show.
Finn tosses Brody the keys. “You’re driving.” He pauses. “And Connor, or whoever the fuck invaded your body?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m riding shotgun. Let’s go.”
Weight drops off my shoulders. Finally.
On the way to the vehicle, Finn calls approaching the funeral without a concrete plan dangerous and tactically stupid.
He also adds that it’s about the most disrespectful thing one family could do to another.
“Funerals are neutral territory. The only real place in the history of mob life where everyone bends a knee and shows some respect for the dead. A time of reflection and humility.”
Yeah, screw that.
We hop into Finn’s forest green Rivian S1, and I climb into the back seat. “I’m not suggesting we barrel through the church doors, guns blazing.”
As he slams his foot on the gas, Brody eyes me in the rearview mirror.
Finn cranks his neck and scowls. “You’re not suggesting anything, Connor. My men, my plan.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” And I mean that.
I don’t have my people here, so I need Finn’s. I need his help a hell of a lot more than I need to be the hero and save the day.
For the first time, I can take a back seat. As long as Cat’s safe.
“I’m doing this for everybody,” Finn continues, “before the Russian mob swallows the Riccis whole. If we allow them to add money and numbers to their organization, it will be impossible for the Irish or Port Kings to ever stack up against them.”
I find a bottle of water in the back and start washing blood from my face. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”
Brody barks out a laugh as he shifts to Finn. “After we save his girlfriend’s ass, we’ll have him checked for a brain tumor.”
Finn just shakes his head, that luxurious hair flowing back and forth.
Finn’s a good guy. If not for that deep scar across his cheek, he could pass for one of those men on Cat’s romance novels. Move over, Rex.
If I end up staying in New York City with Cat, I should ask for his hairdresser’s number.
Brody’s right. I probably should have my brain checked.
Outside, the thick clouds cast a gloomy-as-fuck mood over the area, and I’ve never been happier for a dreary winter day.
I gaze at the sky while Finn places the calls that will save Cat’s life.
Assuming we’re not too late.