5. Declan
DECLAN
Itell Cormac to head back and give me some time alone.
Then I stand there on the sidewalk for a moment, letting the wind bite at my skin, trying to process what just happened.
The city is busy around me—businessmen in expensive suits hurrying to their next meetings, tourists with cameras and shopping bags, the constant flow of humanity that makes Chicago feel alive.
Everyone moving with purpose, knowing exactly where they belong.
I shove my hands into my pockets and start walking. Marry his daughter.
Enzo Capetti's words replay in my head, over and over, like a song I can't shake. His voice was so calm when he said it. So matter-of-fact. Like he was proposing a business merger instead of handing over his daughter like she's a piece of property to be traded for peace.
And maybe that's exactly what she is to him. What all daughters are in this world. The thought makes my stomach turn.
It's been a long, long time since I thought about getting married.
I loved someone once, but when I lost that, I never let myself get that deep with anyone again.
And in the culture I lived in, it was easy to forget about any possibility of letting it in again.
In the motorcycle club, relationships were casual, temporary.
You didn't tie yourself down. You didn't make promises you couldn't keep when every ride could be your last. And after I took over from Lachlan, after everything that happened, I've been too busy trying to keep my head above water to think about anything beyond survival.
I haven't even gotten laid since I left New York.
But this isn't about what I want. This is about keeping my men alive and preventing a war I can't win.
I walk without direction, needing to think.
The city blurs around me, all of it gleaming and expensive in this part of it.
This isn't my world. I grew up in rough New York bars and motorcycle clubhouses, places where you earned respect with your fists and your loyalty, not your last name or your bank account.
Elena Capetti is everything I'm not. Old money, old world, generations of tradition and power behind her. She looked at me at that party like I was dirt on her expensive shoes. Made it clear with just a few words that I don't belong in her world, that I never will.
And now I'm supposed to marry her. The absurdity of it would be funny if it wasn't so fucked up.
I pull out my phone and dial Lachlan's number. His voice is calm and steady, like always.
"How'd it go?"
"I need to talk to you," I say. "In person."
There's a pause. Lachlan knows me well enough to hear the tension in my voice. "Come to the house. I'll have the boys here."
—
Lachlan's place that he shares with Adriana and their son, Matteo, is outside of the city a little ways, a restored Victorian. I like it—it has character, history, and it feels lived in. Unlike my sterile penthouse that still feels like a hotel room no matter how long I've been there.
He opens the door before I can knock, reading my mood immediately in the set of my shoulders and the tension in my jaw. "That bad?"
"Depends on your definition of bad."
He steps aside, letting me in. The house smells like coffee and woodsmoke, comfortable and warm. Home. The word surfaces in my mind before I can stop it, and I push it away. I don't have a home. I have a penthouse with a view and furniture I didn't pick out.
In the living room, three of Lachlan's most trusted men—now my men, too—are sitting sprawled across the comfortable couches.
Finn, Rian, and Cormac have been with him for years and helped him build the organization from the ground up.
When he handed everything to me, they stayed loyal and followed my orders without question, merging in with my own men.
I've never been entirely sure if that's because they respect me or because they respect Lachlan's decision.
"Gentlemen," I say, nodding to each of them.
"Declan." Finn gestures to an empty chair. "Sit. You look like you need a drink."
"I need several drinks."
Lachlan pours whiskey—Jameson, neat—and hands me a glass. I down half of it in one swallow, feeling the burn all the way down, the warmth spreading through my chest. It doesn't help. Nothing's going to help except figuring out how to navigate this mess.
"Enzo Capetti offered me a deal," I say, setting the glass down. "Marry his daughter or go to war."
Silence. Then Rian lets out a low whistle. "Fuck."
"That's one way to put it."
"What did you say?" Lachlan asks, his tone carefully neutral. He's leaning against the mantel, watching me.
"I told him I'd think about it. He gave me until midnight to decide."
"And what are you thinking?" Cormac leans forward, his expression serious. "Because war with the Capettis would be brutal."
"I know that." I run a hand through my hair, frustration building in my chest. "But marriage?
To a woman who hates me? Who thinks I'm beneath her?
Fuck, I don't even wanna get married." I don't say more.
These men don't know me well enough to get to know about my past and the pain that's buried deeply within me, deep enough that it doesn't bother me anymore most days. But this is bringing it back up again.
"Arranged marriages are common in this world," Lachlan says quietly. "You know that."
"Knowing it and being all right with it are two different things."
"True." He sits across from me. "But you need to think strategically here, Declan. This isn't about what feels right. It's about what keeps you alive. What keeps your men alive."
He's right, and it's the same thing I've been thinking all the way here. War means casualties. It means losing men I'm responsible for. It means blood and violence and a fight I might not win. Probably won't win.
"He's right," Finn says, his voice gruff. "An alliance with the Capettis would legitimize you. Show the other families that you're not just some upstart who got lucky. You'd have their backing, their connections. It would change everything."
"You'd have a seat at the table," Rian adds. "Real power, not just what you inherited. The respect that comes from being part of the old families."
I want to argue, tell them that treating a woman like a bargaining chip is fucked up, that I didn't leave the motorcycle club to become the kind of man who trades in human lives. But I can't. Because they're right, and I know it.
"She's going to hate this," I say quietly. "She's going to hate me more than she already does."
"Maybe." Lachlan's voice is gentle, which somehow makes it worse.
"Or maybe she'll surprise you. People adapt.
They find ways to make things work when they have to.
She's a mafia daughter who understands duty.
" Lachlan leans back, his expression thoughtful.
"Elena Capetti was raised for this, Declan.
She knows how this world works. She knows what's expected of her.
This won't be a shock to her system the way it is to you. "
"That doesn't make it right."
"No," Lachlan agrees. "It doesn't. But I don't see that there's much of an option. You're the leader now, Declan. You make the calls. But I think you know what the right one is."
Decisions. Calls. Necessary choices… like Elena is medicine I have to swallow, a bitter pill that will keep me alive even if it makes me sick.
I think about the warehouse. The bodies of my men I couldn't protect. The weight of leadership that sits on my shoulders, pressing down until I can barely breathe. I think about what war would mean—more bodies, more funerals, more men looking to me to keep them safe when I'm not sure I know how.
And I think about Elena at the party, and the way she looked in that dress, elegant and untouchable. The way she felt in my arms when we danced, and that spark of something I couldn't name. The way she looked at me like I was an intruder in her world.
"If I do this," I say slowly, "I do it my way."
"What does that mean?" Rian asks.
"It means I'm not going to pretend this is some romantic fairy tale.
But I'm also not going to treat her like property.
" I look at each of them in turn, making sure they understand.
"She's going to be my wife. That means respect and protection.
A partnership. Everyone treats her that way, and so will I.
This will be a real marriage, and I'm not just going to shuffle her off into a corner after the wedding.
I'm going to treat her like she matters to me, even if this is just a business decision. "
"Partnership?" Cormac raises an eyebrow. "You think a mafia princess is going to want to be your partner?"
"I hope so." I finish my whiskey, feeling the warmth spread through my chest. "Because I'm not doing this alone. If we're getting married, we're in it together. For better or worse."
Lachlan chuckles. "Then you've made your decision."
"Yeah." I stand, pushing away all the doubts still lingering in my mind. "I have."
—
I call Enzo to accept his terms before midnight.
He sets a date a week from now, which seems impossibly fast to me, but he insists that this needs to be done quickly, in light of the events that set this in motion.
Then, the next day, I inform my men. Some of them seem unsure.
My marrying the daughter of the family that attacked us isn't the vengeance they were promised, but they all seem to understand when I lay it all out—how unprepared we are for a war, the amount of connections the Capettis have to leverage versus what we have.
Some of them seem to think I'm getting off easy, which I find bitterly hilarious… nothing about this is easy for me.
And then, when I've explained and mollified as much as I can and answered all the questions they have, I go to buy a ring.
I stand in a jewelry store that afternoon, staring at rows of diamonds that all look the same to me. The salesman is hovering nearby, eager to help, but I wave him off. I need to think.