4. Dave
4
Dave
I take a deep breath, trying to steady the storm raging inside me. I push off the wall and stride down the hallway, my steps echoing off the polished floor as the old boards creak beneath my boots. My mind races with thoughts of Alexia and the danger she’s in. I need to keep her safe, no matter the cost. But I also can’t ignore the simmering tension between us, the unresolved history that hangs heavy in the air.
That is a distraction I can’t afford. I have to keep my head in the game if I want to take down Igor once and for all.
I head downstairs and stride into the kitchen, where Moira is already bustling about, preparing breakfast. She glances up at me, her lined face etched with concern.
“Everything all right, sir?” she asks, her Irish lilt soft and soothing.
I nod curtly. “Moira, can you take some clothes up to Mrs. Lenko? She’ll need something to wear.”
“Of course. I’ll see to it right away.” She wipes her hands on her apron and hurries off.
I pour myself a cup of black coffee. The bitter liquid scalds my throat, a welcome distraction from the turmoil.
I move to my study and close the door behind me, the soft snick of the lock grounds me for a moment. I need a moment to think, to strategize. I walk over to the large mahogany desk that dominates the room and sit down heavily in the leather chair. The familiar scent of wood and whiskey lingers as I stare at the ceiling.
My thoughts drift to Alexia, to the way she looked at me with those hazel eyes filled with desperation. It’s been years since she left me. And now she’s back, thrown into the middle of this dangerous game.
I can’t let my feelings for her cloud my judgment. I have to focus on the task at hand. But the thought of her and Rose being in danger makes my blood boil.
My phone rings, and when I see Tommy’s name on the screen, I answer with a grunt. “Hey, brother. I was about to call you. I just got word that Igor is involved in the flesh market. We need to strike back and hit him where it hurts.” My voice betrays my anger.
“I’ve been hearing the same thing. What’s your plan?”
“We need to gather intel on Igor and his twisted operation. Call in every favor you can, even if it means cashing them in with interest.”
“Don’t worry, Shelby and I are already on it. You take Alexia to the safehouse while we handle this.”
I hang up with a determined sigh, my mind already spinning with contingencies. I stand up and walk over to the window, looking out at the sprawling grounds of the estate. The sun is just starting to rise, casting a soft glow over the manicured lawns and hedges. This peaceful scene is just an illusion. There’s a war brewing, and I’m right in the middle of it.
I fish my cell phone from the inside pocket of the jacket and dial my dad’s number.
It rings twice before he answers in his familiar gruff voice, “Jack here.”
“Hey, Dad, it’s Dave,” I say, returning to my chair and smiling at the fact that my old man never checks caller ID.
“What can I do for you, son?”
“We need to talk,” I reply, keeping my tone even despite the turmoil inside me. “About Igor.”
He sighs, and I can almost picture my father’s weathered face, his brow furrowing in concern. “What about him?”
“Igor and his family were kicked out of the Syndicate when they went bankrupt, correct?”
“That’s right,” Jack agrees, serious. “It was a mess. But why are you bringing this up now?”
“Apparently, Igor’s been rebuilding his wealth by dipping his toes in human trafficking.”
The silence on the other end is deafening, and for a moment, I wonder if the call has been disconnected. But then Dad speaks, his voice low. “Human trafficking? Are you certain?”
“Alexia told me herself,” I confirm, my jaw clenching at the memory of her fearful expression.
“Alexia? Your Sandy?”
His words awaken more memories of my past with her, which I push to the back of my mind.
“Yes. Two days ago, she called me, begging for help. Today, I’ve found out her life is on the line. Besides, Igor’s already made a move. He had Alina murdered. Tortured and butchered her like an animal.”
A string of curses flows through the earpiece before my father grunts, barely contained rage filling his voice, “That motherfucker. I always knew he was a snake, but this… When I first heard about his new alliances with the Camorra and the Mexican Cartel, I had a feeling it woudn’t take long for him to stoop to this level of depravity. He’ll never get back in with us. Our Syndicate abhors trafficking. It goes against everything we stand for. It’s a line we never cross.”
“I know,” I say, my own anger simmering just beneath the surface. “And we need to put a stop to it. Igor’s gone too far this time.”
“Agreed,” he says, his tone resolute. “Your brothers and I will call an emergency meeting of the Syndicate on your behalf. Igor needs to answer for his crimes.”
“Thanks,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “He’s coming for Alexia and her daughter. I have to protect them, Dad.”
Jack sighs heavily. “I understand, son. But be careful. Igor is a dangerous man, and he won’t hesitate to take you down if you get in his way.”
“I know the risks,” I say firmly. “I have to do this. I won’t let him hurt anyone else.”
“That’s my Dave talking,” Jack says. The warmth in his voice wraps around my heart. “Keep me posted. And, son… watch your back.”
“Always do. Learned from the best.”
His chuckle breaks the gloomy atmosphere. “You’re so full of it!”
I’ve missed his laugh. It’s become a rare sound since Mom passed.
“Thanks, Dad.” I hang up and lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk.
I know I’m walking a dangerous line, getting involved with Alexia again. But I can’t walk away, not when her survival depends on me. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her and Rose safe, even if it means putting myself in the crosshairs.
I stand up, straightening my jacket. It’s time to take action. I head out of my study, ready to face whatever comes next. Igor may think he has the upper hand, but he has no idea who he’s messing with. I’ll burn his empire to the ground before I let him touch Alexia or Rose.
A s I rev the engine of the Maserati, the roar of its powerful motor echoes through the quiet late morning air like a caged lion. We speed down the empty highway. My eyes keep darting over to Alexia, clad in jeans and a black blouse. She’s slumped in the passenger seat, fast asleep with her head lolling against the window, her chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. The dark circles under her eyes betray her sleepless night.
The only sound in the car is the rhythmic purr of this sleek machine. My fingers grip the smooth, cool leather of the steering wheel. The car’s vibrations travel through my body, the steady hum of the engine a constant rhythm in my chest. I feel each turn and dip in the road in the tightened muscles of my arms. My body is rigid with determination to reach our destination in safety.
I shouldn’t care about her anymore. She’s the one who walked away, the one who married Igor. But no matter how much I try to bury them, the memories keep coming back.
Sandy.
That’s what I used to call teenage Alexia—long legs, awkward smiles, and oblivious to how beautiful she was becoming. I was twenty-one when I first started noticing her, started seeing her in ways I shouldn’t have. At fourteen, she was too young, way too innocent for someone like me. But I couldn’t help it. She was everything I wasn’t but longed for. She was pure, untouched by the darkness I grew up in. And I was drawn to her like a moth to an open flame.
I remember the way she used to look at me, wide-eyed and full of admiration. Like I was someone worth looking up to. Despite her own family roots and their ties to the Syndicate, she didn’t know the truth. She didn’t know what I really was. And I couldn’t stay away from her.
At that time, she had no clue that her dad and mine had made an agreement years earlier. We should get married when she turned twenty-five and inherited her grandfather’s fortune. But life has a way of derailing the best-laid plans. Her mother died suddenly of a rare type of brain cancer when Alexia was fifteen. Inconsolable at the funeral, she clung to me like she was adrift in the fucking ocean and I was some kind of anchor. All I could do was stroke her back and whisper empty promises in her ear that everything was going to be fine.
It wasn’t.
Soon after the service, her father sent her away to boarding school. It felt like a piece of me had been ripped away. I thought I’d never see her again, that she’d move on, forget about me, and have a happy life away from the world I was trapped in. Part of me wanted that freedom for her... but I wanted it for myself, too.
My Sandy did none of that. She came back and everything changed.
She was twenty-one, more confident, and damn if she wasn’t more beautiful than I remembered. The moment we saw each other again, it was like a match being struck, igniting the old flame between us. We were drawn to each other, every touch, every glance pulling us deeper into something neither of us could stop nor wanted to.
For a while, it was perfect. She was mine. My Sandy. And for the first time in my life, I thought maybe—just maybe—I had a future outside the life my father had built for me and my brothers. Hell, even my little brother Nick had been able to cut his ties with the Boyles clan. Using our mother’s name, he’d built a successful career with his rock band. So I figured I could do the same. I thought Alexia and I could have something real, something that wasn’t tainted by blood and cursed by violence.
I started working my ass off to achieve financial independence. I bought a couple of hotels, which became a rapidly growing chain. For about two years, Alexia and I lived on cloud nine, planning a future together. We even talked about starting a family soon because we both wanted a big one.
But then she just walked away and married Igor Vasilyevich. Ivan told us she’d had a change of heart and that he wouldn’t go against her wishes. He said he loved his only daughter more than his own life. He even suggested my dad could put a price on his head if he wanted to, but he was not going to interfere.
Obviously, my father did no such thing and Ivan knew he wouldn’t. Igor and Alexia got married a couple of weeks later.
I tighten my hold of the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white as I take a sharp turn to the left. However, that’s not the reason for my body’s reaction. I can still see the photos Igor used to send me. The first was one of Alexia wearing his ring, smiling like she hadn’t just ripped my heart out. And the messages he sent—taunting me with pictures of her in his bed, telling me how perfect she looked wrapped around him. He would send them often and each time more graphic. He’d describe how her pussy felt around his cock during sex. He would say he counted the minutes until he could get home to his gorgeous wife and that she was always wet and ready for a hard, long fuck.
I grit my teeth as the memory of those messages burns through my soul like flames from hell. It was a punch to the gut every damn time, and there was nothing I could do about it. She’d chosen him. She’d married him. And I went all in, became the man my father always wanted me to be. The heir to the Boyle empire of crime. The leader of the Irish Brotherhood and head of the Syndicate after he stepped down.
I glance at Alexia. Her brow is furrowed like she’s caught in a nightmare. Even now, after everything, I feel it—the pull, the connection between us that refuses to die. And I hate her for it. I hate myself for still wanting her.
We reach the entrance just as the sun peaks in the cloudless sky. The gates stand tall—stark white against the green woods, their lines softened by the golden light filtering through the trees. The stone columns on either side are as solid as the walls I’ve built around my heart and just as cold. The Maserati hums over the cobblestone drive, the soft rumble the only sound apart from the distant rustle of leaves stirred by the warm breeze. The gate creaks open slowly.
Blue and purple morning glories curl around the base of the columns—delicate, almost mocking in their brightness against the shadows creeping into my mind, the usual result of me reliving those painful memories. It’s peaceful here, quiet, but the tension between Alexia and I lingers like the heavy scent of the pine trees swaying along the side of the driveaway ahead of us. Alexia, still asleep, with her face bathed in sunlight. The peace is an illusion. I know it. She will, too, soon enough.
The gates glide shut behind us with a soft click, sealing us off from the rest of the world. As I ease the Maserati down the winding drive, I nod at my soldiers standing guard every couple of hundred yards. The tires crunch against the gravel as we pass through a tunnel of thick trees, their branches twisting overhead like silent sentinels. The mansion looms ahead, its silhouette barely visible through the thick leaves, a fortress sprawled across the land. It’s exactly what I needed—isolated, untouchable. No one would ever guess that the quiet estate tucked away on the edge of Wychmere Harbor belongs to me. I made sure of that.
When I bought the place under an alias, it was more than just a hideout—it was an escape route, a fortress of solitude. Nobody knows that I found it when Alexia and I were still together. I planned to surprise her with this property as a wedding present. Ironically, she left me before I made an offer for the eight acres of private land hidden behind thick walls of greenery and overlooking a calm stretch of the Nantucket Sound. After I was chosen to lead the Syndicate, I decided to buy the place. No money trail. No loose ends.
As we emerge from the thick cover of trees, the main house comes into view, all pristine white clapboard and manicured hedges. It’s massive, understated, the kind of house that whispers old money and respectability. Everything about it is designed to look like a sanctuary, a far cry from the life I lead. I glance at Alexia—still asleep, unaware of the world around her—and pull the car to a stop in front of the house. For a moment, I just sit there, staring at her, wondering how the hell we got here.
“Alexia,” I call, my voice rough from almost two hours of silence. She stirs, her eyes fluttering open, confusion clouding her face before she remembers where she is.
She sits up, blinking. “Where are we?”
“At the safe house,” I reply, shutting off the engine.
The tension between us is thick, almost suffocating. We’ve both changed so much, but everything between us still feels the same. The attraction. The betrayal. The anger.
“This isn’t over,” I say, my voice low and harsh as I wiggle a finger between us. “We need to talk.”
Her lips form a thin line, but she nods. She knows there is too much left unsaid between us.
I get out of the car and walk around to open the door for her. She steps out, her body tense, eyes scanning the surroundings as if she’s expecting Igor to be lurking in the middle of the woods.
“Don’t worry, we’re safe here,” I assure her.
As we walk toward the sprawling main house, the silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we haven’t said. I can feel her presence beside me, as if I needed a reminder of everything we’ve lost, everything that’s still unresolved.
But this is far from over. The real confrontation is still coming.