19. Dave
19
Dave
M y youngest brother’s smiling face beams at me from the screen of my cellphone. We haven’t talked in months. The sight of his picture pulls me up short, an unexpected wave of memories and emotions hitting me before I can brace myself.
I pick up the call, steadying my voice. “Nick.”
“Hey, big brother.” His voice comes through light and easy, the familiar sound tinged with warmth.
Nick is the one who left our world of blood and darkness behind to live a cleaner life. Fifteen years ago, he left Boston. He walked away from the family, from our business, and from everything that came with our lifestyle. Mom encouraged him to go, to chase his dreams of music and freedom. He ditched the Boyle name and cut off the ties to his criminal family. He only kept in touch with our mother. When he eventually made it big, the media crowned him a rock god. He’s become a world-famous star, wild and untamed. But in my mind, he’s still the little brat I loved to tease, the grinning kid who looked up to me like I was some goddamn superhero.
“It’s been a while.” Nick’s raspy comment brings me back to the present.
“Yeah, I haven’t seen your ugly face since your wedding. When was that, March of last year?” I ask, standing up and strolling to the floor-to-ceiling windows. I pull back the heavy curtains and gaze out at the manicured lawns, gardens, and the distant harbor. The tension loosens its iron grip around my chest, allowing me room to breathe and joke, “What’s up, little brother?”
He pauses, then a faint chuckle tickles my ear. “You’re going to be an uncle, Dave. Angie’s pregnant.”
The words hit like a jolt of whiskey, flooding me with something I haven’t felt in years—pure, uncomplicated joy. I’m going to be an uncle. I never imagined myself as one, never had the space in my mind to even consider it, given the life I lead. But for Nick, my little brother, it makes sense. He’s always been the one who could hold the good things in life.
“An uncle, huh?” I grunt, hearing the crack in my own voice, barely masked by a chuckle. “Guess that makes you the responsible one now.”
Nick laughs, a sound that manages to warm the cold edges of my recent thoughts. “Hard to believe, right? Angie and I have been talking about starting a family for a while, you know? But there were other priorities.”
I turn my back to the enticing view of the bay with the colorful boats bobbing under the late afternoon sun.
“You have a demanding career and Angie wanted to finish college. Not exactly the best scenario to raise kids,” I observe.
Nick guffaws. “Have you bugged our phones?”
As I settle back in the leather chair, I laugh out loud, remembering the ordeal Nick and Angie went through two years ago. “Nope. I leave that to Angie’s father. By the way, how has he been treating you?”
“Like any jealous father,” he says with a laugh. “Very badly!”
I shake my head and call his bluff, “That’s not what her brother tells me. According to Michael, you’ve become Tony’s favorite person.”
Nick snickers. “True. I can only imagine his reaction when he learns he’ll be a grandfather.”
My throat dries up, so my voice cracks when I ask, “What do you mean? You guys haven’t told Tony yet?”
“Angie and I wanted you to be the first to know.” Nick’s confession comes out strangled as if he’s also fighting his emotions.
Silence stretches between us. The idea that he wanted me to be the first, despite all the years we’ve been apart, gets to me. My chest tightens, and I can’t find anything to say. I guess I know what this means. It’s a gesture of gratitude for my role in helping Nick and Angie when they first met. My little brother was way over his head, thinking he could take on Angie’s Mafia family and survive it on his own. He was deadly wrong, but that is a tale for another time. Today is about celebrating Angie and Nick’s love and the beginning of their family.
“Congratulations, brother.” I finally say, doing my best to keep my voice even, but I don’t mask the pride that buffs my chest. It slips through my words. “You deserve this. You both do.”
He sighs, a long, relieved breath, as if he’d been waiting for my approval. “Thanks, Dave. Means a lot coming from you. I know I don’t call often and you’ve got a lot on your plate with the business and Dad’s declining health now?—”
“Don’t.” My voice is sharp, cutting through the vulnerability I sense in him. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know,” he murmurs, a raw edge in his voice. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. About everything you’ve done to keep me and Angie safe.”
He’s talking about the events of two years ago. But there are other things Nick doesn’t even dream of. The past comes rushing back, the late-night phone calls and frantic messages to my associates. The plans Dad and I put in place to shield Nick, keeping his name off the radar. I kept him safe when I couldn’t even keep myself safe, sacrificing pieces of myself so he could pursue his dreams.
To Nick, my voice gruff, I just say, “I’d do it all again. You know that.” And I mean all I did over the last fifteen years.
“Yeah, I know.” He pauses, and I can hear him swallowing hard. “It’s just that I shut you out of my life for so long. Then, when I needed you, you swooped in like those years never happened, Dave. And you literally saved me and my wife. You gave me a life I couldn’t have had otherwise.”
I clear my throat as the weight of Nick’s gratitude presses against my chest like an anvil. I’m not used to softness, to this kind of sincerity. Most of the people around me deal in lies, deals, and betrayals. But Nick? He’s honest. Always has been. That’s why he couldn’t stay in our line of business.
“Mom was right. You didn’t belong here. I’m glad you got out of this life. I’m proud of what you accomplished, the life you built for yourself. You deserve better and you got it.” I pause to take a deep inhale. Half-joking, to deflect the heaviness settling between us, I add, “Just don’t get all sentimental on me, little brother.”
Nick chuckles, a faint sound. “Too late. And hey, get ready for when you meet the kid. It’s a lot of responsibility being an uncle, you know.”
The image hits me out of nowhere—a small, fragile life untouched by any of this darkness, unaware of the sins that cling to our family’s name. A niece or nephew. An innocent who might look up at me and see just an uncle, not the man I’ve become, not the ruthless leader holding the Syndicate’s reins in his bloody hands.
“I’d like that,” I say, voice softer, the words barely more than a murmur. “I’d like it very much. I miss you and Angie.”
There’s a pause, a beat of silence where I can almost see him smiling on the other end of the line. His sigh of relief is audible.
“Dave, are you okay? I mean, really. You sound… different.” Nick’s tone shifts from lighthearted to cautious, probing.
For a moment, I consider brushing him off, falling back into the habit of protecting him from the weight of my world. But Nick isn’t a kid anymore. He’s a man, one who deserves at least a sliver of the truth.
Nick knows Alexia. He witnessed how head-over-heals in love I was back in the day. We even talked about her when I was helping him fight the Silvieris to keep Angie by his side. I don’t want to burden him with the news that she’s in danger. He has other concerns to occupy his mind right now.
“It’s complicated.” I drag a hand down my face, trying to shake the fatigue, the frustration that’s been building like poison in my veins. “Things are shifting right now. Old enemies coming back to haunt me, that sort of thing.”
“Uh-huh.” He hums before turning quiet, thoughtful. “If there’s anything I can do, just let me know, Dave.”
The offer is simple, earnest, and it catches me off guard. Nick’s lived so far from this world for so long, yet here he is, reaching out, offering help. He doesn’t owe me anything—he’s paid his dues a hundred times over by escaping this life. But I hear the sincerity, the loyalty that no amount of distance could erase.
“I appreciate it, Nick. I do,” I say, feeling that familiar warmth rise in my chest again. It’s rare, this feeling, this connection. But for a moment, I allow myself to lean into it, to let down my guard. “Just keep living the life you’ve chosen. I’m happy for you.”
Another pause, then Nick adds, softly, “Always so damn stoic! You know, it wouldn’t kill you to let someone in every now and then.”
“Stoic?” I scoff, letting a hint of amusement creep into my tone. “That’s what you call it?”
“Yeah,” he says, laughter in his voice. “But you’re a good man, Dave. Don’t ever forget that.”
His words fall over my heart like a balm, smoothing the jagged edges of anger and frustration. For a split second, I believe him.
“You always see the best in people, like Mom used to do,” I choke out the words.
“True. Despite all the twisted ugliness she faced in her practice, Mom always looked for the redeeming qualities in people.”
I blink a few times to refocus my hazy vision. That’s what remembering Martha Boyle does to me. Every. Fucking. Time!
I square my shoulders and my voice. “If you ever need me, you know I’ll be there.”
“And I’ll be here for you, too, if you ever need someone who’s not tangled up in all that Syndicate mess.”
A part of me wants to reach through the line, to tell him everything—about the files, about the Vasilyevichs, about the war bubbling under the surface. But I hold back. Nick deserves to live without the shadow of this world hanging over him.
“Take care, brother,” I say, a slight smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Take good care of Angie and that kid.”
“Will do,” he replies, and the line goes silent.
Nick is gone. I stare at the phone, letting our conversation sink in for a long moment. My brother’s current situation and his blissful happiness are reminders of the life I chose, the sacrifices I made. There’s a flicker of something—maybe envy, buried deep beneath the layers of who I’ve had to become. Nick broke free, found something worth holding onto. What about me? I’m still here, bound by loyalty, by duty, by the damn legacy I can’t escape.
I slip the phone back into my pocket, the warmth from our conversation fading, leaving only the cold reality of the study around me. The files still lie open on my desk, waiting. After all, there’s no rest for the wicked, for men like me.
The soft jazz music playing in the study wraps around me once again as Nick’s voice fades from my mind. The phone call brought a momentary reprieve, a rare glimpse into a life where family meant something simple—where it meant laughter, love, and innocence.
I glance back at the scattered files on the desk, the harsh, inky letters spelling out the names of men who have betrayed my family. It’s more than just business, more than power or position. It’s a duty I inherited from my father, and Jack Boyle didn’t raise me to let men like Igor Vasilyevich poison what we built.
I run my fingers over the edge of a folder, feeling the crisp paper under my touch, a tangible reminder of my father’s meticulous hand. Jack was a force—calculated, composed, but above all, loyal. He held the Syndicate together with his honor, his unwavering belief in loyalty to family. He kept us grounded, kept the Syndicate’s darkness contained so that it wouldn’t bleed into every corner of our lives. And now it’s my job to protect what he left for me.
My father believed in the weight of history, in the roots that ran deep. But he never let them trap him. He knew when to wield his power and when to pull back, and that’s why he survived as long as he did. Jack Boyle was many things—a father, a leader, a goddamn patriarch—and I’m not letting a snake like Igor piss on any part of that legacy.
My gaze lands back on the laptop, on the names of Sergei and Oleg Vasilyevich, archived emails and encrypted messages painting them as allies-turned-traitors. They spat on that bond, used it as a shield for their own twisted ambitions. And now, their son is following in their footsteps, rebuilding what they started, taking on his father’s web of deception and multiplying it a hundredfold. Jack held the line back then. But my father also taught me not to have any patience for traitors, no tolerance for disloyalty.
I move the mouse and the pointer hovers over other files. Nikolai’s intel blinks back at me like a twisted mirror, aiming to reveal the dark corners where Igor has tried to hide. I click open a folder and scan the text. It’s an email from an associate of that mysterious man named Dracul to Igor. I frown when my mom’s name pops up. I check the date to learn it was sent five years ago. She was alive but already quite ill. The cancer had spread to her whole body. I find it odd that this stranger was discussing my mother’s work with Igor.
I scroll down until I find Igor’s reply. He wrote:
Leave that motherfucker Dave Boyle to me.
Focus on the shrink. You know what you must do to protect the Bratva.
I stare at the screen, slack-jawed. What the hell does all this mean? Mom was a freaking professor of Psychology at Harvard. How could her job threaten anyone, let alone the Bratva? Still, there aren’t many other explanations for what Igor wrote.
A surge of resolve hardens me, coiling with a fierce determination I haven’t felt in years. This isn’t just about keeping the Syndicate intact. This is personal. If Igor did something to my mother, I will tear down every piece of his empire. And if I have to go through hell to do that, so be it.
My thoughts drift to Alexia and Rose. I see their faces in my mind, clear as day, innocent and fragile, and that makes me feel vulnerable, which is dangerous for a man like me. I’d protect them with my life. Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure they’re safe.
I rise from the desk with renewed purpose thrumming through my veins. I make a silent vow to my father, to myself, to everyone I care about that I will get to the bottom of this shit.
“No more secrets,” I say through gritted teeth, the words barely more than a breath.
I’m going to burn Igor’s world to the ground, and I’m going to protect the Syndicate, protect my family, and I’ll make damn sure no one ever threatens what’s mine again.