1
Kieran
The first time my parents died, it was me who pulled the trigger. I made the call and executed the order to keep them safe, hiding them away from the world. But that wasn’t enough. Now, I feel as if my actions pulled the trigger on all our lives.
My mother was a Scottish princess, her older brother leader of Clan McFarland. Mam led a privileged life and lacked for nothing. People are often tempted by what they can’t have. And while the world was at her feet, she snuck and entangled herself with a lowly Irishman.
A nobody.
A nothing.
Da had no ties to the Irish mafia. No means to protect her. A lad like him didn’t deserve her.
But Mam married the soft, snivelingnobodyfor love. At an early age, I differentiated between the wolves and the wee lambs. My uncle Ewan McFarland drew me beneath his wing. Under his training, I became the coldblooded bastard I am today. So, when my parents brought a little girl into this world, I saw fit to keep them safe—dead to this cold, dark world. That’s the first timeIkilled them.
I narrow my eyes, scanning past the courtyard. The sun glows across a Napa Valley vineyard. I can almost imagine my wee sister, Kiera, skimming vines with her fingertips as she frolics about. She’s a daydreaming lassie, yet I can’t fault her for this. She wasn’t raised to see life from a normal viewpoint. I see darkness. She sees rainbows. Kiera’s always asking me to visit. But no, that’s not possible.
Before the backdrop of the rustic vineyard, blood rains within the courtyard. The tan skin of my Armenian adversaries and the crisp wedding attire they don are stained red.
I step onto the chest of one dead body. My lips push into a line. My boots track through blood, grime, and dead bodies.
“Find one,” I grit to a henchman.
“You killed them . . . all . . . Kieran.”
I draw my hand through my long, dark hair, muscles flexing beneath my jaw.Make an example of them, the whole lot of them,Uncle Ewan had said while training me years ago. Ewan ingrained his instruction in my brain for life.
“Kier.” Another member of my clan clicks his tongue from across the courtyard.
I pause at the sight of the dead bride, her white lace stained red. Death is what becomes of women who marry men like my father. This is what would’ve become of my mam had Uncle Ewan not kept them guarded. I took up where he left off once I was no longer a laddie. Shaking my head, I turn toward faint groaning.
I undo the cuff links at my wrists, stoop down, and rub my hands together. “Sarkis, it’s rather fitting you’re alive. You spent a pretty penny on your daughter’s wedding.”
A spray of blood flies from his sneering lips. I glance at the crimson splattered at the edge of my boots. Having grown up with my uncle’s henchmen, Clan Mackenzie, I don’t give afeckabout pretenses. But I wore my best slacks today and a linen shirt. I’d a wedding to attend, so why not?
I pluck the handkerchief from his suit. “Silk. Nice.”
After wiping the top of my boot, I push the buttery soft material back into his pocket.
“Are you honestly begging me to swim in your blood, eh?”
“Fu—”
I place my palm over his mouth and nose, constricting his airway. “Listen. There are men, women here, dead.Brilliant, though, that theweans—the little ones—weren’t invited to such a bloody, lavish wedding. They will live.”
Smiling, I offer him oxygen. Sarkis’ frail chest hefts as he takes in all the grape-scented air he can muster.
A soft wind carries his grave, deep voice in my direction. “Almost all of my family lay dying. That our commonality?”
I kick up a shoulder.
“Your mother died in labor with a little girl years ago?”
Sarkis repeats the story I force-fed all my enemies and allies alike. I’m not the man I am today because I wear my heart on my sleeve. Whether my family is dead or alive, I’ll not show any emotion. The side of my mouth twitches as I snort, “It was a very tragic death—died bringing a bairn in the world; the lassie was so tiny, she lived a day or so.”My parents and little sister, Kiera, live in England, but that’s not for him to know . . . even on his deathbed.
Sarkis coughs up blood.
I remove the silk handkerchief from his pocket and wipe the old man’s mouth. “See, I’m not the bloody bastard you believe me to be. Now, let’s discuss Boston,myterritory.”