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Chapter One
Cillian
Menacing clouds gather in the rich night sky, amplifying the tension in my soul.
The haunting moon beams down on my men and me, lighting us up as we rush toward the warehouse.
Tonight is the night.
Tonight, Lance Polinsky will die for killing my parents, and I will get my retribution.
They—my sweet Mam and my brave Da—will finally be able to rest in peace.
It’s bad enough that I never recovered their bodies. What remained of them was desecrated and lost to me. So I never had the option to bury them in the family plot in Ireland like the rest of the clan who’d gone before us.
I pray that tonight will offer some justice when I catch this bastard.
We reach the warehouse door, and I’m flanked on my right and left by my two best friends—Virgo and Dante.
They’re the best men I could have at my side. Without Virgo and his tech skills this moment wouldn’t be possible. Without Dante and his power and influence as the leader of the Creed I would never have had the backing and muscle to find this motherfucker.
Behind us stands an army of thirty of our finest men.
With our guns ready to fire, we burst through the large wooden doors. I feel like a hell beast as I use all my frustration to practically rip the doors open. Then we rush into the wide-open space filled with giant crates and heavy-duty machinery.
I’ve known about Lance Polinsky and his part in my parents' murder for the last six months. Not a minute has gone by since then that I haven’t looked for him.
The problem we ran into was the same as anyone else who’s looking for him and can’t find him.
Lance Polinsky is a faceless man. He’s a black-market dealer, but no one actually knows what he looks like. He’s referred to as a ghost in the underground, and the fucker only allows you to see his face if you’re working with him.
We only knew he was here tonight because Virgo was tipped off by a spy we’d been working with.
Lance is supposed to be in the office at the top of the stairs. Our intel told us that he came here to wait for a drug drop.
This warehouse, situated on the docks of New York Harbor, is perfect for such a drop. Except we’re here now. Not the Triad members Lance was expecting. We took care of them in the woods just outside Manhattan before we arrived.
Finally, we have the upper hand. I have the fucking upper hand. Lance has seemed to be one step ahead of me, but he’ll experience the shock of his life when he sees us. He can’t even try to escape because we have the warehouse surrounded.
Virgo, Dante and I take the stairs with five of our men. The rest spread out. There are supposed to be at least ten of Lance’s guards inside the building. I need them dead.
I lead the group to the office at the top of the stairs. Lucky for us, there is only one. The one we need.
I can almost taste the sweetness of revenge.
I’ve only had that taste in my mouth once. Death is always bad and always hard, but some deaths hit the heart harder than others.
The office door is ajar, so I rush ahead and smash it open as I thrust myself inside. But I stop short and my hands drop to my sides when my gaze lands on our spy hanging from the ceiling fan with his eyes gouged out.
There’s nothing else and no one else in the room besides him. And a note is taped to his chest.
While the men hang back, Virgo and Dante move closer and gaze at him, looking as enraged as I feel. Then they look at me and that rage turns into pity.
The two of them are similar in appearance with their dark blond hair, six-foot-six height, and military build. People often mistake them for twins. Right now, that pitiful expression displayed on their faces is a mirror image of the other.
How I hate to be pitied. I’m the head of the Irish mob. Pity shouldn’t even be in my vocabulary, whether I think it or say it.
They pity me because this is yet another failed attempt, and it seems like the worst one.
