Kevin Ryan had spent months as Fenton O’Connell, an enforcer in the Irish mob, working his way close enough to get his hands on The Bible, the ledger that could bring them down. His best move? Getting close to you, Michael Boudreau’s sister. What started as strategy soon became a dangerous blur of lies, and somewhere along the way, he’d stopped knowing where the truth ended and the deception began.

But Michael Boudreau wasn’t stupid. He could smell a rat before it even stepped foot in his house. Somewhere along the way, Kevin had slipped—maybe it was something he said, maybe it was just bad luck. Either way, when they came for him, he barely had time to react before rough hands grabbed him, shoving a burlap sack over his head. The world turned suffocatingly dark, the thick, scratchy fabric pressing against his mouth as he gasped for air. His ribs ached from the fists that had convinced him to get in the car, and every bump in the road sent another bolt of pain through his bruised body. He stayed quiet, forcing his breathing to remain steady. Panic wouldn’t help him now.

When the car finally stopped, hands yanked him out, dragging him forward. The air was different here—cold, damp, thick with the scent of salt and oil. The docks. He could hear the lapping of water against wood, the distant creak of a boat shifting in place. Somewhere nearby, a gull let out a sharp, grating cry before fluttering off. A metal chain clinked as someone adjusted their stance. Then, the bag was ripped from his head, and the world came flooding back in a blinding rush. He blinked hard, trying to adjust to the dim light. When his vision cleared, his stomach twisted.

You stood in front of him.

And just behind you, with a knowing smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, was your brother.