Page 20 of Taming a Ruthless Heart

Fran’s been with the Boyles since before I was born.I wanted her with me here because Moira couldn’t make it.

“See that Alexia and Rose are comfortable today,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.

She pauses, her spatula hovering over the pan.She glances at me over her shoulder, her sharp eyes narrowing.But she’s never been one to pry.

“Of course.”She turns back to the stove.“Don’t worry.”

I nod, draining the mug and setting it down on the counter.As I turn to leave, Henry appears in the doorway.His black suit is pristine, his posture rigid.He manages my household with precision.No detail too small escapes his notice.That’s why I bring him with me everywhere I can.

“Good morning, Mr.Boyle.Is there anything you need before you leave?”

I glance at the clock on the wall—still early.I run a hand through my damp hair and shake my head.

“Make sure everything here is running smoothly.I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Henry nods, his expression unchanged, though I catch the briefest flicker of concern in his eyes.He knows the stakes.He always does.

“Understood, sir.I’ll ensure Miss Alexia and her daughter are well taken care of during your absence.”

I nod, the weight of my responsibility settling over me like a blanket I can’t shake off.As much as I want to believe they are safe here, guarded by my best men, the truth is, nothing is certain.Not with Igor lurking out there, waiting for a chance to strike.

I make my way to the back door that leads to the helipad just beyond the gardens.The sleek black helicopter is already waiting.I climb inside and buckle up.Jon, the pilot, salutes me and the rotors begin to spin.The deafening whirr fills the cabin as the estate shrinks beneath us as we soar.

The cloudless sky gleams as the morning sun casts the world in gold and pink.It’s peaceful up here.But peace is a luxury I can’t afford.

As we fly over the coastline, my thoughts drift back to Alexia, to the way her body moved last night, the sounds she made when I pleasured her...Damn it.I clench my fists, trying to shove the thoughts down where they belong, buried beneath layers of cold detachment.

I lean back in my seat, staring out the window at the skyline of South Boston.It’s a different kind of chaos down there—one I’m more familiar with, one I can control.Business.Power.Bloodshed.All the things that define my life.

Alexia’s face still lingers in my mind.No matter how many miles I put between us, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s still with me, haunting me.I hate that I want her so much.Her scent clings to me, a reminder of everything I’ve lost—and everything I still stand to lose.There are too many lives in the balance.

I can’t fail.

The helicopter dips as we approach my building.Jon deftly lands the chopper with a gentle thud.The sleek glass tower overlooking the harbor, tall and imposing, stands like a fortress.It’s the headquarters of my legitimate business, Ferguson & Arpels chain of boutique hotels.It’s also where I sometimes need to handle the darker side of my life as leader of the Irish Brotherhood and the Syndicate.

I unbuckle, shifting into business mode.There’s no room for the mess that Alexia has brought back into my life.If I let my focus slip, people will die.Hell, people already have.

I step out onto the helipad.As I make my way across the rooftop, I run scenarios in my head.This emergency meeting will determine how we move forward.I get into the elevator that leads down to the executive floor.A soft hum is the only sound as it descends.The reflective walls show the hard set of my jaw, the tension in my shoulders.

The doors slide open, revealing the sleek corridor that leads to the meeting room.The contemporary design with polished wood and steel contrasts with the rough underworld I navigate.The floors gleam beneath my Italian shoes as I stride forward and push open the heavy double doors.

Seated around the table are the heads of the Syndicate families, waiting for me.The room is large, the walls lined with soundproof glass, offering views of the city and the bay.

My brothers, Shelby and Tommy, are seated on one side of the table.Tommy leans back in his chair, his gaze flicking up as I enter.Shelby adjusts his glasses and gives me a curt nod.

I take the spot at the head of the table.My father, Jack, sits to my right.His blue eyes fill with warmth as they focus on me.His hair, once dark, has long since turned white, wisps of it curling against his weathered scalp.He hasn’t been himself since Mom died, but today, there’s fire in him.He leans forward in his chair, his posture sharp, his presence commanding.

“Dave,” he greets me.His voice is worn with age but no less authoritative.

I let my gaze sweep the room.Joe DiLorenzo is sitting across from me.He’s a mountain of a man, his square jaw covered in a light stubble, black curls brushing his brow.A childhood friend, Joe’s the only one I trust to have my back.Beside him sits his father, Dino DiLorenzo—an older, grizzled version of Joe, his sharp Sicilian features weathered by decades of running his family’s operations.Dino has seen it all, and the look in his deep-set brown eyes makes it clear that he’s not here for pleasantries.

At the end of the table, leaning back with his arms crossed, is Nikolai Petrov.Cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless, Nikolai is the heir to the Russian Mafia, and he’s been working with the Boyles for years.His blond hair is styled with precision, his ice-blue eyes reveal nothing.He gives me a slight nod as our gazes meet.Despite his cold exterior, I’ve got a fiercely loyal ally in him.His expertise with computers and technology has helped me run my business for years now.

“The families from out of town are joining us via video call,” Nikolai says, his gravelly voice breaking the silence as he gestures to the large screen on the wall.

The screen flickers to life, revealing two faces from New York.Michael Silvieri, with his dark blue eyes and neatly combed dark brown hair, appears first.He owes us more than he can repay after we recently saved his sister Angie.She went on to become my brother Nick’s wife, but that’s a tale for another time.Next to Michael is Max Cagliari, with his imposing posture, his black hair and strong jawline, his eyes sharp with intensity.

On the second screen is Nora Donnelly, the matriarch of the Donnelly family out in Los Angeles.Now in her early sixties, she’s as formidable as ever.Nora helped found the Syndicate alongside my father and Dino, and her voice carries weight.Her white hair frames her round face in a sophisticated French bob, her dark eyes survey us with the wisdom of decades of experience.

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