Page 116 of Lucky Strike

“Be that as it may,” Donovan says. “We choose by vote. It’s not a fucking dictatorship.”

“What do you want me to say? I didn’t have faith that either of you” —Heath glances between me and Dad again— “were in the right place to continue leading. You’ve been sick, Owen, and I knew you were gonna step down. Lucky, no offense, but it’s obvious you never wanted this.”

“You have no fucking idea what I want,” I say flatly. “And, nooffense, I don’t need to hear about your hopes and dreams and motivations. All that shit is clear as day. What I need is a breakdown of the past six months. Details, Heath.”

And so, for the next hour, he gives them to me. A parishioner spilling his guts to a priest.

When the Murphys’ attempt to rob our Mexico-bound shipment was foiled last spring, Heath switched gears and enlisted the Sokolovs. Steven already had a relationship with them, as he’d been running drugs on his own for a while, so it was easy to branch out. The Sokolovs hacked into Kelly Logistics’ main server, which is how they found out how and when our shipments were leaving, where they were going, and what was in them. They tried to bolster this with the Blades, but we put an end to that pretty fast thanks to Angel and his loyalty.

They hacked into my private server as well, which is how they cut the alarm to the townhouse Halloween night. It’s how they were able to access my info for New Hampshire, including my code word, and make orders. They didn’t, however, know about the IP address.

But I guess we were more of a nuisance than they’d anticipated, or maybe they were just greedy, because the Sokolovs started demanding more money. Heath and Steven decided to kill two birds with one stone by feeding info to the Feds via an informant and then telling Ivan and Ilya that we’d snitched. The brothers retaliated by breaking into my house, getting rid of my dogs, and attempting murder by car accident.

When we survived, Heath said he’d had enough and wanted to step back. He knew they’d gone too far, but Steven had other plans. He put together a crew to kidnap Bria and Liam with the intent of blaming the Bratva. They’d ask for ransom, clear us of our guns and cash, and cripple us before returning Liam and Bria. We’d think it was the Sokolovs again—after all, it’d been them the whole time—and eliminate them after paying up.

“I can’t defend what he did. I can’t—” Heath stops, rubbing his face. “Defend what I did.”

As punishment for his treason, Heath and his family are stripped of Saoirse membership. It’s unprecedented, but the vote is unanimous.

“Look at me,” I command, waiting until Heath bring his eyes to mine. “You have three days to leave Boston. For good. You cede ownership of your home and both Benny’s locations to Saoirse.”

He nods, wiping his face with a cloth from his pocket.

“In the old days, your crimes would’ve merited a death sentence,” Dad says. “If you ever show your face in this city again, it will be.”

“You’ll be missed.”

Turning from my desk, I give David Choi, the firm’s head partner, a small smile. He’s a patient, older man who always took the time to mentor me during my earlier years here. “I’ll miss this place, too. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“You’re making the right choice, though.” Sliding his hands into his pockets, he walks over to the windows, gazing out at Boston. The sun sets early these days, so it’s already dark, lights winking on across the city. “Family comes first.” As far as David knows, I’m choosing to work from home so I can take care of my ailing father.

“Yes, it does.” I nod, picking up my box. I’ve enjoyed working at the firm, but my life has become too complicated. Something has to give, so I’ll be focusing on Saoirse and Kelly Logistics from here on out, giving up my career as an independent wealth manager.

“Don’t hesitate to reach out, Conlan.” David looks over his shoulder. “I’m just a call away.”

Stopping at the store on the way home, I pick up some more of the tea Bria likes as well as a chocolate bar for Liam. And then I drive slowly home, down our street, admiring the glow of Christmas lights. Even my place is lit up. Mom and Maeve went on a decorating frenzy a few days ago, determined to imbue the townhouse with enough holiday cheer to brighten even the darkest nights. Literally and figuratively.

Except for Maeve’s car, my driveway is empty when I pull through the gate. I park in the garage and head inside, grateful for both the quiet and the smell of dinner. Nola’s gone home by now, but she probably left dinner warming in the oven. I always tell Bria and Maeve to go ahead without me, but they insist on waiting until I’m home so we can all eat together.

Leaving my jacket and shoes by the back door, I walk deeper into the house. Liam and Shelby greet me in the hallway, probably having heard the garage. I swoop my kid into my arms and give Shelby a good scritchbefore continuing to Bria’s room, where she and Maeve are curled up watching TV. Her mom, Anne, left a week ago after extending her stay through Thanksgiving.

I think about the conversation I overheard the day before she took the train back, when they were in Bria’s old room upstairs, packing. They must not have known I was home, that I could hear them through my office’s open door.

“Come back with me, Bri. Let me take care of you for a while.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my life is here.”

“Because of him?”

“Who, Liam?” Bria’s voice was light.

Anne had scoffed. “Liam’s a sweetheart, but I meant his father.”

Bria was quiet for a beat. “What are you saying, Ma?”

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