PROLOGUE
Keira – Ten Years Ago
Something isn’t right. I can feel it deep in my soul.
Or maybe it’s just paranoia. Since my parents have banished me to my room without my phone or computer or anything to contact the outside world, I’ve been left to wallow in worry and sadness. If only I could talk to Phoenix. He’d know what to do.
My parents' voices drift up from downstairs, their harsh tones carrying through the old mansion's walls. They're discussing my future again, arrangements, alliances, suitable matches. None of them include what I want.
I go to sit in the window seat. This morning is rainy and dreary, a metaphor for my life. I bring up memories of happier times. Of sneaking out to meet Phoenix. Feeling exhilarated at riding on his motorcycle. Feeling my heart soar when he’d kiss me. I’d grown up feeling meek and unseen. Phoenix changed all that. With him, I feel strong and cherished.
Clearly, I only feel that around him because now, sent to my room with no way to reach him, I’m lost, uncertain as to what I should do.
I wrap my fingers around the little crystal pendant he gave me.
“It reminds me of you,” he’d said. “At first glance, it’s just a clear stone, but then the light hits it and it’s full of color and life. There’s so much more than meets the eye.”
I hold the crystal up, but there’s no light to reflect through it. The color and life have left it, just like they left me.
"Miss Keira?" A maid's voice comes through the door. "Your father requests your presence.”
It’s not a request. It’s a demand.
My feet drag across the Persian carpets as I make my way downstairs. Father's study door stands open. Mother's perfume wafts to me, mixing with Father's cigar smoke. The scent combination turns my stomach.
"Close the door behind you, Keira." Father stands from behind his desk, and there’s something different about him. He seems taller, his chest puffed out more, as if he’s more powerful.
I step inside, ever the dutiful daughter. I’m eighteen, legally an adult, but my family operates under different laws. I’m their property until I’m married, and then I’m my husband’s property.
Mother perches on the edge of Father’s desk, spine rigid. My brother, Ronan, stands behind my father. He has that same attitude of smug power radiating off him.
I stand, quietly waiting for whatever they plan to tell me.
“How does it feel to be looking at the new king of Boston’s organized crime?” Father’s smile is triumphant.
I glance at my mother and then to him, not sure what he means. Patrick Ifrinn, Phoenix's father, is the so-called king. He’s well respected, even by my father. Or he was. My father has grumbled some lately that Mr. Ifrinn was weak, but I have no idea what he’s referring to.
“I… ah…”
“You should congratulate your father,” Mother prompts.
“Congratulations.” I have a sick feeling in my stomach. Patrick Ifrinn isn’t just going to hand over control to my father, which means something happened. Fear grips me that something has happened to Phoenix too. He’s Patrick’s heir, after all.
“They’re dead. The house was torched. Burned to ash,” Ronan says with a glee that is unsettling.
The words finally register. “All of them?”
“All of them,” my father confirms.
My heart drops. My knees nearly give out. “Even…” I want to ask about Phoenix, but I know my parents don’t approve of him. Not anymore. “Their sons?”
“All of them. Even your precious Phoenix.” My father sneers, clearly trying to hurt me.
"You…" My voice catches. "You murdered the entire family?"
"We protected our interests. The Ifrinns were weak, and because I was pointing it out, they planned to destroy me. Your Phoenix was their weapon."
I shake my head, memories flooding back. Phoenix's gentle touch. His dreams of us running away together. The way he looked at me like I was his entire world. "No. He loved me."
