I turned away from him, reaching for Cassie’s hand. Her fingers were trembling but warm, anchoring me to something beyond the violence that had defined my world for so long.
The mansion groaned around us, century-old timbers surrendering to the fire. The gasoline Declan had splashed throughout the house was doing its work—flames raced along the walls like living things, consuming everything in their path.
"We need to move," I said, pulling Cassie toward the back of the house. "Now."
She nodded, her hand tightening in mine as we moved through smoke-filled hallways. I knew this house—every board, every corner, every escape route my father had drilled into me as a child. The main staircase was already engulfed, forcing us toward the servants’ stairs at the back.
The heat was unbearable now, turning the air into liquid fire that seared my lungs with every breath. Cassie pressed close behind me, one hand on my back for guidance through the thickening smoke.
A beam gave way overhead, sending sparks and burning debris cascading down like deadly rain. I spun, wrapping my arms around Cassie and taking the impact across my shoulder as a chunk of flaming wood crashed down. Pain exploded through my arm, but I kept moving.
Nothing else mattered. Not the pain, not the smoke, not the family legacy burning around us. Only getting her out alive.
The back exit loomed ahead through the haze, its frame outlined in orange fire but still intact. I kicked the door off its hinges and stumbled into the night air, Cassie close behind me, both of us gasping for clean oxygen.
We made it ten steps before I collapsed to my knees in the damp grass, Cassie dropping down beside me. The mansion—my father’s kingdom, my birthright, the symbol of everything the Creed name had built—was dying in flames that reached toward the stars.
And I felt nothing but relief.
Cassie’s hand found my face, her fingers gentle against skin that reeked of smoke and violence. "You’re hurt," she said, noticingthe blood seeping through my shirt where the beam had caught me.
"I’m fine." I brushed soot from her hair, marveling at how beautiful she looked, even covered in ash and exhaustion. "Are you? The baby?—"
"We’re okay." Her hand moved unconsciously to her stomach.
The sound of engines filled the night air. Cars approached through the gates—Connor’s BMW in the lead, followed by Tommy’s SUV. My men, finally arriving according to the timeline I’d given Connor.
Twenty minutes after I’d entered the mansion. Twenty minutes to ensure that if this was a trap, I wouldn’t take them down with me.
Connor was out of his car before it fully stopped, his silver hair wild, his eyes bright with urgency. "Boss! Jesus Christ, what happened?"
One of the men stepped forward. "Is Declan dead?"
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. For the first time in my adult life, I’d chosen something other than the blood price our world demanded.
Behind us, the fire continued to rage, and the sounds of sirens grew closer.
Cassie stirred beside me, her voice shaking as she spoke. "You didn’t kill him."
It was more of a statement than a question. She was there. She saw it. But still, my jaw tightened as I answered, "No, but that doesn’t mean he won’t die."
It felt like a confession, like the beginning of something I couldn’t yet name. Behind us, the flames reached higher, and I knew with absolute certainty that I’d left more than just a house burning in that inferno.
I’d left the man I used to be.
29
ROMAN
The hidden compound looked like a medieval fortress that had been dragged kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. Stone walls that could withstand a siege surrounded a complex of buildings that hummed with enough electronic surveillance to make the NSA jealous. This was where the Irish families gathered when blood had been spilled and justice needed to be dispensed.
Where men like Declan faced judgment for their betrayals.
I helped Cassie from the car, noting how she took in every detail with those sharp brown eyes. The armed guards at the checkpoint, the bulletproof glass, the way everyone moved with the careful efficiency of people who knew violence was always one wrong word away.
"How many people know about this place?" she asked as we walked toward the main building.
"Twelve families. Maybe fifteen." I kept my hand on the small of her back, a claiming touch that announced to everyone watching that she belonged to me. "And now you."
