She read the message again, wiping her palms on her thighs. Something else about it struck her as odd, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She tried to stuff down the worry that shuddered through her. She was being ridiculous.
Shaking her head, she reached for her phone and dialed her mother. If it was a mistake, Mary Elizabeth would pick up even if just to say she couldn’t talk right now like she had a few times before, and everything would be fine. Voicemail.
Evie tapped her fingernails against the back of her phone. She didn’t even have anyone in Philly she could ask to check on her mom. When she’d resumed communication with Mary Elizabeth, she asked her to keep their weekly chats a secret. From her father, her sister, her friends. Everyone. Her mother hadn’t liked it at first, but it was the only demand Evie made of her, so she agreed. This was the first time Evie wished someone knew.
Rereading the words, her eyes narrowed in on what seemed off. Sweetie. Never once in thirty years had her mother ever called her sweetie, only sweet girl. In that moment, she didn’t care if she was overreacting or if someone spotted her in Philadelphia; she had to drive down to Philly to check on her mother. She’d much rather get there and find her mother asleep and her father out than do nothing. Grabbing her keys and bag off the counter, she left her apartment, letting the front door slam behind her.
ChapterThree
Declan Callahan ruled Philadelphia with an iron fist. His reputation had been earned in blood. There was never a question that he would take over the syndicate after his father’s death. A Callahan had sat on the throne for over a century. But if his father had been building a kingdom, Declan was building an empire. Empires required constant vigilance.
He’d done a lot of work bringing the vision he had for the syndicate to life. He didn’t merely want to make money and maintain the status quo; he wanted to build wealth and amass power. He was insatiable.
In the two years since his father died, Declan had molded the syndicate in his own image. He’d left the drugs to the Italians—not that they’d managed to make much success from the gift he’d offered to them—and set his sights on bigger things. Arms dealing, among other things, had proven to be a very lucrative investment.
Rising from behind the desk, he slipped off his tailored suit coat and hung it on a peg in the corner. Through the window, he could see the packed restaurant parking lot in the golden glow of street lamps. Converting the old whiskey distillery into an upscale restaurant and event space had been one of his first investments when his father had given him some leeway in handling business dealings.
Patrick Callahan had never understood the need for a high-end bar and steakhouse. Or the commercial real estate Declan had bought for a steal when the economy dipped. Both times. He’d been skeptical of the nightclub purchase and complained about the cost of renovations despite how much and how often he’d enjoyed them.
His father hadn’t been able to see it, but all of it had served a greater purpose. Declan had carefully built a successful, legal facade that allowed him to move hundreds of millions of illegal dollars through Philly’s docks under the watchful eye of loyal syndicate men who were strategically employed around the city. His aboveboard businesses and generous political contributions afforded him a great deal of respect and access.
He liked money. No, that wasn’t true. He liked winning. And money was just another game to play. A game he excelled at. As a result, the empire was thriving—in every way but one. Crossing back to the desk, he picked up the heavy, gilded invitation and frowned at the curling script that cordially invited him and a guest to the wedding of James Callahan and Maura Kelly.
All anyone had been able to talk about for weeks was his cousin’s fucking wedding. Which meant renewed gossip about his own relationship status. Or lack thereof. Mainly people wanted to know when he would finally settle down with his own wife and spawn the next generation. By the time his father turned thirty-one, he already had three sons and one on the way. A fact no one failed to mention in his presence.
If things had worked out differently ten years ago, he had no doubt he’d have his own gaggle of kids by now. But they hadn’t, and he’d made the syndicate his baby instead. A fruitful way to focus his time and energy, if nothing else.
At a knock on the office door, he dropped the invitation back on the desk and turned to see his brother Finn poking his head through the opening.
“Got a minute?”
Through the open door, he could hear his assistant still typing away on her computer. He probably should have sent her home hours ago. Declan motioned Finn inside and moved to the bar cart he stocked with his favorite whiskey. Pouring a finger into two glasses, he dropped into one of the chairs that faced his desk and took a sip.
“Long day?”
“All the days are long.”
He could sense Finn studying him, but if his brother wanted to nag him like his wife, Cait, often did, he thought better of it. “Have you heard from O’Brian today?”
Declan frowned, trying to remember the last time he’d spoken to his father’s best man. “Not since yesterday. Maybe the day before.” He downed the rest of his whiskey and set the glass on the edge of the desk. “Why?”
“He was supposed to run a surveillance op on DiMarco today, and he never showed.”
That wasn’t like him.
“The op?” Business always came first.
“Rory McBride stepped up. It went fine. Brogan is reviewing everything as we speak, but no one’s been able to reach O’Brian, house or cell. McBride did a drive-by of the house on his way home, said all the lights were out.”
Declan adjusted his watch on his wrist, checking the time. “I’ve got a key. I’ll swing by on my way to the club.”
“Not going home?”
Declan shook his head and pushed to his feet. Slipping his arms into his jacket, he adjusted the collar and cuffs of his shirt. “There’s always something to do.”
Finn flashed a quick grin. “Or someone.”
“I’ll leave the whoring to Aidan. Besides, how would you know? We both know you’re madly in love with your wife.”
