Chapter 2
The Costello organization had not always been mine.
For thirty-three years, Patrick ran it.
Then age slowed him.
Declan assumed he would inherit.
Everyone did.
Including Declan.
Then my mother died.
And one week before her funeral, Patrick called a private meeting and shocked the family.
He gave command to me.
Not because I was younger.
Not because I was his daughter.
Because Declan had spent years turning loyalty into debt.
Men followed him because they owed him.
Men followed me because they knew what happened if they lied.
At least that was how Patrick explained it then.
Apparently regret had aged beside him.
“You wanted me frightened enough to step down?”
Patrick shook his head.
“Temporarily.”
I almost laughed.
There was that word.
“Because my son fell?”
“You’ve become reckless.”
I stared.
“My child was sabotaged.”
“You bring him everywhere.”
“He was at a family climbing event.”
“Exactly.”
Patrick pointed around the club.
“You make him visible.”
I understood.
Finn’s presence as the boss’s son bothered them.
Not because he was unsafe.
Because he represented continuity through me.
Declan stepped forward.
“This isn’t about a toddler inheriting anything.”
“Then what?”
He hesitated.
I waited.
He said:
“About perception.”
There it was.
Old Mafia poison.
If family and captains saw Finn as fragile, they might begin asking whether I had become too distracted by motherhood.
If Finn fell during a supervised family event, I would look careless.
If I overreacted, emotional.
If I blamed others, paranoid.
Every outcome weakened me.
Clever.
Ugly.
I looked toward Brielle.
“And you used your own daughter.”
Declan’s face hardened.
“She moved a mat.”
“She was told to help injure a three-year-old.”
“He wasn’t supposed to get hurt.”
Finn tightened his arms around me.
I looked at Declan.
“No one who removes a safety clip gets to say what was supposed to happen.”
Then Rafe Donovan, my senior capo, entered carrying Patrick’s phone.
He had searched the coat pocket.
“There’s a payment, Boss.”
Patrick went white.
“How much?”
“Two hundred fifty thousand.”
I looked at my father.
“To you?”
Rafe shook his head.
“No.”
May you like
He turned the phone toward me.
“To Brielle Costello’s trust.”
