Free CROW (Boston Underworld Book 1) by A. Zavarelli Page B

on, jacket, Glock. Every day the same routine. This is the life I want, so I haven’t a clue why it feels so empty at times.
    Hitting the lights, I lock up and step out into the cool Boston air. Instead of going left, back to the car that’ll take me to Slainte, I turn right. These streets are familiar now. They feel like home. And even though the weather is cooling as Autumn takes hold of the city, I don’t mind the walk. The fresh air is the only thing that can breathe life into the stagnant energy inside of me.
     
    ***
     
    The spent casing rolls against the marred wood of my old desk, twisting this way and that. No matter how much I stare at it, I can’t wrap my head around it. It needs to be brought to Niall’s attention when I meet him next.
    He’s not going to like it. With everything else going on right now, this is the last thing he’ll want to contend with. With the territories as unstable as they are, this alliance with the Russians means everything. There is power in numbers if only for show. The problem with numbers though, is always questioning loyalties. We don’t have the same business practices. But evolving to the times means overlooking such things. They have the Ghost, and we need him, bastard that he is.
    These are all things I’m well aware of. I won’t stand to let my grand-da’s death go unpunished. But going to war right now isn’t an option. With the Armenians flocking to the East to get themselves a piece of the pie, all of the factions are up in arms.
    The door to my office swings open and Ronan stalks inside. He arches a brow when he spots the bullet on my desk, and I snatch it up and place it in my pocket.
    “Right, lad?” I ask.
    He tosses a file onto my desk with a scowl.
    “Detective James sends his regards.”
    The urge to open the file straight away is strong. I smother it down. Ronan’s hovering over me like a bloody prison guard and I could do with a bit of privacy for this.
    “What the feck’re ye doing, Crow?”
    I reach for my glass of Jameson and take a drink, eyeing him over the rim. His intentions are good. They always are. If there’s a lad I trust in this world without a scrap of doubt, it’s Ronan Fitzpatrick. He followed me here at sixteen, earning his way into the syndicate on his own accord. He’s fought and killed and done anything I’ve ever asked of him. We’re as close to brothers as two men can be.
    For this reason alone, I answer his question.
    “I’m giving her a job.”
    “I don’t trust her,” Ronan says.
    “You don’t have to.”
    He grunts his disapproval at the same time another knock sounds on the door. This office may as well be a bleeding department store.
    “Come in,” I call out.
    Mandy pokes her head in and smiles.
    “Am I interrupting?”
    “Aye, ye are.” Ronan can barely contain his distaste for this woman.
    “Nah.” I grin back at him. “What do ye need Mandy?”
    Ronan stalks out of the room, and the guilt ebbs away as he leaves. I don’t like keeping things from him, but it’s for his own protection. The less he knows about this, the better. When I turn my attention back to Mandy, the relief is short lived.
    “So, what is the calamity this time?” I clip out.
    She flinches from the coldness of my voice and then pouts her lips.
    “Why does Sasha get more sets than I do? She’s on the schedule…”
    “Ye know better than to come to me with this shite,” I cut her off.
    Undeterred, she walks around my desk and sits on it, arching her back in an effort to draw my attention to her tits. It might have worked on me before, but I’ll never touch her again.
    “You look tense.” Her voice is soft in a way I’m sure she means to be seductive. “I can fix that, Lachlan.”
    “Ah, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I remark. “Besides, aren’t there any willing pricks out there for you to have a go with tonight?”
    She flips her hair over her shoulder and flattens her lips.
    “They can’t do it like you