2

A couple days earlier…

Joshua

Fear was more than just an emotion; it was a powerful tool I wielded with finesse. It had a way of spiraling out of control, turning dark and all-consuming. But when used skillfully, that paralyzing grip could achieve more than any act of violence before or after a confrontation. I had become a maestro of dread, a force so formidable that with a mere glance or the flash of my eyes, I could freeze a man in his tracks.

At least, that’s what I had been told. If only I truly possessed such a gift—perhaps it would save me the trouble of replacing shirts stained with blood. I chuckled softly at the thought as I maneuvered through the rain-slicked streets of Montreal, my destination set for a reckoning.

Some might label me a bloodthirsty villain, a thrill-seeker with an insatiable hunger for chaos. But to me, it was just another day at the office, a necessary step to maintain the fragile balance of power in the streets I loved.

I never wavered from my mission, nor did I let emotions cloud my judgment. Pleas for mercy and offers of bribes only fueled my resolve. Once a plan was set, it was unchangeable. I took immense pride in that steadfastness.

“Take a left up ahead, boss,” Mikey Constantine said from the passenger seat. As my loyal Capo, he always accompanied me on business ventures. Over the last decade, he had earned his rank as my right-hand man, and my trust in him was unwavering, which granted him unique privileges within our powerful network.

Mikey had an uncanny ability to anticipate my moves, a skill that had contributed to my reputation as Canada’s wealthiest man—and I owed him for saving my life twice.

I kept my focus on the road, a solitary streetlight casting a dim glow over the grim surroundings. Betrayers always thought they could find refuge, which amused me, but only after I dealt with them.

“We’re not going to be received warmly,” he remarked casually.

“Not that it bothers me.”

He laughed. “You’ve always been a tough nut.”

I shot him a playful grin, relishing both his words and my own wicked plans. “I’ll gladly take that as a compliment.”

With two SUVs of my men ready to surround the area in case the Irish thugs dared to escalate the situation, only Mikey and I would step into the bustling corner bar for a private poker game. I loved to gamble; why not put the jerk’s life on the line?

After parking, I surveyed the street. This neighborhood was known as the Irish mob’s territory, a smaller crew that typically kept to themselves and didn’t stir trouble. We coexisted peacefully, exchanging bits of information when necessary.

Yet the son of the Irish mafia leader had become increasingly reckless, hell-bent on dismantling the verbal agreement my father had forged with his. It was time to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget. What Shawn didn’t realize was that I had secured his father’s approval, who was disgusted by his son’s rebellious antics.

Teaching him a lesson in manners wasn’t my usual approach, but this time, I was ready to make an exception—as long as the fool didn’t take a misstep.

I stepped out of the car, keys sliding into my pocket. My weapon rested comfortably in my shoulder holster, the flap unfastened and ready. I was eager to see just how foolish Shawn could be. We strode toward the bar, and a laugh escaped me. For a Tuesday night, the place was packed; the Irish knew how to party better than the French Canadians.

The moment we entered, a group of Irishmen spotted us. Three of them jumped to their feet, nearly toppling their table in their haste.

When a member of the James family walks in, fear takes hold instantly.

Good.

It meant our reputation was still very much alive. But as I stepped closer, a sudden chill swept through the room, and I sensed the tension shift. Shawn’s eyes locked onto mine, filled with defiance and a flicker of something far more dangerous.

As I strode toward the bar, Mikey was at my side. I couldn’t help but notice the burly men glued to the sports game suddenly drifting away. Their retreat wasn't just to clear space; it was a silent acknowledgment of the storm brewing in our presence. The first bartender caught my eye but quickly diverted, scurrying to the far end of the bar as if avoiding an impending disaster.

Then there was Erica.

With her fiery red hair and vibrant green eyes, she was the epitome of an Irish pub, but the disdain etched on her freckled face was a stark reminder that we were unwelcome guests, despite a deal sealed decades ago.

“Joshua.”

Her voice dripped with contempt, yet behind those piercing eyes lay a hint of recognition. She knew the dangers of crossing me.

“Erica.”

She glanced past me at Mikey before slamming a shot glass onto the bar, the crystal thudding against the wood like a warning. With practiced precision, she poured a measure of her finest Irish whiskey, but she didn’t extend the offer to my Capo. He wasn’t here to indulge—he was my protector.

I downed the whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down my throat. As I set the glass back down, I tilted my head, ready for business.

“What do you want?” she asked, snatching the bottle back as if I might pounce.

“I’m here for a game of poker.”

She knew exactly why I was here. Her father had certainly briefed her.

For a fleeting moment, her tough exterior cracked, revealing a flicker of concern mixed with surprise. But she quickly composed herself, her bar a battleground between her brother’s arrogance and her own authority. She nodded toward the back room, her scorn mingled with a reluctant smile. Family ties prevented her from exacting the kind of discipline only a fierce Irish woman could deliver.

As I turned toward the private room, several men rushed to block my path, their brutish presence reminiscent of Neanderthals prepared to defend their territory.

“Back off,” Erica commanded, her lilting accent cutting through their growls. They hesitated but eventually retreated, sparing me the trouble of violence. I wasn’t in the mood for that tonight.

I approached the door with purpose, ignoring the need to knock.

Inside, the four men surrounding Shawn froze at my entrance, a mix of fear and fury tightening the cords in their necks. They stood abruptly, hands twitching toward their weapons.

I adjusted my suit jacket to reveal the weapon holstered beneath, raising an eyebrow in challenge. If one of them dared to reach for their gun, they wouldn’t live to regret it. I was trained to be lethal—an elite marksman capable of taking down multiple targets in mere seconds.

Shawn merely exhaled, though I could scent his fear. It was a distinct odor, unmistakable even from a few feet away. I claimed a chair from a nearby player and settled across from him.

“What brings you here?” Shawn asked, struggling to regain his composure.

“I’m looking for a heads-up poker game.” A game meant for two—a game I had never lost.

Shawn glared at me, then shifted his focus to Mikey. He was no fool; he understood the implications. He nodded at one of his men, the designated dealer, who shifted nervously.

“What are we betting on?” he asked, an edge of apprehension in his voice.

I pulled out a thick bundle of cash, the starting stack for the game. “Ten thousand to kick things off.”

He snorted, disbelief evident in his eyes, but eventually nodded. One of his soldiers quickly placed cash on the table.

As the cards were shuffled, silence enveloped us. Only after a few cards had been dealt did I break the stillness. “Seems you’ve been a naughty boy, Shawn. You’ve disregarded the treaty your father put in place.”

He scoffed, glancing down at his cards, unable to meet my gaze. “I had to keep our business afloat in the States.”

Both our organizations had expanded across the border, capitalizing on wealthy American clients. While the James family operated primarily in the northeast, the Clintons had ventured further south, disrupting our supply chains. Shawn had also dared to poach several of my clients—a transgression that couldn’t go unpunished.

“You’ve been stealing clients,” I countered, calling out his blunder.

He attempted to shift blame to another organization, but I wasn’t buying it. “I raise you five G’s.”

With a chuckle, I agreed. For a brief moment, I reveled in the sight of Shawn squirming as the cards were laid down before him. Fear was a fascinating emotion; no one could completely mask it. It was clear karma had dealt him a harsh hand tonight, the cards stacked against him.