Chapter 1 - The Debt of the Godfather
The quiet inside Callahan’s pub was absolute. Not a single glass clinked; even Phil behind the counter had ceased his heavy, raspy breathing.
Constantine Voss pulled back the collar of his tailored wool overcoat, revealing a faint scar running along the side of his throat. His dark eyes remained fixed on Josie Morrow, taking in her faded jeans, her apron stained with dishwater and grease, and the fierce, unyielding light burning behind her tired eyes.
"She hasn't eaten solid food in front of me since her mother died eight months ago," Constantine said. His voice was low, carrying a dark, velvet resonance that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards.
"She wasn't broken," Josie replied, standing her ground despite the four looming, armed bodyguards flanking the doorway. "She was just lonely. And terrified of that monster you assigned to protect her."
Constantine turned his gaze slowly toward the rain-slicked window where the third Mercedes sedan was already disappearing into the misty Boston night with Tate locked in its trunk.
"Tate was a trusted soldier of my late father," Constantine said softly, his jaw tightening into a line of iron. "He swore on his mother's grave to guard my daughter with his life while I consolidated my territory after the syndicate war. I did not realize he was using her silence as an opportunity to vent his own pathetic failures."
He looked back down at six-year-old Mila. The little girl reached out from the booth, her small hand grabbing the hem of Josie’s apron. She looked up at her father, then at Josie, and gave two firm, deliberate nods.
"She trusts you," Constantine murmured, a hint of genuine shock softening his harsh features. "Mila has not touched or looked at another human being without flinching since November. Yet she clings to you like a lifeline."
"Kids know who's real and who isn't," Josie said quietly, reaching down to gently pat Mila’s small, dark curls. "It doesn't take a genius to treat a child with basic decency, Mr. Voss."
One of the bodyguards—a towering man with a shaved head and a tactical radio earpiece—stepped forward, leaning toward Constantine’s ear. "Boss. The perimeter is unstable. Don Moretti’s scouts were spotted two blocks away on Tremont Street. We need to move the princess to the safehouse immediately."
Constantine didn't flinch. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek, obsidian business card stamped with a silver crest depicting a crown wrapped in winter ivy. He slid it across the wooden table toward Josie.
"My driver will be outside this pub tomorrow afternoon at four o'clock," Constantine commanded calmly. "You will be in the car."
Josie frowned, stepping back slightly. "Excuse me? I have a job, Mr. Voss. I have a brother in the hospital who needs—"
"I know about your brother, Josie Morrow," Constantine interrupted, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of Josie's neck stand up. "Liam Morrow, twenty-two years old. Stage four kidney failure. Receiving dialysis three times a week at Massachusetts General. He is on the national transplant waitlist, but his rare blood type places him behind four hundred patients. His medical bills currently stand at $94,000, and your landlord in Dorchester intends to evict you on Monday."
Josie’s breath caught violently in her throat. Her blood ran cold. "You... you searched my life?"
"I am the head of the Voss syndicate," Constantine said simply. "I know the name of every person who breathes the air within three miles of my city. But more importantly, you saved my daughter tonight. You stood up to a lethal predator with nothing in your hand but a pitcher of ice water."
He leaned in closer, his dark eyes burning into hers. "I do not leave debts unpaid. Tomorrow at four. If you step into that car, your brother's entire medical debt vanishes before sunset, and he moves to the top of the private donor list at Mass General."
Josie stared at the dark king of Boston, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. "And what do you want from me?"
May you like
Constantine looked down at Mila, who was watching Josie with wide, hopeful eyes.
"I want you to bring my daughter back to life," Constantine whispered.
