Page 47 of Taming a Ruthless Heart

He meets my stare without flinching.“Whoever this mole is, he’s smart.Smart enough to keep his hands clean, not one of the old guard.Or he’s always played his hand too close to his chest.”

I take a slow breath, the weight of his words sinking in.“Give me a name,” I say, voice barely above a whisper, testing him.

Angus hesitates.“It could be anyone.But I’d keep an eye on Mike.He’s only twenty-five.He’s got ambition.He seems like the type who could be flipped.”

I weigh the implications.Mike has always been loyal—at least outwardly.But if Angus suspects him, I need to start looking at the man in a different light.

“Noted,” I say, my voice laced with cold resolve.“But if he’s involved with Igor, it won’t end well for him.”

Angus nods, and a ghost of a smile crosses his lips.“Good to know you’re not losing that edge, Dave.We’ll see this through.”

I rise from the chair, walk to the bar, and pour a fresh dose of whiskey for myself and for Angus.

Returning to my seat, I hand him the glass and say, “To loyalty.”

“To the Boyles,” he murmurs, clinking his glass against mine.

I catch a dark gleam in his eyes that gives me pause.Angus has always been a friend, a brother in all but blood.And yet it strikes me that even he has secrets I might never know.

A long silence stretches between us.I trust him—of course, I do.He’s Angus, the boy who stood at my side through thick and thin, who fought and bled beside me many times.But as I look at him now, a shadow crosses his face.

“You think Mike is the only one playing both sides?”I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral.

His jaw tightens.“If anyone is, that’s Mike.Be careful, Dave.”

His warning hangs heavy in the air.He tosses his head back, emptying the glass before standing up and heading for the door.I watch him go, the faintest hint of doubt gnawing at me.As the door clicks shut behind him, I’m left with the dark suggestion that maybe, just maybe, the betrayal lies closer than I’d ever thought possible.

Angus and I have fought side by side, shared secrets.Now, as I look at the hard disks he left, a thought I never would have considered strikes me.

Everyone has secrets.Even those we trust with our lives.

Forcing my attention back to the task at hand, I open the laptop and navigate to the encrypted folders.Each one is named and cataloged in a way that only Jack Boyle could pull off.As I unlock the files, my screen fills with emails, messages, and archived reports from decades ago.Each one feels like an invasion into the past, a trip into the cold, strategic mind of a man who walked the finest line between loving father and dark leader.And damn, I’ve always respected him for it.Hell, I’ve loved him for it.

I click on a digital folder marked Confidential.Most of these files are Syndicate archives Jack left for me, things he told me I would understand only when I was ready.Sergei and Oleg Vasilyevich, Igor’s father and uncle, their names pop up like dark stains against the page.

One file catches my eye—a series of emails exchanged between Dad and Sergei.Sergei’s name has always been familiar, but here, in black and white, it feels sinister, coiled with intent.Sergei and his brother Oleg were pillars in their brotherhood and supposed allies within the Syndicate.Dad trusted them.Trusted them to be partners, guardians of the same code he held dear.And yet...something in the tone of these messages prickles at the back of my neck.

The first email is a polite exchange on the surface, but there’s an undertone—Sergei asking for favors, veiled in language about shared interests and protection.My father’s responses are firm, controlled, but the tension jumps at me between the lines.Sergei pushed the Syndicate boundaries, used his position for his own gain, his own ambition.

My fingers tighten on the mouse, eyes scanning every line.This wasn’t an alliance; it was manipulation.Sergei and Oleg carved out their power by feeding off the Syndicate, using my father’s trust as a shield.The muscles in my jaw throb as I skim through more messages.Sergei’s requests become demands, his language darker, bolder.Oleg is mentioned in passing as the enforcer handling Sergei’s dirty work.Blood on his hands, bodies piling up wherever the Vasilyevich brothers went.Quiet eliminations of anyone who stood in their way, chalked up to accidents or business disputes.Dad kept it all in these files—an unspoken confession that he’d been forced to play this game to keep the Syndicate intact, sacrificing his own sense of justice for the greater good.

A flash of memory hits me.I’m eighteen, standing in Dad’s study after a job gone horribly wrong.Bloodied knuckles, anger burning hot under my skin.I wanted revenge.

“I’ll watch that fucker bleed slowly to death,” I vowed, referring to the Russian snitch who had fed me false information that led me to kill the wrong man.He wasn’t innocent at all.Still, he wasn’t the mole I was looking for.

My father just stood there, unflinching, a calm storm as he placed a hand on my shoulder.“Control your anger, David,” he’d said.“Don’t let it control you.There’s a bigger picture you can’t see yet.”

I finally see that picture now—his steady hand keeping chaos from spilling over.His silence, his restraint, even in the face of betrayal, wasn’t weakness.It was the kind of strength that only a few men possess.He took on that weight so I wouldn’t have to.

But here I am, digging up the ghosts now.

I click on a file Nikolai has hacked, a fresh addition, full of bank records and shell companies connected to the Vasilyevichs.As I scan through the spreadsheets, something becomes painfully clear—Igor’s picked up right where his father left off.Money flowing through networks, funds moving from one shell company to another, all pointing to something much bigger than I realized.

I scroll further down, fingers hovering over an email exchange marked Urgent.It’s a conversation between Sergei and Oleg, dating to a year before the Syndicate booted them out.They’re talking about bringing in outside forces, expanding their reach.Names pop up—shady contacts I recognize.A pit forms in my stomach.They were building a network of mercenaries, quietly growing their empire within our ranks.And now, their son is taking it to the next level.

A cold anger stirs inside me, settling into my gut like a stone.The Vasilyevichs have never stopped.Sergei and Oleg drove their business into the ground.Igor has been laying the groundwork for years.There are multiple mentions of a leader called Dracul.The name means nothing to me.Apparently, people are terrified of him.Igor has also built new alliances within the Camorra and the cartels.He’s been buying loyalty and setting the stage for something huge.

My heart drops to my stomach as a realization hits me.Igor never wanted to get back into the Syndicate.His endgame is to tear us apart, to obliterate us.I grip the edge of the desk, fingers digging into the polished wood, fury pulsing through me.This isn’t a plan for a power grab.This is a goddamn declaration of war.All these years, Igor has been planning to gut us from the inside.

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