Page 1 of The Lies We Tell

Prologue

He liked the pain. The rush of sensation through his nerve endings when someone landed a blow or he blocked one or his fist connected with its mark. It reminded him that he was alive when he could be—maybe should be—dead.

Anticipating his opponent, Matteo feinted, avoiding the right hook and spinning so he came up behind the man, wrapping his arm around his neck. The satisfaction of getting the upper hand was intoxicating.

The guy struggled against Matteo’s hold, but he tightened his grip. Not enough to cut off the guy’s air, but enough to remind him what he was capable of. Matteo nearly smiled when he felt the man’s muscles bunch, and before the guy could plow an elbow into his stomach, he twisted his body to the side, dragging them both down to the floor and pinning him to the mat.

The man grinned up at him, lips pulled back over a row of even, white teeth.

“Funny, that doesn’t look like boxing.”

Both men glanced over at the redhead making her way across the gym floor, tall and slender in jeans and a light sweater the same color as her bright blue eyes.

“Course not, deirfiúr bheag. I’m trying to teach the Italian here some new moves so he can stop being pummeled in the ring.”

She stopped next to the raised platform, tongue poked into her cheek, and lifted a brow. “Looks like you’re the one being pummeled from where I’m standing, brother.”

“Callum likes to be on his back,” Matteo said with a grin, pushing to his feet and reaching down to offer Callum a hand up.

“Fuck off,” Callum snapped, shoving the extended hand away and rising on his own while she laughed. “You fuck off too, Maeve.”

Maeve shook her head, a smile still ghosting the corner of her mouth. “You’ll have to forgive my brother, Matteo. He’s a sore loser.”

“I haven’t lost anything,” Callum grumbled. “I was going easy on him to prove a point. What did you interrupt us for, then?”

Maeve sobered, looking from Matteo to Callum and back. “There’s something I just got notified about I think you should see.”

“Okay,” Matteo replied, curious about the odd tone in her voice.

“Come down, and I’ll show you.”

With no further explanation, Maeve disappeared down a narrow hallway that led to a small office. The gym wasn’t the main base of operations for Dublin’s reigning mob boss, but it was frequented by loyal Quinn soldiers, and Maeve often liked to work there.

Matteo ducked through the ropes and used a towel to wipe his face and chest before tugging his shirt over his head and following the hallway to the office at the end. Maeve was seated behind the desk, fingers flying over the old keyboard.

She’d been trying to talk her grandfather into upgrading the tech across their entire base of operations for at least a year. So far, Eoghan Quinn hadn’t been interested enough to make the investment.

Callum followed him inside the office, dwarfing the already small space with his large frame. Maeve continued typing until she found what she was looking for, swiveling in her chair and beckoning Matteo around the side of the desk.

He stepped up behind her, bracing one hand on the edge of the desk and the other on the back of her chair to get a better look at the ancient screen. She’d pulled up a newspaper article, but it wasn’t local. It was in Italian.

He’d been teaching her Italian for the better part of two years. Almost as soon as he’d arrived in Dublin to seek a meeting with her grandfather about making deeper connections to the drug trade in western Europe, she’d begged for lessons.

She was a fast learner, and it had been nice growing a little piece of home so far away, even if she couldn’t shed her pronounced Irish brogue when she spoke it.

He frowned at the headline. Local Businessman Commits Suicide. “You need me to translate?”

She glanced back at him and shook her head, pointing to the name in the first paragraph. “Lorenzo Bianchi. Isn’t that your da?”

Matteo froze, gripping the edge of the desk as he quickly scanned the article. Lorenzo Bianchi found dead in the study of his family villa from a single bullet wound to the head. The owner and CEO of some of Sicily’s most popular casinos, he is survived by three sons and a daughter. Funeral services are scheduled for…

Stumbling back from the desk, Matteo crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to ease the building pressure. The room felt constricting, suffocating, and he glanced at the door over Callum’s shoulder.

“What happened?” Callum demanded.

“My father is…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

“Dead,” Maeve finished for him.

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