Declan: The Callaghan Mafia #1 Read online

  Declan

  The Callaghan Mafia #1

  Savannah Rylan

  Copyright © 2020 by Savannah Rylan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Declan

  2. Declan

  3. Ciara

  4. Declan

  5. Ciara

  6. Declan

  7. Ciara

  8. Declan

  9. Ciara

  10. Declan

  11. Ciara

  12. Declan

  13. Ciara

  14. Declan

  15. Ciara

  16. Declan

  17. Ciara

  18. Declan

  19. Declan

  Sneak Peak at Brody

  About the Author

  More Books by Savannah Rylan

  Prologue

  Ciara

  “Put this on. And don’t delay. We have a date to keep.”

  Father tossed me the dress and I sighed. The thing looked more like a scrap of fabric than anything else. I looked up at Father and he eyed me hotly, his eyes running down my form.

  “And put on some makeup. You look like you haven't slept in days.”

  Then, he slammed my bedroom door closed.

  I jumped at the sound. He was right, too. I hadn’t slept in days. On and off. Barely eating. Because I knew this was coming. I’d overheard conversations. Nasty conversations my father had with my mother. Arguments that ended with him cracking her across the cheek, sending her crying to her bedroom. I sighed as I slowly turned around. I took stock of my face in the full-length mirror hanging from my closet door. I held up the dress. Tears rushed my eyes as I looked at the cut-out patchwork it boasted of.

  My body, on showcase for whoever was downstairs.

  I tossed it to the bed and made my way into the bathroom. Time to splash some water in my face before sitting at my vanity. I heard my father’s voice downstairs talking to another man. And while my father’s voice was tinny and bombastic, the other man’s voice was low. Rugged. Like tires coming up a gravel driveway. Their conversation reverberated through the floor of my bedroom. I tuned them out as much as I could. I patted my face dry before going and sitting at the vanity in the corner. A birthday present Mom purchased for me once I turned eighteen.

  It was the only present in my life that had never been held over my head.

  “I pay for your fashions. I put food in your stomach. I’ve educated you in the best schools Chicago has to offer, and this is how you repay me!?”

  Dad bellowed over my head as I winced.

  “It was nothing. I swear. I just wanted to go to prom. I just wanted to go dance, Father.”

  He gripped my arm. “You wanted to go fraternize with that damn football team. I’ve seen you eyeing them. Giggling at them. Those men aren’t good enough for you. They’ll never be good enough for you.”

  “Why? Because they can’t sell me off like you can?”

  I jumped as my cheek stung. I held my hand up to my skin, but there was nothing there. I sighed as tears rushed my eyes. No use in crying about it now. I’d always known my fate. The fate of the Dalys was always the same. The men rose to power, and the women were sold into servitude. My father racked up more debts than he could handle. Then, used us to pay them off. I wasn’t completely stupid. Sheltered, sure. Ignorant, yeah. But I heard the conversation. Father always yelled. And those conversations sometimes wafted up the steps.

  Straight to my ears.

  And now, I’d finally be useful to my father. I’d finally serve my purpose.

  Hurry up. You don’t want to keep them waiting.

  I quickly splashed on some makeup. Not much, though. Since the dress on the bed sparkled more than anything else in my wardrobe did. Not even a stripper would wear something like this. And yet, I’d have to stuff myself in it. It made me tear up so much I had to redo my eye makeup twice. My hand trembled as my father continued talking. My fear was that he’d come upstairs and see I wasn’t ready still. I sniffled as I finished my makeup. I slid on some lip gloss and fluffed out my blonde hair.

  Then, I shed my robe.

  I slipped my feet into heels that were almost painful to walk in. I eased myself into the dress, careful not to get my jewelry snagged on the fabric. I pulled the patchwork piece of clothing up my body. The thing barely covered my chest, much less anything else. I pulled the dress down and my breast came out. I tried covering my stomach, but the dress rode too far up my thighs. I closed my eyes and drew in deep breaths. I tried steadying my trembling hands as the tears faded away.

  And when I opened my eyes again, I positioned the dress as it needed to be.

  “She’s just a child. You can’t do this to her. I won’t allow it!” Mom exclaimed.

  “You don’t get a say in this, sweetheart. She knows her role in this family,” Dad said coolly.

  “That’s my daughter you’re talking about. My princess. I’ve raised her while you were out there, wiping blood off your hands and rising up an empire here in Chicago. I won’t let you take her away from me!”

  “Our daughter has a duty to this family!”

  “Her duty isn’t to be sold off because you can’t contain your efforts!”

  “My daughter will do whatever I ask because she is mine. Just like you are mine. And if you want to keep up this argument, I’ve got plenty of ways to show you exactly who runs this family.”

  I sighed as I took one last look at myself in the mirror. The green dress highlighted my green eyes. The dark undertones brought out how pale my skin had become. The pallor lost from a lack of eating. From a lack of sleep. The foundation I wore covered it up enough. There were no bags under my eyes. No dark circles to contend with. I looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Though, inside I felt as if I were dying.

  Maybe this man will have mercy on me and kill me before it’s too late.

  I turned away from the mirror and headed for my bedroom door. And as I opened it, my father’s voice echoed up the steps. The distillery. He was talking about that stupid distillery. His life. His purpose. His only love. I shivered at the thought. I’d heard bits and pieces of horror stories over the years. Things I didn’t want to believe were true. Things I didn't want to attach to Father. I mean, I knew he was a rough man. A bad man, even. But a killer? A murderer?

  It was too much to process.

  “Put him in the vat with the rest. Like you take care of the others.”

  “Well, clean it out. That shouldn't be too hard. Bone is used for lots of things nowadays. No one will know the difference.”

  “You want to disappear with them? Because I can make that happen.”

  “If I have to come down this late at night, the only thing you’ll be drinking is your own blood from the back of your fucking throat.”

  I stepped out into the hallway and twisted my ankle. I caught myself against the wall and feared for my life. If Father heard me stumbling around up here, all hell might break loose. And I didn’t want that to happen. Not in front of company, anyway. There was too much going on. Too much at stake. Especially with the drama that cropped up last night.

  An argument to end all arguments in his office below my bedroom.

  “What do you mean, Declan’s in town?” Father asked.

  “The Callaghan Family isn’t taking this lightly. Richard is missing. They’re out for blood,” the unknown voice said.

  “I
don’t care what’s happened with Richard. If the man’s dead, then so fucking be it! There’s no reason for them to be poking around the distillery, though. You make sure that doesn't happen,” Father said.

  “James, I can only do so—”

  “You want to try that again, boy?”

  He paused. “Sir, I will do whatever it takes to keep the Callaghans away from our distillery. If they have questions, I’ll bring them here to speak with you.”

  “Good boy. You’d do well to remember this conversation in case your brain tries to leave your skull again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  For years, I survived off stories that wafted up from the floors. From stories I heard around the corners at school. Because all I did was go to school and come home. I wasn’t allowed to do anything unless I was accompanied by someone. Every football game I wanted to attend in high school, my father came along with me. Every dance I wanted to go to at school was forbidden. I wasn’t allowed to have friends over. And unless my father vetted every person in their house, I wasn’t allowed to go to a friend’s house to hang out. Sleepovers were forbidden. You could forget spring break trips. My birthdays were celebrated with family, and for a while there, a security guard followed me from class to class. Standing outside and keeping guard just like my father commanded them to.

  My life had been a prison.

  And now, my ownership was about to be transferred.

  I wonder what Maeve would think.

  It didn’t really matter, though. I didn’t know where in the world my older sister was. I knew she existed. I had memories of her. But I hadn’t seen her since I was six or seven years old. All sorts of theories had occurred to me over the years. Reasons for her disappearance. Maybe she simply went to boarding school. Or maybe she was an unruly child who needed military academy training. She’d always been a wild one. I remember Father always yelling at her. Slapping her around. I remember her fighting back once, only for Father to drag her into his office.

  What if he made her disappear?

  The thought made me sick. I shook it from my head and started down the hallway. I got my feet underneath me, growing stronger in my heels as I found my way to the steps. My hand slid along the banister. I slowly clicked down the mahogany staircase. I drew in deep breaths, trying to let my mind fall blank. Even though it wanted to swirl with all sorts of memories. All sorts of horrors. All sorts of nightmares.

  At least I’d get out of this house.

  Voices ceased to exist as I made my way to the bottom of the steps. The marble floors greeted me as I turned down the hallway. I kept my back straight. My eyes leveled. My legs strong. Mom had taught me to walk in heels from a very young age. Because it was of the utmost importance to Father that the women of the Daly Family understand how to present themselves with poise. Not confidence. But poise, nonetheless. We didn’t want to come off as cocky or unapproachable. We simply wanted to look appealing to the eye. Pleasing to the man.

  Delectable, and ready for his jowls to sink into us.

  Really, though, it wasn’t me he was selling off. It was my virginity. To the highest bidder, whether I wanted to go or not. I had dreamt about this day for years. What he might look like. Sound like. Smell like. Would he be old like my father? Devious like his soul? Would he be tender and caring like my mother? Would he stick up for me like my sister used to? Or would he slap me around? Exploit me? Lock me up in my bedroom until he had a use for me?

  I didn’t know. Part of me didn’t care. Both excitement and terror rushed through my veins. I walked through the kitchen and took a hard left. I walked down a small corridor that spilled into the library. And with a roaring fire going, crystal glasses clinked. Men murmured. I heard my mother breathing steadily, jumping at every shadow that moved in the hallway. I was excitement at the idea of never having to walk these halls again. Never having to wake up to Father rolling me out of bed or yelling at me to get up.

  I was also terrified. Terrified at the idea of being handed to another psychopath. Terrified at the idea of being held captive in a home that wasn’t mine. Terrified at the idea of being used for nothing but my looks. Until they faded and I was discarded like trash.

  I mean, there was a reason Mom spent so much money on plastic surgery over the years.

  My bodyguard maneuvered himself to the doorway. He grinned at me as I walked down the hallway. The man who had become like an older brother to me. You know, if an older brother stared at his sister like a piece of meat. This was someone who should have protected me. Someone who should have wanted what was best for me. And yet, the only thing he did was hold his arm out. Ushering me into the room to be put on display. Ready to serve me up on a silver platter to whoever had become the highest bidder for my presence.

  And as I closed my eyes, the only thing I wished for was death.

  1

  Declan

  Two Weeks Earlier

  “Hey, Mom. What’s—”

  “Declan, something’s happened. Something’s wrong.”

  I paused. “Mom, what is it?”

  Brody peeked his head up. “Mom’s on the phone?”

  I covered the phone receiver. “Go get Gael and Flynn. Something’s wrong.”

  “Declan, are you there? My son, please. It’s Richard.”

  I removed my hand. “I’m here, Mom. What’s going on?”

  “Your stepfather’s been taken.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say ‘taken?’”

  Brody rushed into the living room with our other brothers, Gael and Flynn, in tow. Our little family. I put Mom on speakerphone and heard her sniffling. Fucking sniffling. Someone had made our mother cry. And they would pay for that.

  “Start from the beginning and tell us everything,” I said.

  “Hello, boys,” she said breathlessly.

  “Mom, what happened?” Flynn asked.

  “I—I don’t know. I didn’t even know there was a struggle. I’ve been home all day. I called for Richard for dinner, and he didn’t come.”

  “How do you know he’s been taken?” Brody asked.

  “His study. It’s…it’s a nightmare, boys. There’s been a struggle. Someone’s taken him right from underneath my nose.”

  “Mom, this question is important. Are you okay?” I asked.

  She sniffled. “I’m fine. I promise. Like I said, I've heard nothing all day. Richard wanted me to take a day for myself. Go get pampered. But I didn’t feel like going anywhere. So, I stayed in and had a lazy day.”

  “Good for you, Mom,” Gael said.

  “Can you send pictures of his study? What does it look like?” I asked.

  My voice fell silent before my phone buzzed. One, after another, after another. All of our phones lit up. A mass text message of pictures that forced my brothers to rip their phones out of their pockets. Brody opened the pictures and showed me them. And the more I saw, the angrier I became.

  “Mom, I want you to listen to me. Are you listening?” I asked.

  “Yes. I am, son,” she said.

  “Where the hell were Richard’s bodyguards?”

  “I don’t know. They aren’t anywhere. There’s no sign of them.”

  “So, you’re at the house alone?” Gael asked.

  “I think so,” she whispered. “Something bad has happened to him, boys. There’s no blood, but if I didn’t hear anything, this was obviously someone Richard knew. I didn’t know who else to call. I know you boys are busy—”

  “Sh-sh-sh-sh. You’re our mother. I’m glad you called.”

  “I’ve already got the jet booked. We leave in an hour,” Brody said.

  “I’ll go get our suitcases out of the closet. Everyone still got a bag packed in there?” Gael asked.

  I looked at Flynn as Mom cried on the phone. It killed me to hear her cry. Hear her break down. She’d been a strong woman for so long. Raising four boys on her own before taking on a husband who worked in Richard’ profession. She was steadfast. Loyal to a fault. And kno
wing someone had ripped from her the only foundation she had boiled my blood.

  “Flynn, I can—”

  He shook his head. “You’re the eldest. You need to be there to run Richard’s empire. I can hold down the fort here.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “More than sure. Someone’s going to have to take the Callaghan seat in Chicago until he’s found. You’re the only one suited for it.”

  “Got the bags,” Gael said.

  “I’ve contacted the head of security in Chicago. They’re sending four more men to Mom’s place now,” Brody said.

  I nodded. “Mom, you still there?”

  “I’m here, boys.”

  “You sit tight. Flynn’s staying behind to run things here, but Gael, Brody and I are on our way. Okay?”

  She sniffled. “All right. I’ll have the rooms prepped and ready.”

  “There are four more bodyguards coming your way. I just got off the phone with Richard’s head of security. Apparently, he had no idea this had taken place. No word of his men going missing. Do you have anyone there that can open the door for these men?” Brody asked.

  “I don’t. It’s just me in this house. I’ve checked every square inch to try and find your stepfather.”

  “Shit,” Gael hissed.

  “Okay. Do you remember the password?” Brody asked.

  “I do. I always remember it,” she said.

  “Good. Make them say it. Have a gun with you at all times. We’re headed to the jet now. We’ll be there soon,” I said.

  We said our goodbyes before hanging up. And it killed me to hang up the phone. We all hugged Flynn, wishing him well and telling him to call us if he needed us. For the past three years, we’d all been stationed in Ireland, expanding the Callaghan Empire into our familial roots. All of us attended college here. Transfer students from the States, wanting to reconnect to where we had come from. And after being accepted into the Irish fold, we set up our own practices. Our own businesses.