SINS OF MY BROTHER'S BROTHERSUpdated at Jun 1, 2026, 23:29
They used to ruffle my hair and call me "little one." Now their eyes hold something far more dangerous than brotherly affection.
Nine years ago, my overprotective brother Dante sent me away to shield me from his dark world. Before I left, he gathered his five closest allies — the most dangerous men in New Avalon — and made them swear a sacred pact:
Touch her, and the brotherhood dies. All of you.
They agreed without hesitation. After all, I was just a fourteen-year-old kid with scraped knees, messy hair, and a habit of following them around like a lost shadow. Harmless. Forgettable. Certainly not worth destroying a brotherhood over.
I'm not fourteen anymore.
Now I've returned — a criminal psychologist who sits across from serial killers and makes them confess their darkest sins. I study obsession for a living. I understand its neurochemistry, its behavioral patterns, its warning signs. I know exactly what it looks like when a predator fixates on prey.
I see it now. In all five of them.
KIERAN BLACKWOOD — The Underworld King who controls New Avalon's entire criminal empire from the shadows. He speaks softly because he's never needed to raise his voice — people lean in or they die. His pale gray eyes track me across every room like I'm the only thing worth owning. He told me once: "I don't chase, Irene. I position myself exactly where you'll run." I should be terrified. Instead, I want to run faster just to see if he catches me.
EZRA COLE — The Military Ghost whose records are sealed by three governments. He flinches when anyone touches him — except me. He positions himself between me and every threat without being asked. His scars tell stories his mouth never will, and when he finally breaks his silence, it's with a desperation that shatters us both: "I've been dead before, Irene. It didn't scare me. Losing you does."
ROMAN CASTEÑEDA — The Fallen Senator who once controlled judges, prosecutors, and political
machines with an iron fist wrapped in silk. He kneels for no republic, yet I've watched him drop to his knees before me like I'm the only altar worth worshipping. His charm is a weapon. His surrender is a revelation. "I've made kings and destroyed presidencies," he whispered against my skin. "But you make me want to kneel. And I kneel for nothing."
LYSANDER ASHWORTH — The Surgeon of Death whose hands save lives in hospital daylight and stitch up criminals in underground darkness. He takes me apart with surgical precision, finding nerves I didn't know existed. His humor cuts as sharp as his scalpel, but beneath the wit is a man haunted by his father's sins: "I've held beating hearts in my hands, Irene. None of them felt like this."
KONSTANTIN VOLKOV — The Cage Fighter built for violence, yet he trembles when I touch his scarred face. At 6'4" of pure brutal muscle, he's undefeated in the underground rings — a man who learned that fists solve everything words cannot. But his confession broke me: "I don't know pretty words, Irene. But I know I'd let you break every bone I have if it meant you'd stay to watch them heal."
Five men. Five different worlds. One unbreakable pact.
They swore not to want me.
They're about to shatter every vow.
But here's what my brother didn't anticipate: I refuse to be the prize in someone else's competition. I'm not a clause in a contract, a condition in a treaty, or a trophy to be won. When I discovered the pact — discovered that my romantic future was negotiated without my knowledge or consent — I didn't cry.
I got furious. Then I took control.
You want me? All five of you? Then learn to coexist. Because I'm done being protected like porcelain. I'm done being fought over like territory. And I'm certainly done letting men decide my fate in rooms I'm not allowed to enter.
If you want to worship me — do it on your knees. Together.
What none of us expected was the shadow rising from the past. Someone has been watching me since London. Someone who knows my patterns, my psychology, my every vulnerability. Someone who wants to use me to destroy everything my brother built — and every man foolish enough to love me.
Victor Ashworth. Lysander's father. A criminal mastermind who spent twelve years in prison planning his revenge. And I'm the centerpiece of his final game.
They think they're my protectors. They think their strength, their empires, their combined might will keep me safe. They don't realize that I've been studying monsters my entire career.
They don't realize I'm about to become their salvation — or their complete and utter ruin.
The pact was supposed to keep me safe.
Instead, it started a war.
And I'm done being the prize.
It's time to become the queen.