Synopsis

Tommy

They call me The Calculator.

Not because I’m good with numbers.

Because I calculate exactly how much pain it takes to break a man.

I’ve spilled blood for the Boyle family since I was sixteen, and I’ve never questioned an order.

Until now.

My father wants me to marry Maeve O’Connor to seal an alliance with the Irish.

One problem–she’s the cousin of the man I killed two years ago.

Another problem–I want her more than my next breath.

Maeve

I’ve been plotting against my own family for months.

Feeding their secrets to rivals, sabotaging deals, anything to break free from their control.

But when I discover I’m being sold to Tommy Boyle–the monster who murdered my favorite cousin–I realize I’ve been playing a child’s game.

Now I’m trapped in the Boyle compound, chained to a killer’s bed.

They think this marriage will tame me.

They’re about to learn how wrong they are.

The Truth

Our families aren’t just rivals–we’re all pawns in someone else’s game.

The secrets I’ve been selling weren’t reaching gangs.

They were feeding a trafficking ring that’s been using our territories as hunting grounds.

My sister isn’t dead like we thought–she’s being held as collateral.

And the only way to save her is to trust the man I swore to destroy.

Tommy might be a killer.

But he’s about to become my salvation.

Saving a Merciless Heart is a full-length standalone dark mafia romance with forced proximity, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, and guaranteed HEA. Contains mature themes and steamy scenes.

SNEAK PEEK

Chapter 1 – Maeve – Unedited

2025@ Liz Gavin

The Glock weighs heavily in my palm as I crouch behind the rusted shipping container, counting seconds. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Right on schedule.

The warehouse door creaks open, spilling yellow light into the Boston harbor darkness. Two silhouettes emerge–Torres and his lieutenant, exactly where my intel said they’d be. The Serpientes think they’re untouchable in their own territory.

They’re wrong.

I press my finger to my earpiece. “Phoenix, you’re clear for entry.”

“Copy that, Red.” Jake’s voice crackles through the comm, steady as always. He doesn’t know my real name. None of my crew do. To them, I’m just Red–a twenty-six-year-old with more balls than sense and enough connections to make their illegal activities profitable.

If they knew I was Maeve O’Connor, daughter of the most powerful Irish mob boss on the East Coast, they’d either worship me or put a bullet in my skull. Neither option appeals to me.

The plan unfolds like clockwork. Jake and Marco slip through the loading dock while I provide overwatch. Three years of running independent ops has taught me that precision beats brute force every time. While my father’s soldiers kick down doors and spray bullets, I prefer surgical strikes.

Less mess. Fewer questions. Maximum profit.

My phone buzzes against my thigh–a text from an unknown number. The wolf hunts alone tonight.

Ice floods my veins. That’s the code phrase. My handler only uses it when there’s actionable intelligence about Bridget.

My sister. My brilliant, innocent baby sister who’s supposed to be dead but isn’t.

“Status report,” I whisper into the comm, forcing my voice to remain steady.

“We’re in,” Jake responds. “Jesus Christ, Red. You undersold this. There’s got to be two million in cash here, plus enough product to supply half of Cambridge.”

Two million. More than enough to fund the next phase of my private war. Every dollar I steal from the Serpientes gets funneled into my network of informants, hackers, and mercenaries. The same network that’s slowly, methodically tracking down every lead about Bridget’s disappearance.

My father believes she died in that fire eighteen months ago. The whole O’Connor family mourned her. But I know better. I’ve seen the inconsistencies in the police report, the gaps in witness testimony. Someone wanted us to think she was dead. And Dad has been too broken to see the signs.

Someone took my sister.

“Grab the cash, leave the drugs,” I order. “We’re not dealers.”

“Since when?” Marco’s voice carries through the earpiece, confused. He’s new to the crew, recruited from the docks where desperation makes men grateful for opportunities like this.

“Since I said so. Move.”

The silver Saint Christopher pendant around my neck catches the moonlight as I adjust my position. Declan gave it to me three years ago, right before Tommy Boyle put a bullet in his chest. My cousin was the only person who ever truly protected me, who saw past the O’Connor name to the girl underneath.

Now he’s dead, and I’m alone in a world that sees me as either a prize to be won or a threat to be eliminated.

“Package secured,” Jake reports. “Heading to extraction point.”

That’s when I hear them.

Two hushed voices near the warehouse’s east side. I can’t make out every word, but I catch enough to freeze my blood.

“…the O’Connor girl…”

“…the boss wants her alive…”

“…worth more than the sister…”

My heart hammers against my ribs. They’re talking about me. About Bridget. These aren’t random Serpiente soldiers–they’re connected to whatever happened to my sister.

I ease closer, keeping to the shadows, my finger hovering over the trigger. The concrete is cold against my knees as I crawl between abandoned pallets, straining to hear.

“Dracul’s getting impatient,” the taller one says. “The O’Connor girl should’ve been taken months ago. Instead, she’s out here playing guerrilla warfare.”

Dracul. I’ve heard that name whispered in the darkest corners of Boston’s underworld. Eastern European. Ruthless. Connected to trafficking rings that operate across state lines.

“The Boyles are watching her too closely,” his companion replies. “Especially since the engagement rumors started.”

Engagement rumors. My blood turns to acid. Father wouldn’t dareâ€”

“Red, we’ve got movement,” Jake’s voice crackles urgently. “Multiple vehicles approaching the perimeter. Time to go.”

But I can’t move. Can’t breathe. The pieces are falling together with horrible clarity.

“…once she marries into the Boyle family, extracting her becomes impossible…”

“…the sister was just leverage. The real prize was always–“

The explosion rocks the ground beneath me.

Orange flames erupt from the warehouse’s north side, casting dancing shadows across the harbor. My crew’s emergency protocol–if compromised, create a distraction and scatter. Jake’s good at his job.

But the two men I was listening to have vanished into the chaos.

I sprint toward the extraction point, my mind racing faster than my feet. Bridget isn’t dead. She’s being held by someone named Dracul. Someone who wants me too. Someone who apparently knows about an engagement I haven’t even agreed to yet.

My phone buzzes again. The same unknown number.

The girl is alive. Meet tomorrow night. Pier 19. Midnight. Come alone, or she dies.

I stop running. The harbor wind whips my hair across my face, carrying the scent of salt and smoke. In the distance, sirens wail–police and fire department responding to Jake’s pyrotechnics.

This is it. The break I’ve been waiting for. Eighteen months of hunting shadows and following false leads, and finally someone’s reaching out.

It could be a trap. Probably is a trap. But it’s the first real lead I’ve had about Bridget’s whereabouts.

“Red!” Marco’s voice calls from our predetermined rally point. “Where the hell are you?”

I look back at the burning warehouse, then at my phone screen. Tomorrow night, I’ll learn the truth about what happened to my sister. Tonight, I need to figure out how to stay alive long enough to save her.

Because one thing’s become crystal clear: I’m not just funding a private war anymore.

I’m the target.

I pocket my phone and run toward my crew, my mind already calculating the risks. The Serpientes’ cash will buy me better intelligence, more sophisticated weapons, and additional security. But money alone won’t be enough.

If Dracul is connected to trafficking rings, if the Boyles are somehow involved, if my own father is planning to sell me into an arranged marriage–then I need allies. Real ones. Not hired guns who call me Red and follow orders for cash.

The problem is, I’ve spent three years trusting no one completely. Compartmentalizing every relationship, every operation, every piece of my life. This strategy has kept me safe.

It’s also kept me isolated.

Jake and Marco are waiting by the stolen van, engines running, faces tight with adrenaline and confusion. They’re good men, as far as criminals go. Loyal to their paychecks and professional in their work. But they’re not soldiers. Not family.

They’re not Declan.

“What was that about?” Jake demands as I climb into the passenger seat. “You went dark for ten minutes. That’s not like you.”

I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. He’s thirty-four, ex-military, smart enough to read tactical situations but not smart enough to recognize that his employer is lying to him about everything that matters.

“Change of plans,” I say, buckling my seatbelt. “We need to upgrade our intelligence capabilities.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we’re about to go to war with people who make the Serpientes look like choir boys.”

The van pulls away from the harbor, carrying us into the maze of Boston’s industrial district. Behind us, the warehouse burns like a funeral pyre, smoke rising into the star-choked sky.

I touch Declan’s pendant through my shirt and make a silent promise. Whatever it takes. Whatever it costs. Whoever I have to trust or betray or destroy.

I’m going to find Bridget.

And then I’m going to burn down everyone who took her from me.

Even if it means crawling into bed with the devil himself.

Even if the devil’s name is Tommy Boyle.

* * *

Two hours later

The safehouse sits in Cambridge’s forgotten industrial zone–a converted auto shop that’s been abandoned long enough for the city to forget it exists. Jake found it six months ago, and we’ve been using it as our base of operations ever since.

I count the cash while my crew cleans their weapons and discusses the night’s haul. Two point three million in unmarked bills. Enough to buy serious firepower, or serious information, or serious protection.

Maybe all three, if I’m careful.

My laptop chimes with an encrypted message from my handler–the same person who’s been feeding me intelligence about Bridget for the past year. We’ve never met. I don’t even know if they’re male or female. But their information has always been accurate.

Package delivered. Next payment due Friday. New intel suggests timeline accelerated. Recommend immediate action.

I stare at the screen, translating the coded language. Someone’s moving faster than anticipated. The engagement rumors those guys mentioned. My father’s sudden interest in Boyle family politics. The mysterious Dracul who supposedly has my sister.

All of it’s connected. All of it’s accelerating toward something I can’t see yet.

My phone buzzes. This time it’s a number I recognize–my youngest sister, Keira, texting from her dorm at Shadowmere University.

Dad’s acting weird. Won’t tell me why. Says you haven’t been answering his calls. Are you okay?

No, I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay since Declan died and Bridget disappeared and I realized that everyone I trusted was either dead or lying to me.

But Keira doesn’t need to carry that weight. She’s nineteen, brilliant, and innocent in ways I’ll never be again. If I play this right, she’ll stay that way for as long as possible.

Everything’s fine, I text back. Just busy with work. Tell Dad I’ll call him tomorrow.

Tomorrow. After I meet with whoever sent that message about Bridget. After I learn what they want in exchange for my sister’s life.

After I figure out how to survive what’s coming.

I close the laptop and look around the safehouse. Jake’s sleeping in the corner, his rifle within arm’s reach. Marco’s on watch duty, scanning police frequencies on our modified radio. The walls are lined with maps, photographs, and flow charts detailing the various criminal organizations operating in Boston.

It looks like a war room because that’s what it is. For three years, I’ve been planning and executing a campaign against the people who destroyed my family. Tonight, I finally got confirmation that my enemy has a name.

Dracul.

I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find the number I’ve been avoiding for months. My finger hovers over the call button.

Tommy Boyle. The man who killed my cousin. The man my father apparently wants me to marry. The man whose Syndicate controls most of Boston’s organized crime, not to mention a sizable chunk of the underworld of L. A and New York.

The man who might be my only chance of saving Bridget.

I don’t call. Not yet. But I don’t delete the number either.

Because tomorrow night, everything changes. And when it does, I need to be ready to make deals with monsters.

Even if the biggest monster is me.

I touch Declan’s pendant one more time, the cool silver against my skin soothes me. He used to say that survival wasn’t about being the strongest or the smartest.

It was about being willing to do what others wouldn’t.

He was right about that, at least.

I’m about to prove just how right he was.