"Empires don't fall in silence. They fall with whispers, not gunfire."
The Connolly mansion felt too big. Too quiet.
The hall outside Liam's room stretched long and cold, shadows pooling beneath the dark wood panels. Declan leaned against the doorframe, his crumpled suit jacket hanging from his hand. His black tie was loose around his neck, the knot half-undone like he hadn't decided if the day was over or just beginning.
Behind him, Dwan's gravelly voice drifted from the hallway.
"You'll wear a hole in that floor, lad."
Declan didn't look up. His eyes stayed locked on the small figure tucked beneath the blankets.
"He hasn't slept since it happened," Declan replied quietly. "I'm not waking him now."
Dwan stepped beside him, arms crossed."Liam's stronger than you think. He's a Connolly."
Declan's jaw tightened.
So was Dad.He didn't say it, but the thought weighed heavy in the space between them.
Dwan shifted, his gaze softening.
"You need rest too. The syndicate heads will be arriving in the morning—most of them already have. They'll want answers. They'll want blood, Declan."
Declan's hand dragged through his dark hair, the same shade as Liam's. Seventeen wasn't old enough to run an empire. But the world didn't care.
"I know." His voice felt heavier than it should.
Dwan's eyes flicked to the floor.
"Go downstairs. I'll sit with him."
Declan hesitated, his grip tightening around the doorframe.
"Don't let him out of your sight."
"I never do."
Downstairs, the house was awake.
The great hall stretched open, packed with men in black suits and hushed conversations. The syndicate leaders had arrived in force, moving like wolves picking apart a fallen stag.
Declan descended the staircase slowly, scanning the crowd. Familiar faces from the Irish circles, Russian outfits, and Chinese triads lingered along the edges. Zhang Wei's men hovered near the windows, pretending not to look at the grand portraits of Connolly ancestors staring down at them.
Near the entrance, Vito Ferraro lounged with his nephew Marco, their presence like oil stains on silk.
"You're late to your own wake," Ferraro called over the hum of voices.
Declan's eyes flicked toward him but didn't respond.
Ferraro smirked. "I almost thought you wouldn't show. That would've been a mistake."
Declan crossed the hall toward him, shoulders tense.
"You've made enough mistakes for both of us, Ferraro."
Ferraro's smile sharpened, but his eyes never left Declan's.
"Your father promised me Midtown. You don't get to change that just because you're wearing his tie now."
Declan's voice hardened.
"You're not getting Midtown. We're not done with it."
Ferraro's smile faded.
"Careful, Connolly. Boys who pretend to be men disappear in this world."
A soft voice cut through the tension.
"You shouldn't threaten my brother."
The entire hall fell silent.
Liam stood barefoot at the top of the stairs, small fists clutching a blue plastic plane. The chipped toy looked out of place in his hands, but his gaze was sharp.
Ferraro's head turned slowly, one brow lifting.
"I don't take advice from children."
Liam's green eyes narrowed.
"You should. I'm smarter than you."
A low chuckle escaped from somewhere in the crowd. Dwan, standing near the bottom of the stairs, coughed loudly to hide his amusement.
Ferraro's expression darkened, but Declan stepped forward, placing himself between Liam and Ferraro's men.
"Leave."
Ferraro lingered for a breath too long before stepping toward the door.
"You've inherited a mess, Declan. We'll talk again. Sooner than you'd like."
As the heavy doors swung shut behind him, Declan spun toward Liam.
"Liam—"
"I wasn't scared." Liam interrupted, stepping lightly down the stairs. "His right eye twitches when he lies. He wasn't going to hurt you."
Declan stared at him, the weight of the words sinking in slowly.
"Dad used to say that."
Liam shrugged, fiddling with the wing of his plane.
"You just have to watch people. They show you everything."
Dwan's amused expression didn't fade.
"Sharp, this one. Just like your father."
Declan crouched down in front of Liam, gripping his shoulders gently.
"Listen to me. I'll handle this. You focus on being a kid."
Liam met his eyes, serious beyond his years.
"Dad said being smart is more important than being a kid."
Declan's throat tightened.
"Dad said a lot of things."
Liam's fingers brushed against Declan's sleeve.
"Are more bad men coming?"
Declan glanced at the closed doors.
"Probably."
Liam nodded slowly.
"Okay. I'll stay close to Dwan."
Declan ruffled his hair, forcing a small grin.
"Come on. We need to get ready for the funeral."
The Connolly funeral didn't feel like a funeral.It felt like a meeting ground for wolves.
Liam sat stiffly in the black car as it rolled through the cemetery gates, his small frame swallowed by a suit two sizes too big.
Dwan opened the door, helping him out.
"Deep breaths, lad."
Declan climbed out behind them, one hand resting lightly on Liam's back as they moved toward the gathering crowd.
Most of the faces were familiar—business partners, politicians, syndicate lieutenants.But Liam wasn't watching them.
His eyes followed one man in a grey coat.
"Declan," Liam whispered, tugging on his sleeve. "That man is smiling."
Declan's gaze flicked toward him without moving his head.
"Ferraro."
Liam's small hand curled into Declan's.
"What did he do?"
Declan's jaw tightened.
"Nothing. Yet."
But Liam didn't stop watching.