Devil: The Doyles, A Boston Irish Mafia Romance

by Sophie Austin

  I’m grateful for the help, and I say so. I’m tired, and sore. It’s been one hell of a trip.

  We get inside my little one-bedroom apartment. He places my bag on the table outside my bedroom and comes over to kiss me goodbye.

  “Do you need anything before I leave?” he asks, stroking my hair.

  “Stay,” I say, sliding my good arm over his chest. “Please?”

  His face lights up. I want to see him this happy all the time.

  “I’d love to.”

  “I love you, Doyle.” I stand on my toes and kiss him again.

  “And I love you too, detective.”

  And he does. I know he does.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  “Are we there yet?” Ruby teases, running a hand over the stubble on my jaw.

  “Almost,” I say. We’ve been driving for three hours now, up north. I have a surprise for her. For us.

  “We’re not dumping a body, are we?” she asks.

  A year ago, I would’ve bristled at the question, but now I have a different appreciation of her teasing.

  “Your jokes are almost as bad as Kieran’s,” I say.

  We’re on the Kancamagus Highway, New Hampshire 112, passing through the White Mountain National Forest.

  “How dare you,” she says, affecting an indignant tone. “My jokes are amazing.”

  “Kieran thinks his are, too.”

  She laughs, and sighs. “It’s gorgeous here, Ronan. The colors are incredible.”

  The leaves have changed, and we’re at peak foliage. It’s slowed us down with seemingly every tourist in New England coming to see it too but it’s worth the wait. She’s worth the wait.

  The trees are an explosion of red, orange, and yellow, set off by the deep greens of the various pines. The Pemigewasset River flanks us during our ascent, but we’ve long left it and the Kancamagus Pass behind us, and now the Swift River runs scenically beside us.

  “You just don’t get used to it,” Ruby says, dreamily, staring out the window. “It’s so beautiful.”

  I know what she means.

  We exit the national forest and head into the little town of Conway. It’s a little more than halfway up the state, close to the border of Maine. Just past the center of town I turn off into a long driveway.

  “Ooh,” she says, clapping her hands. “Exciting.”

  I love that about her. Ruby finds excitement in the smallest things.

  Hopefully she won’t think this is too small.

  The driveway ends next to a small cottage. I’ve barely put the car in park before she’s out the door, taking in the wooden house with its screened in, wraparound porch. There’s a decent front yard, with woods behind us. There are trees everywhere, and you can hear a branch of the Swift running in the near distance.

  “Come on,” she says, grinning at me. “Let’s see what’s inside.”

  I already know what’s inside. But wherever she is is my favorite place to be so I follow her. I unlock the door, and she’s off exploring immediately, oohing and ahhing over the pretty little living room, the surprisingly modern kitchen, and the airy bedroom.

  “There’s a bathtub,” she says, leaning out of the bathroom dramatically. “The bathroom is huge for such a small place. I’m surprised!”

  “I had it remodeled,” I say, feeling kind of sheepish. I’m usually so confident, so in charge, but I’m about to ask her something that could change my life.

  Our lives.

  Forever.

  No going back from this moment, one way or the other.

  I’m not a praying man.

  But I pray this one goes my way.

  It sinks in, and she comes over to where I am.

  “Did you buy a house, Ronan? Did you buy a whole-ass house and not tell me?”

  We’re not supposed to keep secrets, I know, but this one is important.

  “Just this one,” I say. “Just for this moment.”

  I’m down on one knee and she’s pressing her hands to her face, covering her mouth.

  “Ruby. I love you so much. I didn’t know what I was missing until I almost lost you.”

  We don’t talk about that day, much.

  Especially not since my father passed.

  “Every day since has been full of magic. Even when it hasn’t been easy…”

  The wake. The funeral.

  When her father came home.

  “Even when it hasn’t been easy, it’s been wonderful because of you. I want to feel this way every day for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”

  I offer her the small velvet box. My father had given it to me right before he’d passed.

  My mother’s engagement ring.

  “We buried her with the band,” he’d said. “And you’d better bury me with mine. But she wanted you to have this. She knew it’d be hardest for you.”

  Ruby opens the box. It’s not a huge diamond, not even a carat, but it’s beautiful, and my father worked hard to get it for my mother.

  My mother’s family is wealthy and had scoffed behind their backs.

  Later, when my father had more money and saw some women with bigger rings, my mother said anything bigger would look out of place on her hand and refused to let my father replace it.

  “Ronan,” Ruby says, looking at the ring, “it’s so beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful,” I say. “Please don’t leave me hanging here, Ruby. This is agony.”

  “Yes!” she says, jumping up to hug me. I hold her up, her legs wrapped around my waist.

  “But you should’ve known that already,” she says, smiling.

  She smiles brilliantly, holding out her hand. I support her with one arm and slip the ring on her finger with my free hand. “I told you I was all in, Ronan. I meant it.” She looks at the ring. “It’s so perfect. I love it.”

  “It was my mother’s” I say, with difficulty.

  Her expression changes from pure joy to understanding. She hugs me, pressing her face into my neck.

  “Thank you,” she says. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She pulls away for a minute. “You bought a whole-ass house to propose to me?”

  “I didn’t have to buy the ring,” I say. “I wanted to get you something.”

  She laughs. “Okay. Fair enough. Do you want to take me on a tour of our new house, then?”

  I carry her directly to the bedroom. We have a lot of celebrating to do.

  THE END

  Thank you so much for reading! Ready for more of the Doyle boys? Read on for a preview of Hooked!

  Here’s links to all the stories:

  Owen’s story: Knockout

  Connor’s story: Grind

  Seamus’ story: Hustle

  Kieran’s story: Thug

  Ronan’s story: Devil

  But wait, there’s more!

  Spend the holidays with the Doyles! Enjoy a Doyle family Christmas in Hooked and then see how they celebrate the New Year in Ringer.

  Vinny’s story: Hooked [Spend Christmas with the Doyles!

  Jack’s story: Ringer [Celebrate the New Year with the Doyles!]

  I’m so grateful to you for enjoying the Doyles!

  Once you’ve read the whole series, sign up for my newsletter to receive a special bonus epilogue that gives you a look at all the Doyle boys, their wives, and where the families are few years later. But save it until you’ve enjoyed all the books!

  And don’t worry: after the Doyles, there’s a new series headed your way for the bad boys Boston. Get Finn’s story, book one of the Carneys, in Rake.

  I’d love to stay in touch! Sign up for my mailing list! Stay tuned for releases on Boston’s big-hearted tough guys and plenty of fun stuff along the way.

  Xoxo,

  Sophie

  Preview: Hooked - Book Six, The Doyles

  Chapter One - Sia

  “What do you mean the ferry isn’t running?”

  I drove t
hree hours, in traffic, from Boston to Hyannis to catch this exact ferry to Martha’s Vineyard.

  I have a Christmas party to plan.

  The best Christmas party the Vineyard’s ever seen.

  But that’s not going to happen if I can’t get there.

  “I’m sorry, Miss,” the young man behind the counter says. I’m trying not to stare at the giant blemish on his forehead, but that thing can probably see into the future. “The Nor’easter cut closer to the coast than predicted. It’s not safe for us to go out.”

  I tap my foot impatiently, looking out the window.

  “It’s not even raining!” The sky is gray and thick with clouds, but that’s New England from November to March.

  I’m fine with depressing weather if I can make things festive inside.

  “It’s not the rain.” His voice cracks. “It’s the wind.”

  “Is anyone going out? Maybe a private charter?” Dozens of boats dock in this marina. The state-run ferries are the cheapest, but I don’t need cheap. I just need to get there as soon as possible.

  The young man shrugs. “No, Miss. Not that I know of. I’m really sorry.”

  My stomach drops, but I don’t give up that easily.

  “It’s okay. Thanks for your help.” Time to make some calls. I head toward the door, and just as I pull out my phone, a weathered-looking man stops me.

  “Miss,” he says, waving at me. Dark sunspots cover skin dried to leather from too much exposure to saltwater. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You need a ride to the Vineyard?”

  “Yes!” I exclaim, grabbing his hand in delight. “Are you heading that way?”

  “Sure am. I can take you. Going to tuck into Oak Bluffs for the night.”

  “It must be fate. Do you leave soon?”

  He smiles at my excitement. “Soon as possible. Best be on our way before the moon wakes up and really stirs those waves.”

  He wears a big, brown water-stained coat and sturdy boots. If I were hiring him for a nautical-themed event, I’d insist on a captain’s hat, but otherwise he looks perfect.

  “Great. Just let me get my bags and tell me where to meet you.”

  He scoffs and comes with me, helping to pull the three giant roller bags from the trunk of my black Jetta. It’s a matching set, and I’ve used these bags to carry my party planning essentials for five years now. They’re a little beat up but built to last.

  Just because I have money doesn’t mean I want to be wasteful.

  “You staying a long time, Miss?”

  “Call me Sia.” I follow behind him with two of the rolling bags. “Just for a week.”

  “Oscar,” he replies. “Lots of stuff for one week.”

  “Oh, this is mostly for work.” I laugh. “I know it looks bad.” One entire bag holds my portfolios. Can’t hurt to drum up business while I’m here.

  He glances at my leopard print Jimmy Choo’s. I didn’t have time to change after my last client meeting, and when you work with the rich and powerful you have to project a certain image.

  Plus I’m only five feet tall, and I use the extra height to be taken seriously.

  “You sell make up or something?” he asks.

  The bags make an ungodly thumping noise as we drag them down the metal ramp to his boat. It’s a small powerboat with two outboard engines.

  “No, I’m an event planner,” I shout over the noise. The ocean seems calm, and I’m relieved when we board. The water laps peacefully at the boat’s hull as Oscar ties the bags in the hold.

  “All the fancy parties will be up at Chilmark.” Oscar takes a moment to admire his ropework. “You have someone who can take you there?”

  I follow him to the boat’s center console and watch as he fiddles with the controls. He glances at me and my shoes again and frowns. The bottom of his boat is soaked. Saltwater and probably fish guts too.

  Sia Fitzgerald is always prepared, though, and my shoes are weather proofed.

  “I’m surprising my uncle. He lives in Oak Bluffs. Owns one of the old Victorian mansions and converted it to an inn. I’m going to throw a party and get him lots of great publicity.”

  If he’ll let me throw a party, that is. He hasn’t been much for any holidays since his son, my cousin Drew, died of an overdose nearly ten years ago.

  And last time I’d visited, he hadn’t exactly been welcoming.

  But my cousin Kieran says he’s in a better state of mind, and I want to bring us all together for the holiday. Big, fancy party on the twenty-third with guests from all over the island, and just the family for Christmas.

  Perfect.

  Oscar grunts as he works and the boat engines roar to life. We’re free of the moorings in minutes, heading Southwest to the island.

  What if Kieran’s wrong and he’s not happy to see me? What if he still hates me? I shiver. Don’t go there, Sia.

  “You cold?” Oscar asks.

  He doesn’t miss much.

  “No.” I tug my big, blanket-sized scarf more firmly around my shoulders. “It’s just been a while since I’ve visited.”

  He grunts again. I’m sure Oscar has seen some things.

  For forty-five minutes, I chat to Oscar while we zip through the water. We’re close to the island. Fear and excitement surge through me as the reality of seeing my uncle again sinks in.

  But then Oscar straightens up suddenly.

  The winds change.

  We’ve hit the edge of the storm.

  In seconds, wind-driven rain cascades down in torrents. The boat pitches as the waves intensify. We’re fighting to stay upright. I shiver uselessly, staring wide-eyed at Oscar.

  I’m soaked through, my pea coat retaining every drop of water—rain and sea together. My scarf chokes me, itchy wet wool glued to my throat, but I can’t let go of the console to fix it.

  Oscar grabs for the radio as one of the engines sputters out.

  “Mayday, Mayday. This is the Ivy Bay. We’re taking on water. Motor is out. Requesting assistance. Do you copy?”

  The radio crackles, but then silence.

  “There’s Coast Guard at Menemsha,” Oscar shouts.

  The roar of the wind terrifies me. I’ve seen my share of Nor’easters, but I’ve never been on the open water for one.

  “Life jackets under the seat,” Oscar says through gritted teeth, his hands white knuckling the steering wheel.

  I’m too afraid to let go. We pitch and heave, wave after wave tossing us like a game of hot potato. I’ve never been so nauseous.

  A wave maybe twenty feet high surges in front of us.

  “Hold on! We’re not going to crest this one!”

  I brace against the console, my hands numb from fear as much as the wind whipped water.

  It crashes over us.