After Wrath: The Deadliest Sin Series, #2

By Gwyn McNamee

They took something from me.

Something that can never be replaced.

They destroyed something.

Something that can never be repaired.

Only one thing can appease the burning rage in my soul.

Unleashing my wrath on those responsible.

The Dragon will rise.

Death will reign.

Because wrath is the deadliest sin.

Chicago has no idea what's coming for it.

 

After Wrath is the fifth book in The Deadliest Sin series about organized crime in Chicago. This series is best read in order beacuse the stories occur chronologically and each sin builds on the events of the previous one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gwyn McNamee
• Release date: May 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386706137

Gwyn McNamee

Gwyn McNamee is an attorney, writer, wife, and mother (to one human baby and two fur babies). Originally from the Midwest, Gwyn relocated to her husband’s home town of Las Vegas in 2015 and is enjoying her respite from the cold and snow. Gwyn has been writing down her crazy stories and ideas for years and finally decided to share them with the world. She loves to write stories with a bit of suspense and action mingled with romance and heat. When she isn’t either writing or voraciously devouring any books she can get her hands on, Gwyn is busy adding to her tattoo collection, golfing, and stirring up trouble with her perfect mix of sweetness and sarcasm (usually while wearing heels). Gwyn is the author of The Hawke Family series, The Slip Series, The Deadliest Sin Series, The Inland Seas Series, The Supernatural Love Stories in the Absurd (written as her alter-ego, DP Payne), and several stand-alone novels.

Book preview

After Wrath

After Wrath

The Deadliest Sin Series - Book 2

Gwyn McNamee

After Wrath

© 2019 Gwyn McNamee

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All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Preface

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Sneak Peek at Surviving Wrath

About the Author

OTHER WORKS BY GWYN MCNAMEE

To anyone who has ever felt the burn of wrath over injustice.

WRATH…in its purest form, presents with self-destructiveness, violence, and hate that may provoke feuds…

- Author Unknown

Prologue

The cool dirt sits heavy in my palm as I stare down at Saban’s freshly dug grave. A cigarette dangles from my lips, slowly smoldering in the chilly air.

Scents of freshly churned earth, grass, and flowers fill my nose, mixed with the calming smell of nicotine.

A familiar collection of headstones surrounds his final resting place—each and every one representing a member of the Gashis who has gone before us.

Some were weak. Some were strong.

Saban…he was both.

How did we get here, vëlla i dashur?

Just two weeks ago, things were perfect, or at least, as perfect as anything can ever be in our dirty world.

Saban had iron-clad control over our territory in Chicago. He knew the game, and he played it well.

No one fucked with the Gashis. They knew the consequences.

That left me free to stay here to take care of Father after my release from that hellhole Albania calls a prison. Neither Saban nor I wanted him to die alone or in the hands of some random hospice worker. Family comes first. Saban wanted to be here too, but the business wouldn’t allow for that. Family first, but business a close second.

No one could have anticipated the turn of events that brought Saban home to Albania in a coffin.

Krishti…why didn’t you listen to me?

I warned Saban not to get involved with the Morina feud. Tarek and Konstandin were not the kind of people you wanted to mess with, and you certainly didn’t want to get between them.

Especially when a woman was the reason for the animosity.

Those two were fire and ice, and when they came together, they burned hotter and froze deeper than any two men I’ve ever met. The only people who ever came close to what I am capable of.

They were absolutely, positively lethal.

He should have listened.

Instead…he paid the ultimate price for ignoring my warning.

Idiot.

I hate to think ill of the dead, but he was truly naïve or plain fucking stupid to believe Konstandin was just going to walk away after learning he helped Tarek track them down after they fled Philly.

He should have known.

I fucking told him.

I curl the fingers of my left hand around the dirt and take a drag on the cigarette before it burns too low.

This all could have been avoided.

So much bloodshed…over what?

Pussy.

Some fucking woman.

Man’s downfall always seems to come back to the same thing every single time, since the moment time began…

You’d think we would learn by now.

It’s not worth it.

They’re not worth it.

Get in. Get off. Get out. Get gone.

Something the Morinas should have known.

Something Saban should have emphasized when he told Tarek he wouldn’t help him find Rea and Konstandin.

Such a price to pay for a stupid mistake, vëllaçko.

Two long drags finish my cig. I drop it and crush it under my boot before I step up to the grave.

A cold wind whips down from the north, sending a shiver through my body despite my being bundled up in a sweater and long coat. The weather is just starting to turn. It shouldn’t be this cold.

But maybe it isn’t just the wind causing the chill. Maybe it’s knowing what I have to do next.

I have to go to Chicago.

Konstandin is dead, but there are others who played a role in Saban’s death. Others who need to pay. Rea and Lorenc are very much alive somewhere, and they don’t deserve to be. Lorenc assisted Konstandin on his rampage, and Rea…she was the cause of it all.

The aggression cannot go unchecked.

It’s only been weeks, but things are already starting to destabilize in Chicago because of what they did, because of Konstandin.

The Italians and the Serbians are moving in, staking their claims, and encroaching on our established territory and businesses. Because they see us as weak without Saban.

They think the Gashi family is done.

They couldn’t be more mistaken.

They just woke a sleeping dragon.

The years I’ve spent in the background have come to an end. It’s time to take my rightful place at the head of the family.

I release the dirt. It floats down and lands almost silently on the polished wood.

Goodbye, vëlla.

I step back from the grave and turn to the only other person to come out here with me to the desolate family graveyard.

Father looks up at me from his wheelchair with hate, not anguish, burning in his old, clouded eyes. He coughs and wheezes loudly before managing to gain enough breath to speak.

You will fix this.

Four words.

A command. Not a question.

Saban was in control for one reason and one reason only—everyone feared what I would do if I took over. My forced vacation meant he had no choice but to step up, and Father’s illness kept me from taking my place.

But now, the time has come.

I squeeze Father’s frail, bony shoulder and give Saban’s grave one last look before I motion to the two workers to begin filling it in.

Their shovels dig into the piles of dirt surrounding Saban’s final resting place. Thick, dark soil pours down the hole. A deep thunk echoes up when the first pile hits the top of the casket.

Don’t worry, Father. I know what I need to do.

Even though it means leaving him here to die alone. I have to go.

Dragoni është lëshuar.

The dragon has been unleashed.

1

EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

N o, sir. Please don’t!

The man on the floor is supplicating to deaf ears.

I don’t want to hear him beg. I don’t want to hear him apologize. I don’t want to hear his bullshit laundry list of excuses.

What I want is some goddamn information. Information he should have. But all I’ve gotten is verbal diarrhea and blabbering from him.

That ends now.

I reach down and wrap my hand around his throat. He gasps and grabs at my wrist, scratching and clawing in a useless attempt to