Novels by Phanie O'Neri

The morning after the ambush, the city felt like a carcass picked clean by vultures. Smoke clung to the skyline, and the streets buzzed with a violence that no longer tried to hide itself. In the ruined conference room of what once was the Montrose Hotel, Carrick Gale leaned over a scarred table, maps and dossiers spread out like a battlefield. Marco arrived late, limping slightly, Victor and Silas flanking him like angry hounds. The air between the two leaders crackled. "You called for this meeting," Marco said, voice like gravel. "You better have something worth my time, Carrick." Carrick didn't look up right away. He tapped a folder at the center of the table. "Lucien," Carrick said. "And his pet ghost, Delilah Blackthorn. They're not just gunning for you anymore." Marco snorted, stepping closer. "No shit." Carrick finally met his gaze. His eyes were sharp, glacial. "They're coming for all of us." Silence stretched. Victor shifted, resting his hand on the butt of his p

The first firebomb hit just after midnight.Carrick Gale stood on the balcony of the north wing of his estate, cigarette dangling from his lips, when the sky bloomed into angry red in the distance.Another explosion rumbled seconds later, closer this time.He ground the cigarette under his boot and turned on his heel, face hardening.Marco’s war had just escalated ... and it was bleeding into Carrick’s world.A knock rattled the door."Come," Carrick barked.Logan stepped in, breathless. His shirt was stained with soot and blood, his left sleeve shredded."They hit the Yarrow warehouse," Logan said. "Took out two guards. Set the whole place ablaze."Carrick’s eyes narrowed."And the DeSantis armory?"Logan hesitated."Gone," he said quietly. "Blew it sky-high twenty minutes ago. They're targeting every asset we have in the west sector."Carrick paced the room, the polished wood floors creaking under his boots."Marco’s desperation stinks like a dying dog," he muttered. "But this... th

The smoke hadn’t even cleared from the ambush site when Marco slammed his fist onto the table back at the safehouse."Goddamn it!" he roared, sending a stack of blueprints flying.Victor stood nearby, a fresh gash bleeding across his brow, jaw set tight with anger.Silas limped in, clutching his side. "It was a setup," he rasped. "He knew every move we made."Marco’s face was carved from stone."He’s inside our circle," he said. "Somebody’s talking."Victor cursed low. "I’ll start running checks. Every man, every comm line.""No," Marco said, voice colder than steel. "I'll do it myself."He turned to Silas."Get patched up. You're no good to me bleeding out."Silas opened his mouth, thought better of it, and nodded, leaving the room.Only Victor stayed."You really think one of ours flipped?"Marco didn't answer right away. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, hands steady even though his gut boiled."Not just flipped," he said finally. "They sold their soul."Victor’s mouth tightene

The first sign that something was wrong came with the silence.The war room was usually a hive ... phones ringing, men shouting, maps shifting. But tonight, there was nothing. Just an eerie, unnatural stillness.Marco paced the edge of the table, feeling the weight of it press down on his chest."Where’s Jax?" he snapped, glancing at Victor.Victor, frowning, checked his watch. "He should’ve reported in an hour ago."Silas lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. "Maybe he ran into heat. Cops, Carrick’s leftovers..."Marco shook his head. "Jax doesn’t miss check-ins. Not unless he’s dead."The word hung heavy in the air.A phone rang ... sharp and shrill.Everyone jolted.Victor grabbed it."Yeah?" His face paled almost instantly. "Boss... you need to hear this."Marco snatched the phone from him."Marco," a voice rasped. Jax’s voice ... barely recognizable, slurred and broken."It’s... a trap... he knew... he knew we were coming..."Gunshots crackled in the background. Screaming. Then

Marco didn’t sleep that night.He sat in the war room ... a makeshift headquarters carved out of an abandoned speakeasy beneath the old theatre ... staring at the maps spread across the table. Each red pin marked a loyalty, each black pin a threat. And there were more black pins now than ever before.Victor entered, a mug of coffee in one hand, a pistol tucked into the back of his belt."You should rest," Victor said, setting the coffee down. "You look like hell."Marco didn’t move. "Carrick didn’t threaten me," he said, voice low. "He challenged me."Victor pulled a chair around and dropped into it, studying Marco."There's a difference?""Yeah," Marco said grimly. "One's a warning. The other’s a death sentence."Victor nodded slowly. "So what’s the play?"Marco leaned back, eyes burning. "We strike first."Victor's eyebrows lifted. "Now you’re speaking my language."But Marco wasn’t smiling."No messy fireworks. No grandstanding," he said. "We cut out Carrick’s heart while it’s stil

The night air was thick with mist and the sour stench of gasoline.Carrick Gale stood atop the rooftop of an abandoned textile mill, his coat whipping in the wind, a cigarette burning low between his fingers.Below him, the city lights flickered like dying embers."You were right," muttered Donovan, stepping up beside him. His breath steamed in the cold. "Marco’s moving against you."Carrick didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look at him."I know."Donovan hesitated. "It’s not just Marco. Salvatore met with him tonight. They're rallying others. Quiet-like, but... it's happening."Carrick took a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip flaring."So the rats finally show their teeth," he said softly.Donovan shifted uneasily. "What do you want to do?"Carrick turned, finally facing him. His eyes were pale blue and cold as glacial ice."Set a meet," Carrick said. "Invite Marco. Make it seem like I want to talk peace."Donovan frowned. "You think he’ll buy it?"Carrick smiled ... a thin, dead thi