The Enforcer's Redemption (Sins of the O'Rourke Empire #2)

31. Declan

I sit with Mick and his family in the cozy front room of my brother's home. We linger there for more than an hour, immersed in conversation, as Isla recounts the harrowing tale of what happened. Her voice trembles slightly as she speaks of her urgent need to escape, a desperate plea woven into her words. Each syllable is a knife twisting in my gut, especially when she describes the suffocating terror of being confined in that cold, metal container. Her vivid account only fuels the fire within me, solidifying my determination to hunt down and eliminate Sebastian O’Reilly before anyone else can intervene.

As Ronan steps into the room, his presence is immediate and commanding. He halts just inside the doorway, fixing me with a deliberate, meaningful gaze that leaves no doubt in my mind—he wants me to accompany him. I bide my time, searching for a natural lull in the lively chatter around me. When the moment feels right, I lean in close to Isla, her perfume a delicate floral note in the air. I gently place a kiss on her cheek, the warmth of her skin a comforting touch, and whisper softly, "I'll be back."

Then I rise and walk out into the hallway. Ronan isn't here, probably off to his office to wait for me. I head in that direction, tucking my tie into my suit jacket and buttoning it. After things went down, the Garda arrested more than half of the O’Reilly clan, but we know Sebastian was one of them. We also know he has his fingers in the Garda and the justice system. They won't be able to make anything stick, but that's okay.

At this moment, he's securely confined behind bars, beyond my reach, but the day they release him, I'll track him down relentlessly. In the meantime, my attention is devoted to my wife and our unborn child, ensuring their safety and well-being. I'm determined to do everything in my power to fortify our family, cultivate strong alliances, and lay the foundation for a secure and prosperous future for myself and all those around me. The gravity of my responsibilities weighs heavily upon me, fueling my resolve to protect and nurture what matters most.

I strut into Ro's office to find Finn there. He's standing opposite Ronan, who's seated behind his desk with a stack of papers in front of him. As I approach, I hear them talking, but they hush when I get within earshot. I'm sure they'll fill me in soon enough. I've learned not to be nosy and to just deal with what is given to me. It's enough to keep me busy, anyway.

"How's she doing?" Ro inquires, his voice tinged with genuine concern. I'm grateful he's pausing to recognize that Isla is an integral part of this family, cherished and deeply valued. His words carry a warmth that underscores the affection and importance we all feel for her, weaving her presence into the very fabric of our lives.

"She's shaken, but I think she'll do okay. Mick just told her everything." I fumble with my tie, desperately trying to loosen it as it feels like a constricting noose around my neck. Isla isn't a weak woman by any stretch of the imagination, but even so, I was taken aback by the composure with which she absorbed the news. Not a single flicker crossed her eyes. She didn't even blink.

"Well, Brynn is out of surgery," Ronan grumbles. "Half his liver was blown away, but he'll live, and he'll have a story to tell. I think he's learning his lesson." Ro chuckles, and Finn shifts uncomfortably.

My adversarial cousin isn't the reason I've been called into this office. I gather that much. Ronan is pissed about something and Finn seems agitated.

"If the eejit had only learned to stay in his lane and keep his mouth shut, he would've been fine." I shake my head in frustration, fingers weaving through my hair as if untangling the thoughts in my mind. The tension is palpable, and I can't help but notice the deep creases etched into Ronan's forehead, like cracks in a dry riverbed. Something's wrong, and it's more than just the words we've exchanged.

"Sit down," he says, and Finn and I obediently pull up a chair and have a seat. Ro leans forward, clasping his hands over his desk as he plants his elbows on top of it. He licks his lip and then rakes his teeth over it, pensively deciding what to say or how to start.

I tap my fingers on the arm of the chair and lean to one side. Finn crosses one leg over the other, clasping his ankle in hand. It's a long moment before Ro speaks, but what he says doesn't surprise me.

"There's a new Director of Public Prosecutions sniffing around, a young woman, sharp and talented, but with an insatiable curiosity." He steeples his fingers beneath his chin, his gaze narrowing as it settles on us both, like a predator sizing up its prey. "I'm seeking the counsel of my strategist and my enforcer on how to perceive this development. She's just graduated from law school, full of energy and determination, driven by a fiery ambition to track down and bring to light any organized crime syndicate lurking in the shadows."

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," Finn says with a glower. "We could just take her out," he suggests, but Ronan frowns on that instantly.

"Too messy, too many layers. We'd have the whole Garda up our ass. We need to handle this tactfully, gentlemen, and quickly. After what happened down at the docks with O’Reilly, she'll be eating that case up. If he leaks anything to her about any of us, she'll be on us instantly." Ro sits back in his seat and sighs. "We have layers of safeguards, but at this point, we can't depend on any one of them. We've seen what our enemies are capable of. We have to prepare for the worst."

Finn's foot taps rhythmically against the floor, a steady beat that mirrors the determination in his nodding head. "We'll just have to dive into the research, lay a solid foundation for either Plan A or Plan B, just like we always do. We'll ensure we're fully prepared for whatever comes our way."

"I'm trusting you," Ronan tells him. Then he looks at me. "And after all this and the way you've redeemed yourself to this family, I'm trusting you too. Whatever Finn needs, you be there for him. We've got to stick together and we've got to tie up any loose ends that are still out there." Ronan stands and leans over his desk. "We can't afford any publicity, if you know what I mean."

Finn and I are acutely aware of the fragile state of the city's atmosphere, especially in the aftermath of Sebastian's reckless actions. The tension is palpable, like a thin layer of ice stretched over a deep lake, ready to crack at any moment. If our ongoing feud with him, ignited by Isla's cunning thievery, becomes the scapegoat for the relentless witch hunt spearheaded by the new prosecutor, the consequences could be dire.

The entire city, with its tangled web of familial alliances and rivalries, would turn its ire toward us. It would be like striking a match in a room filled with gasoline fumes—explosive and uncontrollable. We'd be staring down the barrel of an all-out war, with factions rising against us from every corner of the metropolis.

"Go on, then…" Ro says, his voice a mix of authority and weariness. "And Finn?"

Finn turns, catching our older brother's gaze. "Yeah, Chief?"

"I'm going to give this whole thing directly to you. I have too much on my shoulders with the alignment of our family with Mick's. Can you handle it?" Ronan's expression is serious, the weight of responsibility evident in his furrowed brow and the tight set of his jaw. The alliance is paramount, a delicate balance we must maintain, but we can't let this situation spiral out of control either.

"I got it, Ro." Finn nods, his face resolute, and we walk out into the hallway, facing an uncertain future that looms like a storm on the horizon.

But my wife is here with me, securely nestled in our temporary haven as we search for our new home. Her presence is a comforting anchor in this sea of transition. I also have a child on the way, a tiny miracle who will soon fill that home with the joyous sounds of love and laughter. Life feels like it's on an upswing, a gentle ascent toward brighter days, at least for the moment.