Chapter 24
SIOBHAN
“We need to go down there.”
Liam stares at the hidden panel we’ve just discovered, his jaw tight with something that might be concern or might be anticipation. The opening yawns before us like a mouth, swallowing the beam of his phone’s flashlight.
“Your father didn’t build a wine cellar, Siobhan.” His voice carries a warning. “Whatever’s down there, it’s not going to be antique bottles and dusty furniture.”
“I know.” The certainty settles in my chest like a stone. “That’s why we have to look.”
I’ve spent years running from this world, pretending I could build something clean and separate from the Kelly legacy. But standing here, looking into the darkness my father carved beneath my gallery, I finally understand the truth I’ve been avoiding.
There is no separation. There never was.
Whatever’s hidden beneath my feet could be the key to everything.
Liam shifts forward, his presence suddenly occupying the air between us like a change in atmospheric pressure. “Once we go down there, there’s no pretending anymore. No going back to your life as you know it.”
“There’s no going back anyway.” The words taste bitter but true. “They’ve made sure of that when they shot out my window with the intention of putting a bullet between my eyes.”
He studies my face for a long moment, those winter-sea eyes searching for something. “Are you ready for what we might find?”
Am I? Ready to learn exactly how deep my father’s world goes, how thoroughly it’s infected everything I thought was mine? Ready to discover whether the man I’m falling for is leading me into salvation or destruction?
“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m going anyway.”
Liam goes first, his flashlight beam dancing ahead of us as we descend into cool, earth-scented darkness down a ladder that feels sturdy but is plunging me into darkness.
I count rungs to keep my mind occupied—fifteen, twenty, twenty-five—fighting the claustrophobic sense that we’re descending into something that will change everything.
My feet hit concrete sooner than expected. The space around us feels larger than it should, the flashlight beam revealing glimpses of walls that stretch further than any basement has a right to go.
“Jesus,” Liam breathes, sweeping the light in a wider arc.
The basement isn’t a basement. It’s an excavation.
The space has been carved out of the earth, extending in multiple directions from where we stand. Support beams mark regular intervals, and I can make out the shapes of equipment, tables, and workbenches scattered throughout the underground chamber.
“How long has this been here?” I whisper, though there’s no one to overhear us.
“Years.” Liam’s voice carries a note of professional admiration. “This isn’t recent work. Your father’s planning something major.”
We move deeper into the space, our footsteps echoing strangely off concrete walls.
The flashlight beam reveals more details with each step of electrical cables running along the ceiling, ventilation shafts that must lead somewhere, and along one wall, what appears to be an opening to another passage.
“There,” I point toward a cluster of tables near the center of the space. “Let’s start there.”
The first table holds nothing but construction debris, concrete dust, bent nails, and fragments of broken tile. But the second...
“Blueprints,” Liam says, unrolling a set of architectural plans. “These are building schematics.”
I lean closer, trying to make sense of the technical drawings. Floor plans for a large building, marked with security camera locations, guard stations, and what appear to be structural weak points highlighted in red ink.
“What building is this?”
Liam’s silence stretches too long. When I look up, his face has gone carefully blank in a way that sets alarm bells ringing in my head.
“Liam.”
“It’s the Central Bank of Ireland.”
The words sink through me like ice water, pooling in my gut. I stare down at the blueprints, my fingertips going numb against the paper as the truth crystallizes. What lies beneath us isn’t some glorified closet or makeshift warehouse.
It’s a war room.
“Dad was planning to rob the national bank.” The statement comes out flat, matter of fact, though inside I’m reeling.
“Not just rob it.” Liam moves to another table and spreads out additional documents. “Look at this.”
Security schedules. Guard rotation patterns. Technical specifications for alarm systems. Detailed notes about something called the Digital Currency Storage Facility.
“They’re storing cryptocurrency reserves here now,” Liam explains, his voice grim. “Physical servers, air-gapped from any network connection. The only way to access them is...”
“Physical infiltration.” I finish the thought, pieces clicking together in my mind. “That’s what the tunnel is for. They’re not just planning to rob the bank; they’re planning to steal the government’s digital currency reserves.”
“Billions,” Liam says quietly. “This would be the largest heist in Irish history.”
I move to the next pile of documents, hands shaking as I shuffle through financial projections, equipment lists, personnel assignments. Everything is meticulously planned, detailed down to the minute. This isn’t a desperate grab for cash, it’s a masterpiece of criminal engineering.
We move toward the opening in the far wall, leaving the blueprints scattered across the tables. The tunnel mouth is larger than I expected, reinforced with steel supports that speak to serious engineering. Our flashlight beam reveals concrete walls stretching into darkness.
We step into the tunnel, our footsteps echoing softly. The construction continues for what feels like hundreds of meters. This isn’t just a basement extension, it’s a major excavation project stretching under central Dublin.
The tunnel branches ahead, splitting in three directions. Before we can decide which way to go, a sound freezes us both. It’s the distant clang of metal on metal, coming from behind us.
“Someone else is down here,” Liam mutters, killing his flashlight immediately.
We press ourselves against the tunnel wall, listening to careful footsteps moving through the main chamber. A light appears in the distance. It’s not the weak glow of a phone light, but the steady beam of a proper flashlight, someone who knows their way around.
“Back toward the entrance,” I whisper. “We need to see who it is.”
Liam gives me a fierce glare, but he knows by now I’ll go, and he can’t stop me.
We creep back along the tunnel wall, staying in the shadows as we approach the main chamber. The light is moving methodically from table to table, and I can hear the soft rustle of papers being handled.
At the tunnel entrance, I risk a look around the corner, with Liam looming over me.
Chris stands at the blueprint table, his phone held up. He’s photographing everything. The bank schematics, the security schedules, the equipment lists. Working quickly but methodically.
“Fuck,” I breathe, so quietly that Liam has to lean in to hear me.
Chris moves to the next table, continuing his documentation. He knows exactly what he’s looking for, exactly what’s valuable.
I look over my shoulder at Liam. His face is grim. He sees what I see, and that’s my father’s heir apparent engaging in activity that looks fucking suspicious at best. At worst, he is betraying my dad.
A loyalty that I have never felt for my father before kicks me in the ass, and I grip my gun tighter, lifting it ready to confront Chris, but Liam quietly slaps his hand to it, lowering it with a shake of his head.
More noise reaches us, of someone entering the tunnels, and Chris quickly snaps off his phone and shoves it in his pocket.
Liam and I exchange another look. Chris is definitely up to no good.
We stand there in the shadows of the tunnel and watch as a group of men come storming into the room where Chris is standing.
“Evening, fellas,” Chris starts, but Declan Murphy, my dad’s enforcer, interrupts him.
“Access has been compromised from the gallery. Where is she?”
“Siobhan,” Chris says carefully. He knows I’m down here. He knows he’s busted.
“Run,” Liam breathes in my ear and grabs my hand, pulling me back.
I shake my head. I want to confront Chris, I want Declan to find out what my cousin is doing.
Liam’s grip tightens, a silent, unyielding command.
He doesn’t care about my father’s enforcer or my cousin’s betrayal.
He cares about the three armed men between us and the only exit we know about. He cares about survival.
“She’s with O’Neill,” Chris’s voice echoes in the chamber, laced with a false urgency that makes my skin crawl. “She must have found this place. They came for the plans. She’s a traitor.”
He’s already spinning the story, painting me as the traitor, the thief. Declan will believe him. He has to. Loyalty to the Kelly name comes before anything, and right now, Chris is the one standing in the light.
Liam yanks me deeper into the tunnel, his body shielding mine as he pulls his own weapon. He doesn’t say a word, but the message is clear. This is not the time. This is not the place.
My rage is a hot stone in my throat. I want to scream Chris’s treachery to the concrete walls. I want to watch Declan’s loyalty shatter.
But Liam is right. This isn’t a courtroom; it’s a kill box.
He points down one of the branching tunnels. It’s a gamble, a blind leap into the unknown earth beneath Dublin.
I give one last look back at the light, at the silhouette of my cousin selling me out to save himself.
Then I turn and follow Liam into the blackness, leaving the fight behind for now.
But it’s not over. I’ll make sure he pays.