CHAPTER TEN
Aoife
THE HOSPITAL SMELLS like antiseptic.
The sharp chemical scent can't quite cover the underlying odor of illness. William's security team flanks me as I enterthe main entrance. Two men in dark suits who haven't spoken since we left the Murphy estate.
I hate that I need them.
The woman at the reception desk looks up as we approach. Middle-aged, tired eyes, a name tag that reads "Siobhan." She sees the men behind me, and her expression shifts. She knows what we are. Who we are.
"Dillon O'Rourke," I say quietly. "I'm his daughter."
She doesn't look him up. Doesn't need to. Everyone knows who Dillon O'Rourke is.
"Fourth floor, ICU." Her voice is careful. Neutral.
We move toward the elevators. I focus on the details as we walk. Fluorescent lights overhead, too bright, buzzing faintly. Linoleum floors, scuffed and worn despite someone's best efforts to keep them clean. A waiting area to my left with hard plastic chairs in faded blue.
Details. Safe details. Things I can catalog and control.
My heart is racing, but I focus on the details.
The elevator arrives with a soft chime. We step inside. The doors close.
I watch the numbers climb. One. Two. Three. Four.
The doors open.
The ICU is quieter than the lobby. Hushed voices. Steady beeping from machines. The shuffle of nurses' shoes on linoleum. Everything muted, like the world is holding its breath.
A nurse approaches. She's young with a kind face, but exhaustion shows in the shadows under her eyes. "Miss O'Rourke?"
"Yes."
"Your brother arrived a few minutes ago. He's in the waiting area." She glances at my security detail. "Only immediate family in the ICU. Two visitors at a time."
He must have driven like a maniac to get here before me. I can picture it. Reilan with his foot to the floor, hands tight on the wheel, cursing William Murphy's name the entire way.
I turn to the guards. "Wait here."
They nod.
I follow the nurse down a corridor. White walls. More fluorescent lights. Doors with small windows, glimpses of people in beds, families keeping vigil.
Reilan stands when he sees me. His face is tight, controlled, but I can see the anger simmering beneath.
"Aoife."
"Reilan."
I turn to the nurse. "Has there been any change?"
"The doctor will be with you shortly to discuss his condition." She gestures to a private room at the end of the hall.
"Thank you," I manage.
She leaves us alone.
Reilan doesn't move toward Father's room. Just stands there, looking at me with an expression I can't quite read.
"What?" I ask finally.
"You took his orders." His voice is low. Controlled. "William Murphy gave you orders, and you followed them like some obedient—"
"Don't." I cut him off. "Don't finish that sentence."
"He had no right to dictate how you see your own father."
"He had every right." The words taste bitter. "I'm going to be his wife. That gives him rights whether we like it or not."
"So you're just going to roll over? Let him control you?"
"I'm going to be strategic." I keep my voice even. "There's a difference."
Reilan's jaw works. "Father would be disappointed."
"Father is the one who arranged this marriage." The anger flares hot and quick. "Father is the one who made me Murphy property. So don't tell me what he'd think."
We stare at each other. Brother and sister. Allies who suddenly feel like opponents.
"I'm sorry." Reilan exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "I just...I don't like seeing you take orders from him."
"I don't like giving him the satisfaction." I adjust my purse on my shoulder. "But I also don't like being an easy target. His security makes sense, even if his attitude doesn't."
Reilan nods slowly. "You're right. I know you're right. I just..."
"I know."
We stand in the hallway for another moment. Then Reilan gestures toward Father's room.
"Ready?"
No. I'm not ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready to see my father like this.
But I nod anyway.
The room is small. One bed. One chair. Machines everywhere, their screens glowing green and blue, numbers scrolling, lines tracking heartbeat, and blood pressure and oxygen levels.
Father lies in the center of it all.
He looks smaller than I remember. Paler. The strong man who built our family from nothing, who commanded respect with a look, who never showed weakness, reduced to this. Tubes in his arms. A bandage wrapped around his throat where the bullet tore through.
My breath catches.
Reilan's hand finds my shoulder.
I force myself to move closer. To look at him properly.
His face is gray. Stubble covers his jaw, making him look older, rougher. His hands rest on top of the thin hospital blanket, and I can see how still they are. Father's hands are never still. Always moving, gesturing, gripping whiskey glasses or contract pens or my mother's hand before she died.
Now they're just...still.
I sink into the chair beside the bed. The plastic creaks under my weight.
"Father," I say quietly. Not expecting an answer. Just needing to say it.
The machines beep in response, steady and rhythmic.
Reilan stands beside me. We're both quiet for a long moment, just listening to the sound of Father breathing.
Then Reilan breaks the silence.
"We found out who's coordinating the attacks." He keeps his voice low. "Viktor Tarasov."
The name means nothing to me. I wait for him to continue.
Reilan moves closer. "He's Russian Bratva. And he's tied to the Murphys."
Horror floods through me. "You think the Murphys had a hand in this? In shooting Father?"
"No." Reilan shakes his head quickly. "Not the Murphys. But Jason Murphy, William's brother. His wife is Kira Tarasova. Viktor Tarasov is her uncle."
I process that. Jason Murphy married into a Russian Bratva family.
"Our people intercepted phone communications," Reilan continues."Russian conversations about the attack on Father. Viktor Tarasov's name kept coming up. We traced the calls back to Eastern Europe."
I lean back in the chair, processing. A Russian coordinating attacks against Irish families.
"Worse than that." Reilan's voice drops even lower. "He has inside intelligence. Someone close to us is feeding him information."
"A mole."
"A mole," Reilan confirms. "Someone who knew Father would be at that house last night. Someone in our inner circle who knows our movements, our meetings. The attack timing is too precise. It's not luck. It's coordination."
My mind races. Who? Who would betray us like this?
"Do we know who it is?"
"Not yet. But it's someone trusted." Reilan's voice drops even lower. "Someone in one of the families."
Murphy. O'Rourke. O'Reagan. O'Hanlon. The Irish families.
One of us is betraying the others.
I look at Father lying in that hospital bed, unconscious and vulnerable, nearly killed by a coordinated attack that someone on the inside made possible.
"How many people know about this?"
"Just our intelligence team. And now you." Reilan watches me carefully. "Father would want us to keep this quiet. Use it as leverage. Let the Murphys fumble in the dark while we stay ahead."
It's exactly what Father would do. Strategic and cold.
Keep the advantage. Survive.
But I think about William standing in that bedroom, asking how I am. Apologizing for leaving me alone. Showing me vulnerability before hardening back into the man everyone expects him to be.
I think about the mole. About someone close to all of us, feeding information to Viktor Tarasov, planning our destruction from the inside.
"We can't keep this to ourselves," I say.
Reilan stares at me. "What?"
"We need to tell the Murphys. Tell William."
"Aoife…"
"Someone is betraying all of us, Reilan. Not just the O'Rourkes. The Murphys, the O'Reagans, everyone. If we don't share intelligence, if we don't actually work together, Volkov picks us off one by one."
"Or we keep the advantage, and we're the ones who survive."
"That's not survival." I meet my brother's eyes. "That's just watching everyone else die first."
Reilan is quiet for a long moment. "You sound like Mother."
The words sting. Mother, who died from the weight of this life. Who couldn't handle the violence and fear and constant threat.
"Maybe that's not a bad thing," I say quietly.
"She died, Aoife."
"She died because she had no power. No voice. No way to change anything." I look at Father in that hospital bed. "I have a voice. And I'm choosing to use it."
Reilan is quiet for a long moment. The machines beep. Father breathes.
Then my brother sighs. "You're going to tell William Murphy about Viktor Tarasov and the mole."
"Yes."
"Even though it gives away our advantage."
"It's not an advantage if we all die anyway."
"Father is going to be furious when he wakes up."
"Then I'll deal with Father when he wakes up." I stand, smoothing down my jacket. "Right now, I need to get back to the Murphy estate."
"Why?" Reilan asks. "What's the rush?"
"Because there's a mole. Because someone we trust is feeding Viktor Tarasov everything he needs to destroy us." I look down at Father one more time. At the bandage on his throat. At how close we came to losing him. "And because William needs to know what he's up against."
Reilan studies my face. "You like him."
"I barely know him."
"That's not what I said."
I don't answer. Can't answer. Because I don't know what I feel about William Murphy.
Anger? Yes. Frustration? Absolutely. But there's something else there too.
Something that flickered to life when he asked how I was.
When he apologized. When he looked at me in that towel, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"It doesn't matter what I feel," I say instead. "This is about strategy. About survival."
"If you say so."
I head toward the door, then stop. Look back at Reilan.
"Stay with him. Make sure the hospital staff knows to contact you immediately if anything changes."
"I will."
"And Reilan?" I pause. "Thank you. For bringing me the clothes. For the intelligence. For everything."
My brother's expression softens. "You're my sister. I'd burn the world down for you."
"I know." I manage a small smile. "Just try not to burn down the Murphys before I get a chance to work with them."
"No promises."
I leave Father's room and walk back down the corridor. The same nurse from earlier approaches, apologetic.
"I'm sorry for the delay. The doctor was called to an emergency, but he'll be with you shortly if you'd like to wait."
"I need to leave," I say. "My brother will stay. He can speak with the doctor."
She nods and steps aside.
William's security team falls into step behind me as I reach the ICU entrance.
We ride the elevator down in silence. Walk through the lobby. Push through the main doors into the late afternoon air.
A black SUV waits at the curb, engine running. One of the guards opens the door for me.
I slide into the back seat. The door closes. The vehicle pulls away from the hospital.
I watch the building shrink in the side mirror. Father is back there, unconscious but healing.
For now.
I'm going to walk back into the Murphy estate and tell William everything. About Viktor Tarasov. About the mole.
And I'm going to hope that the man who looked at me with hunger and fear and something close to vulnerability will listen.
That he'll choose alliance over suspicion.
That together, we might actually survive this.
The SUV turns onto the road leading to the Murphy estate. Trees line the drive, their branches creating shadows that flicker across the windshield. Beautiful and peaceful. Deceptive.
Just like everything else in this world.
I straighten my jacket. Check my reflection in the window. I look composed. Controlled. Like a woman who knows exactly what she's doing.
I hope it's convincing.
Because inside, I'm terrified.
Terrified of Viktor Tarasov and his plans. Terrified of the mole hiding among us. Terrified of what happens if I'm wrong about William.
But more terrified of what happens if I do nothing.
The gates to the Murphy estate come into view, iron and imposing.
The SUV slows. The gates open.
We drive through.
I'm going back into the lion's den. Back to William Murphy and his fractured family and his demons.
But this time, I'm not going empty-handed.
This time, I have information. Power. A choice to make.
And I'm choosing alliance.
Even if it costs me everything.