CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
conall
The night air was heavy with tension, the salty tang of the harbor mixing with the distant hum of machinery. I crouched behind a stack of shipping containers, adjusting the cuff of my jacket so it rested just right against my wrist. The urge to straighten the seam gnawed at me, but I forced myself to focus. My dark clothing blended seamlessly into the shadows as the soft murmur of voices crackled through my earpiece, anchoring me to the moment.
“Sean, are you in position?”
I whispered, ensuring my voice remained low but firm.
There was a brief pause, followed by Sean’s gruff reply. “Aye, boss. Northeast corner. The blind spot is clear. The guards are switching now.”
I counted my breaths—four in, hold, three out. The rhythm steadied me as I flicked my gaze to the dock checkpoint, where two guards stood idly, smoking. Beside me, Paddy nudged my shoulder, disrupting my carefully maintained balance.
“I suggest we eliminate them quietly. Sean enjoys a good chokehold,”
Paddy joked.
I exhaled sharply and adjusted my stance back to center. “Focus, Paddy.”
Even in the dim light, I caught his smirk. His irreverence was a constant thorn in my side—aggravating during meetings but strangely grounding in moments like this.
“Right,”
he whispered back. “Focus. Let’s hope we don’t get our arses handed to us, eh?”
“Cut the chatter,”
Sean snapped through the earpiece. “Two more coming up from the south pier. They’re armed.”
I pressed my thumb and forefinger together, a small grounding habit I couldn’t shake, before signaling to Brody and Fergus. Brody raised a hand in acknowledgment, the moonlight reflecting off the gleam of his knife.
The plan was straightforward: strike quickly, hit hard, and make a clean getaway. However, straightforward didn’t mean safe. My thoughts drifted to Francesca back at the apartment, likely rearranging the plants she had insisted on buying. Again. I had counted four changes yesterday—one moved just an inch to the left, suggesting she probably adjusted it again today. That thought anchored me. She had to work today, and it drove me mad knowing she was out socializing with people who could potentially harm her. Sure, she had Finn for protection, but I had monitored her tracker all day, fixated on the flashing light.
“Paddy, you’re with me. Sean, eliminate the guards at the blind spot. Brody, Fergus, secure the south pier,”
I commanded.
A chorus of affirmatives buzzed in my ears.
We moved as one, shadows slipping through the maze of containers. My heart thudded steadily, and my focus narrowed to the precise angles and spacing between the crates. As we approached the main shipment area, the hum of conversation grew louder. I peered around the corner and spotted three men unloading crates.
Paddy leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “I suggest we scare the shite out of ’em. Make it memorable.”
“Subtlety, Paddy.”
I adjusted my grip on the gun, flexing my fingers twice before settling them.
Sean’s voice interrupted. “Guards down. The blind spot is ours.”
“Good. Maintain your position. We’re moving in,” I said.
Paddy moved ahead, surprisingly silent for someone who never stopped talking. I followed, each step deliberate. The dockworkers stayed oblivious until Paddy stepped into the light.
“Evening, lads,”
he chirped, gun leveled. “I hate to interrupt, but we’ll take this shipment off your hands.”
One of the men lunged for a weapon, but I was quicker. A single shot rang out, echoing across the docks. The man crumpled. The other two froze, their hands raised.
“Smart choice,”
I remarked icily, my grip tightening then loosening. “Tie them up.”
As Paddy secured the dockworkers, Sean and his team arrived, their presence strong and imposing.
“Crates are filled with AKs,”
Sean reported, prying one open. “It seems your intel was correct.”
“Of course it was,”
I replied, already cataloging the next steps in my mind and rearranging them like a puzzle until everything fit. “Fergus, signal the boats. We need to act quickly.”
“On it,”
Fergus replied, disappearing into the shadows.
The roar of engines springing to life shattered the relative silence. I turned to Sean. “How’s the south pier?”
“Clear for now, but we have about ten minutes until the next patrol,” he said.
Paddy, finishing up with the dockworkers, strolled over. “This went more smoothly than I expected. Almost boring, really.”
“Don’t jinx it,”
I muttered, rolling my shoulders once and then again until they settled comfortably. My gaze swept the perimeter.
As the final crate was loaded onto the waiting boats, Brody’s voice crackled through the earpiece. “We have movement near the main gate. Looks like reinforcements.”
“Time to go,”
I said sharply. “Sean, cover our retreat. Paddy, you’re with me.”
We moved swiftly, the boats drifting away just as shouts erupted in the distance. I boarded the final boat, my pulse steady despite the chaos behind us.
Sean jumped in after me and tossed his weapon into the hold. “That was fun.”
“Define fun,”
I mumbled, adjusting my sleeves as I leaned against the cool metal of the boat.
Paddy reclined on the bench, appearing far too relaxed. “I told you it would be fine. And hey, we have the guns, don’t we?”
I shook my head, feeling the adrenaline finally ebb. The mission had been successful, but the war was far from over. As the boat sped away, I allowed myself a moment of quiet triumph.
“Great job tonight,”
I said, my voice rising above the sound of the water against the hull.
Sean smirked. “It always is when I’m involved.”
Paddy snorted. “Don’t let it go to your head, Sean. We all know I’m the real mastermind behind this operation.”
I sighed, rubbing the pad of my thumb against my forefinger. “God, help me.”
This marked our fifth successful smash-and-grab. Things were looking up. Old man Vallone must be seething.
**
The boat glided through the water like a blade, while the docks receded into the distance behind us. The cargo was secure, and the team was in high spirits, but I couldn’t let my guard down yet. Success tonight meant one thing—retaliation tomorrow.
As we approached the rendezvous point, I ran a hand through my hair, smoothing the strands dampened by the sea air. My fingers lingered, ensuring that no strand was out of place. The compulsion tugged at me, but I forced my hand down, curling it into a fist against my thigh.
Maxim and Angelo were expecting me at Angelo’s club, a swanky, dimly lit venue in the Bronx where deals were forged and the music blared too loudly. Our club, Fortune, had been burned down, and until Angelo rebuilt it, we had to make do—which meant I had to endure the grating pulse of techno music that made my ears itch.
As we docked, Sean glanced at me and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want one of us to come with you?”
“I’ll be fine,”
I said, stepping off the boat. If I needed security to go to Angelo’s club, then I was in trouble. My foot landed on the dock, and I adjusted the cuff of my jacket, ensuring both sleeves were perfectly even before I took another step. “You and Paddy take the shipment to the warehouse. Make sure no one has followed.”
Sean nodded, his usual cocky smirk replaced by a more serious expression. “Be careful. If Angelo is involved, things are bound to get messy.”
Sean wasn’t particularly fond of Francesca’s brother. In Sean’s view, Angelo usually fought first and strategized second.
“When aren’t they?”
I replied, giving his shoulder a light slap before heading to the waiting car. As I slid into the backseat, I tapped my fingers against my thigh.
The drive to Angelo’s club was quick, and the streets were quieter than usual. The city never really slept, but this was the time when the underworld came alive. I stepped out of the car, adjusted my sleeves again, and took a measured breath before heading inside. The thrum of bass greeted me, a muffled heartbeat escaping through the club’s walls.
Mirage was an upscale venue where high-rollers mingled in tailored suits. Business was conducted in the private upstairs rooms. The bouncer at the door gave me a once-over before stepping aside, recognizing me immediately. I took a moment to straighten my tie, centering the knot just right before stepping in. The weight of unevenness clawed at me if I didn’t.
Inside, the air was thick with cigar smoke and rich cologne. Chandeliers cast a golden glow over the polished mahogany bar, where patrons sipped drinks that cost more than most people’s rent. Before approaching the rear staircase, I kept to the left as I walked.
Angelo’s men didn’t stop me, though their eyes followed my every move. I could feel it—like a smudge on my skin. I resisted the urge to smooth my sleeves again, count my steps, or double back to ensure the door had fully closed behind me. Focus.
When I entered the lounge, Maxim was already seated, his broad frame draped casually in a tailored suit. Angelo stood by the bar, pouring himself a drink with the air of someone who owned the world—or at least a piece of it.
“Conall,”
Maxim greeted, a rare smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “I hear tonight was a success.”
“Better than expected,”
I replied, sitting across from him. Reaching for the glass of whiskey, I set it down so that it aligned perfectly with the edge of the table before continuing. “The shipment is secure. Vallone’s men didn’t even see us coming.”
Angelo turned, glass in hand, and offered me a smirk. “That’s because Vallone has become sloppy. He’s too comfortable and getting old.”
“Not anymore,”
I said, leaning back. The table’s sharp corners pressed unevenly against my forearms, and it took all my willpower not to adjust my posture. “We’ve targeted three of his operations in the past month. Tonight’s raid was the final blow. He’s bleeding, and he knows it.”
Maxim’s expression darkened. “Vallone will be even angrier now. He’ll lash out. A wounded animal is dangerous.”
“Let him,”
I said, my voice cold. “We’ll be ready.”
Angelo chuckled, his voice low and smooth. “I admire your confidence, Conall. But don’t underestimate him. Vallone didn’t build his empire by playing fair.”
“That’s why we don’t play fair, either,”
I countered, rubbing the pad of my thumb against the tip of my forefinger—something to ward off the static.
Maxim nodded. “What’s our next move?”
“Consolidate,”
I said. “Make sure the shipment is distributed to our allies. The more people who benefit from Vallone’s losses, the more difficult it will be for him to regain control.”
Angelo lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Spoken like someone who’s been in this game for a while.”
I resisted the urge to adjust my glass again, but my fingers twitched at the sight of it being even slightly off-center. The conversation continued, but a part of me remained fixated on that glass, on the number of times my fingers pressed against my palm in a rhythm only I understood.
Maxim eventually redirected the conversation. “How is Francesca adapting to life with an old grump?”
“I’m a ray of sunshine. How could she not love me?”
I downed the rest of my drink to suppress the lump in my throat.
Maxim smirked. “I’d like the ladies to become acquainted now that Cora’s on this side of the country.”
I scrubbed my hand down my face and quickly smoothed my shirt, undoing the crease I had just made. Damn. He was right. I had completely neglected my sister. Again.
“You’re absolutely right, Maxim. I’ll have Francesca get in touch with her. Perhaps we can invite you all over for dinner or some shite.”
“Sounds… domestic,”
Angelo said with a smirk.
“Just you wait. Your turn will come soon,”
I shot back.
The conversation continued, yet the tension in my shoulders never fully eased. My mind was already calculating the next steps, replaying the night’s events, and searching for any loose ends. Every action had to be deliberate, and every move calculated. If I didn’t control the details, the details would control me.
And I refused to let that happen.