Chapter 12
Declan
I’m staring at the ceiling from flat on my back on my bed when Aidan barges into the room.
“What?” I ask.
“Call your dad and ask him what he knows about these Roman fuckers.”
“What makes you think he will know anything Séamus doesn’t already know?”
“Worth a try.”
I nod and pick up my phone, dialling as Aidan backs out, phone already to his ear.
He answers on the fourth ring.
“Declan.”
I get straight to it. “The Romans. Ring any bells?”
Silence.
That is answer enough.
I sit up. “Thought so.”
“What have you heard?”
“Not enough, obviously, or I wouldn’t be calling you.
” I drag a hand over my face. “Siobhán Fitzpatrick shot Whitmore. Maeve Doyle claims Siobhán killed Cillian. Séamus says the Romans are some internal cell trying to seize institutions instead of managing them. He also says Ireland is on fire, which, to be fair, sounds accurate.”
My father is quiet for a beat too long.
“Dad.”
“I know them,” he says at last.
“That sounds oddly specific.”
“It is. They are an old organisation with nefarious beginnings. The group I mentioned to you earlier… we were tasked with counter-offensive.”
That grabs my attention. “Tasked by who?”
“Séamus ó Briain.”
Why does that not surprise me?
“What are they, exactly?” I ask. “Not the dramatic mission statement. The actual thing.”
My dad exhales slowly. “A faction that came out of old structures when some men decided the traditional model was too slow, too sentimental, too bound by blood and precedent. They wanted discipline without loyalty. Profit without heritage. Influence without the burden of names.”
“So, sociopaths with a branding problem.”
“In crude terms, yes.”
“What is the counter-offensive?”
“A containment structure. Intelligence, interference, removal where necessary.”
“Removal,” I repeat.
“What do you know about Siobhán Fitzpatrick, if anything?” I ask.
“Very little. Her name surfaced twice in old traffic around Cillian and once in relation to administrative access at St. Augustine’s. Nothing we could stand over. Suspicion is not evidence.”
“Everybody keeps saying that. Is it the club motto?”
“Funny. But it’s how this world works. If everyone went around accusing everyone else of bad shit, the entire country would be banged up.”
“Okay, that’s true,” I concede. “Did you know she and Cillian were in a relationship?”
“I wouldn’t call it that. He was using her to get deeper information on the Romans.”
“Great. Did she kill him?”
“It’s likely.”
“Ever heard of Maeve Doyle?”
“Who hasn’t?”
“What do you know about her?”
“Cillian’s half-sister. He was bringing her in after she earned his trust on a personal matter. We were manoeuvring her into a position at St. Aug’s when he died.”
“For what purpose?”
“To protect Dervla Callaghan.”
“Do you trust her?”
“Implicitly.”
“Wow, that’s… a statement. Most people think she is evil incarnate.”
“That’s because most people are idiots,” my dad says. “Maeve is many things. Undisciplined at times. Bitter. Ambitious. But not indiscriminate. Once Cillian finally chose to bring her in, he had reason.”
I frown at the wall. “A glowing character reference from you.”
“Maeve was supposed to be a bridge. Cillian wanted eyes inside circles that wouldn’t respond to him directly, and that had absolutely no affiliation with Séamus, for or against. Maeve dances to the beat of her own drum.
It’s what makes her so valuable. She could move where he couldn’t without setting off every old alarm in the country. ”
“And Siobhán?”
“A breach point, apparently.” His voice hardens. “If she killed Whitmore tonight, then she’s deeper in this than I thought.”
I swing my legs off the bed and stand. “You’re sounding very calm about the fact that everyone around us keeps turning out to be a traitor.”
“Panic is for civilians.”
“Facts,” I mutter. “So what do we do about the Romans?” I ask. “Because from where I’m sitting, they’ve got dead academics, infiltrated institutions, and at least one woman with very good aim. Feels like we’re already behind.”
“You are behind,” my father says. “That’s the point of infiltration. If you can see it clearly, it’s already too late.”
“Great.”
“But it’s not unrecoverable.”
I bark out a humourless laugh. “You want to expand on that, or keep speaking in ominous little slogans?”
He ignores that. “Listen carefully. The Romans don’t only move through ideology. They move through access. Systems. Admin. Transport. Accounts. They like people who can open doors quietly and reroute information without anyone noticing until after the damage is done.”
“So Siobhán then.”
“Yes.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Then St. Augustine’s is crawling with it.”
“Almost certainly.”
“And Dervla just put herself on the Board in the middle of all that.”
“The best place to destroy is from within.”
“So what are you saying? She calls a Board meeting…” I trail off because I already know the answer to that. There are seven seats, six without counting hers. We think we can trust two of them. The other four are anyone’s guess. “What about Kevin Gallagher and Roisin Brennan?”
“What about them?”
“Can we trust them?”
“Yes, both were loyal to Cillian.”
“That’s not the same as can,” I say.
“Nothing is,” my father replies. “But if you want men and women in that room who won’t sell her for advantage, those two are as close as you will get.”
I pace once across the room and back. Rain needles the window. The house feels too still for the amount of shit moving underneath it.
“What aren’t you saying?” I ask.
A pause.
“That the Romans won’t stop at pressure. If Dervla is where Cillian intended her to be, they will come at her through narrative first, then proximity, then blood.”
I go still. “Explain.”
“They will try to define her before she defines herself. Mafia granddaughter. Violent opportunist. Unstable heir. Then they will isolate her from allies. Then they will remove whatever remains.”
Cold anger settles into my bones, clean and hard. “Us?”
“Possibly. If she is staying on campus, she needs structure around her. Not just muscle. Process. Do not let her move on instinct if instinct involves getting herself killed. She needs men around her who can distinguish courage from bait. She is carrying grief, power, and a target at the same time. That makes people predictable in very specific ways.”
“She’s not predictable.”
“Everyone is, eventually.”
That pisses me off more than it should.
“Not her.”
He goes quiet for a beat.
“Good. Keep thinking that. It will make you careful.”
I rub my eyes. “Anything useful, or are we done with philosophy for the night?”
“Yes. Two things. First, find out who handled Siobhán’s hiring. Not just who signed the form. Who pushed it through. Second, check any maintenance or admin routes in and out of St. Augustine’s. The Romans love infrastructure because nobody glamorous ever notices it until it kills them.”
“Dark. Helpful, but dark.”
“That is why you called me.”
“True.” I pause.
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“You said you were all tasked with counter-offensive by Séamus. What was the actual plan if things went bad?”
His answer comes without hesitation this time. “Keep the heir alive long enough to become unavoidable.”
For a second, all I hear is the rain and my own breathing. “Right,” I say quietly. “So literally everyone has been building a fucking throne and hoping she’d sit in it.”
“Something like that.”
“And nobody thought to tell her.”
“No. Because if she arrived knowing she was meant to rule, she’d either reject it or paint a target on herself before the foundations were ready.”
I laugh once, harsh as hell. “Too late on that second one.”
“Yes,” he says. “That part has accelerated. Keep your temper.”
“I always do.”
“I mean it. The next phase will provoke impulsive men first. Séamus has initiated the first layer of Cillian’s burn-it-all-down plan.
The second layer is… less polite. The sooner Dervla can get inside St. Aug’s the better.
And, before you ask, by in I mean, clearing house.
However, she wants to do that. Whitmore is gone, it’s open season. ” He hangs up.
“Open season,” I mutter. “Sounds fun.”
I pocket my phone and head downstairs to tell Cormac and Aidan everything I’ve learned and to see if Aidan has anything to add before we wake Dervla and tell her she is going in all guns blazing. Pretty sure she will enjoy that.