Chapter 33
Connor
As they pulled away, sirens blaring, the sound of wood cracking ricocheted off the barn.
We turned to see the barn collapsing in on itself, flames shooting skyward as the ancient timbers surrendered to the inferno. The explosion had clearly compromised its structural integrity as well.
“The horses,”
Mia murmured, remembering the animals stabled there.
“They’re safe,”
I assured her as her hand found mine in the darkness. “I released them earlier when Rory took you to the weapons room. They’re in the south pasture.”
I surveyed what remained of the estate—the burning ruins of the house where I’d grown up and my mother had passed away, the collapsing barn, the gardens trampled by combat boots and emergency personnel. Everything destroyed in a single night.
“Your home,”
Mia whispered, following my gaze. “I’m so sorry, Connor.”
I turned to her, taking in her soot-streaked face, the blood—some hers, some not—staining her clothes. Despite everything, she was still standing.
“It’s just a house,”
I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it. “What matters is who survived.”
Firefighters were swarming the property now, battling the blaze, though it was clear the main house was beyond saving. Police officers established a perimeter, directing the remaining clan members and staff to a triage area where EMTs assessed injuries.
A detective approached us, his expression grim as he took in our disheveled, blood-spattered appearance. “I need to ask you both some questions about what happened here.”
“Of course,”
I replied wearily. “But first, we need medical attention.” I gestured to Mia, whose stoic demeanor couldn’t quite hide her exhaustion and pain.
The detective nodded. “There’s an ambulance waiting. After you’ve been checked out, we’ll talk.”
He hesitated, then added, “I should warn you—this is going to be a complicated investigation. Multiple fatalities, extensive property damage, evidence of military-grade weapons...”
“We understand,”
I said, guiding Mia toward the waiting EMTs. “We’ll cooperate fully.”
As a paramedic examined Mia’s injuries, I stepped away to make a phone call. Our family lawyer needed to be informed immediately—this situation would require careful navigation.
“I’ve got this detective. Connor MacGallan,”
a voice called from behind me. I turned to find a woman in a dark suit approaching, her badge already extended. “Agent Winters, CSIS. I need a word.”
Canadian Security Intelligence Service—our equivalent of the CIA. This was escalating quickly.
“It’s Connor O’Brien, and I’m afraid I can’t speak without my lawyer present,”
I replied cautiously.
She smiled thinly. “I’m not here to interrogate you, Mr. O’Brien. I’m here to contain a situation.”
She glanced meaningfully at the burning mansion. “What happened here tonight involves matters of national security. My team is already working to... manage the narrative.”
I studied her carefully. “You knew about Matheson. About his operation.”
Agent Winters’ expression remained carefully neutral. “Matheson has been on our radar for some time. Unfortunately, we lacked sufficient evidence to move against him through official channels.”
“So you let him target my family?”
I demanded, anger flaring despite my exhaustion.
“We had no foreknowledge of his specific plans,”
she countered smoothly. “Though we were aware of his... interest in your father’s records.”
I glanced back at Mia, who was watching our exchange with wary eyes as a paramedic cleaned a gash on her arm. “What happens now?”
“Now,”
Agent Winters said, following my gaze, “we clean this up. The official story will be that your family estate was targeted by organized crime—retribution for your clan’s legitimate business interests. A tragic but contained incident.”
“And the truth?”
She smiled thinly. “Will remain classified. As will Matheson’s operation and the existence of his agency.”
Her eyes hardened slightly. “Including the activities of his operatives.”
The message was clear—Mia’s past would be buried along with Matheson.
“I’m offering protection, Mr. O’Brien,”
Winters continued. “For you, your family, and...” she nodded toward Mia, “your wife. A fresh start, free from the shadows of Matheson’s organization. In exchange, this incident stays contained.”
I studied her, weighing our options. “I need to discuss this with my family.”
“Of course,”
she handed me a business card. “You have twenty-four hours.”
As she walked away, Mia approached, having been released by the paramedic. “What was that about?”
“An offer,”
I replied, tucking the card into my pocket. “One we should consider carefully.”
She nodded, understanding the implications without needing details. “We should go to the hospital. Be with the others.”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her against me as we watched the remains of the house collapse in on itself, sending a shower of embers into the night sky.
“Yes,”
I agreed. “Family comes first.”
∞∞∞
Three days later, I stood beside Mia at Rory’s bedside in the ICU. Against all odds, he had survived surgery—though the doctors remained cautiously pessimistic about his prognosis. Kat hadn’t left his side, sleeping in the uncomfortable chair by his bed, holding his hand through the long nights.
Declan entered the room, his head bandaged but his steps steady. The doctors had wanted to keep him longer, but he’d insisted on being discharged, unwilling to be separated from Wren any longer.
“Any change?”
he asked quietly, his eyes fixed on Rory’s still form.
I shook my head. “Stable, but no improvement.”
Kat stirred in her chair, blinking up at us with red-rimmed eyes. “The doctor was just here,”
she said, her voice hoarse from exhaustion. “Said his vitals are stronger this morning.”
“That’s good news,”
Declan said, squeezing her shoulder gently.
She nodded, attempting a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I keep talking to him. The nurses say he might be able to hear me, even if he can’t respond yet.”
Wren entered with a tray of coffee cups, distributing them silently. The past days had aged her, worry etching new lines around her eyes. She handed me a cup, then hesitated before offering one to Mia.
“Thank you,”
Mia said quietly, accepting the peace offering for what it was.
Wren nodded, then moved to stand beside Declan, his arm automatically encircling her waist. “Any news about the investigation?”
she asked.
“It’s being handled,”
I replied, exchanging a glance with Mia. “Agent Winters has been... thorough in managing the official story.”
We had accepted CSIS’s offer the day after the attack. The alternative—trying to explain Matheson’s shadow agency, Mia’s past, and the decades-long vendetta against our family—would have been impossible without exposing secrets that could destabilize the government.
“And Lily?”
Wren asked, looking at her sister.
Mia’s expression softened. “Safe. The protection detail is still with her, though they’re keeping their distance. She doesn’t know anything yet.”
“Will you tell her?”
Kat asked, looking up from Rory’s still form.
“Eventually,”
Mia replied, uncertainty clouding her features. “When things are more stable. When I figure out how to explain... everything.”
The room fell silent save for the steady beeping of Rory’s monitors and the soft hiss of the oxygen. We had all lost so much—our home, our sense of security, nearly Rory—but we had survived. Together.
A soft knock at the door interrupted our thoughts. A nurse poked her head in. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are ending. Only one person can stay overnight.”
“That’s me,”
Kat said immediately, her tone leaving no room for argument.
We gathered our things, preparing to leave. As Wren and Declan said their goodbyes to Kat, Mia approached Rory’s bedside. She leaned down, whispering something in his ear that I couldn’t hear. When she straightened, there was a new resolve in her eyes.
Outside in the corridor, Declan pulled me aside. “I’ve been thinking about what comes next,”
he said, his voice low. “The estate will take years to rebuild, if we decide to rebuild at all.”
“Where will you and Wren go in the meantime?” I asked.
“The lake house, for now. The one I bought in Pearl Lake,”
he replied. “It’s remote, secure, and large enough for all of us while we figure out our next steps.”
“All of us?”
Mia asked quietly, her expression guarded yet hopeful.
Declan’s eyes met hers, and something passed between them—not quite forgiveness, but the beginning of understanding. “Yes,”
he said finally. “All of us. You’re family now, whether I like it or not.” The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile.
Mia nodded, accepting this tentative olive branch for what it was. “Thank you.”
Wren joined us, slipping her arm through Declan’s. “Ready to go?”
As we walked toward the hospital exit, Mia’s hand found mine, our fingers intertwining naturally. The weight of the past few days—the violence, the revelations, the losses—hung heavy around us, but there was something else too. A sense of possibility, of a future not dictated by Matheson’s shadow or clan obligations.
“What about you two?”
Wren asked as we reached the parking lot. “Will you join us at the lake house?”
I glanced at Mia, seeing the question in her eyes. “Actually,”
I said, “I think we might need some time. Just us.”
Declan nodded, understanding without needing details. “Take whatever time you need. But stay in touch. Daily updates on Rory.”
“Of course,”
I promised, embracing my brother carefully, mindful of his injuries.
Wren hugged Mia, the gesture tentative but genuine. “Take care of him,”
she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear.
“I will,”
Mia promised, returning the embrace with equal care.
As Declan and Wren drove away, Mia turned to me. “Where do we go now?”
I took her hand, leading her toward our rental car. “I have an idea.”