Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
freddie
The first shot comes at exactly nine-thirty.
I'm positioned on the second floor of Henry's house, rifle ready, watching the grounds through night vision. Maverick's voice crackles through my earpiece.
"Movement on the north wall. Six men, armed, scaling the fence."
"Copy that. South side's clear."
"Emmanuel, what's your position?"
"Kitchen. Ready to move."
The plan's simple. Let Trace's men breach the perimeter, get them inside where we control the terrain, then cut them down. Sullivan disabled the real security system an hour ago and replaced it with our own. As far as Trace knows, we're sitting ducks.
He's wrong.
"Here they come," Stephen says. "Front entrance. Four men with breaching charges."
The explosion rattles the windows. Smoke billows through the front hall as armed figures pour through the gap. Professional, coordinated, exactly what Sullivan promised.
But something feels off. These men are moving too cautiously, too methodically. Like they're expecting resistance.
"Taking fire," Maverick reports from the east wing. "Three down, more coming."
I look down my rifle and pick my targets. The first man drops with a bullet through his chest. The second spins and falls, clutching his shoulder. The third dives for cover behind Henry's expensive furniture.
The Gallaghers are holding their positions, giving as good as they get. Denis has turned the library into a killing ground. Malcolm's got the dining room locked down. Danny's covering the stairs.
But where's the main assault? Sullivan said Trace would bring twelve men, hit us with everything he had. This feels like a probing attack, not the all-out war we were expecting.
"Movement in the garden," Emmanuel calls out. "Two more coming through the greenhouse."
I shift position, tracking the targets through my scope. Easy shots, both of them. They drop without firing a round.
"That's eight down," Stephen says. "Where are the rest?"
Good question. We've been fighting for ten minutes, and it's been almost too easy. These men are trained, but they're not Trace's best. They're expendable.
Which means this is a distraction.
"Fuck," I breathe into my mic. "This isn't the real attack."
"What?"
"This is a diversion. Trace isn't here."
The realization hits like a punch to the gut. While we're fighting these disposable soldiers, Trace is somewhere else. Doing something else.
Going after Alastríona.
"Stephen, we need to—"
"Front entrance clear," Denis reports. "Last two just went down."
"East wing secure," Maverick adds.
Silence falls over the house. Twelve men down, not one of them Trace Harrington or any of his lieutenants. The attack we've been planning for is over, and it was nothing but smoke and mirrors.
"Regrouping in Henry's office," Stephen says. "All units converge."
I make my way downstairs, stepping over bodies and broken glass. The house looks like a war zone, but structurally it's fine. Cosmetic damage, nothing more.
In Henry's office, the family's gathering. Denis with blood on his shirt that isn't his. Malcolm reloading his pistol with practiced efficiency. Danny checking his weapon like he's expecting another wave.
Henry's behind his desk, looking older than his years but unharmed. "Anyone hurt?"
"Few scratches," Denis says. "Nothing serious."
"Good. Now someone explain to me why Trace Harrington sent twelve amateur soldiers to die in my house."
"Because he wasn't trying to kill us," I say. "He was trying to get us all in one place."
"While he goes after Alastríona," Stephen adds grimly.
Henry's face goes white. "She's at your house. With Jessica."
"She was. But if Trace knows about this attack, he knows where she really is."
My phone's already in my hand, dialing Alastríona’s number. It rings once, twice, three times.
No answer.
"Fuck."
Maverick's face is stone. "It’s almost an hour to get to Stephen’s."
Stephen’s lips are set in a grim line. "Twenty minutes if we break every traffic law in Dublin."
Mav nods. "Then we break them."
The door opens before we can move. Marcus walks in, looking like he's just stepped out of a boardroom instead of surviving a firefight.
"Thank God you're all safe," he says, but there's something wrong with his voice. Something that doesn't match the relief on his face.
"Where have you been?" Denis asks.
"Checking the perimeter. Making sure they didn't leave any surprises."
"For an hour?"
"I was being thorough."
Henry's studying his oldest friend with new eyes. "You weren't in position when the attack started."
"I was securing the backup exit routes. Like we discussed."
"We never discussed backup exit routes."
Silence stretches between them as Marcus realizes his mistake, sees it in our faces. His hand moves toward his jacket, but Danny's faster.
"Don't."
Danny's gun is pressed against Marcus' temple before the older man can blink. "Hands where I can see them."
"This is ridiculous. I'm not—"
"You're not what? Not the mole who's been feeding information to Trace for months?"
Marcus' face crumbles. Forty years of loyalty dissolving in a moment of truth.
"Danny," Henry says quietly. "Take him downstairs."
The basement of Henry's house isn't designed for interrogation, but it works. Concrete walls, single light bulb, metal chair bolted to the floor. Danny secures Marcus with zip ties while I check my phone again.
Still no answer from Stephen's house. Stephen and Maverick are on their way with Makenna and a few of Henry's men. They'll make sure they're safe.
"Start talking," Danny says, settling into a chair across from Marcus. "How long have you been working for Trace?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Wrong answer."
Danny's fist connects with Marcus' jaw, snapping his head to the side. Blood spatters the concrete floor.
"Let's try again. How long?"
"Six months," Marcus gasps. "Since last October."
"Why?"
"Because Henry's lost his edge. Because this family's dying under his leadership."
Another punch, this one to his ribs. Marcus doubles over, wheezing.
"That's not good enough," I say, moving closer. "People are dead because of you. Good people. Jer's dead because of you."
"Jer was a relic. You all are. This world's changing and Henry refuses to see it."
"So you decided to help it along?"
"I decided to back the winning horse."
Danny hits him again, harder this time. Marcus' nose explodes in a spray of blood.
"Where's Trace?" I ask.
"I don't know."
"Bullshit."
"I swear, I don't know. We never met face to face. Everything was through intermediaries."
"What about tonight? What was the real plan?"
Marcus spits blood and tries to straighten up. "Get you all here. Make you think you'd won. While Trace takes care of the real business."
"Which is?"
"The girl. Everything's about the girl."
My hands clench into fists. "Where is he taking her?"
"I don't know. That wasn't my part of the operation."
Danny stands, pulling a knife from his belt. The blade glints in the harsh light. "Your part's about to get very unpleasant."
"Wait," Marcus says quickly. "There's something else. Something you need to know."
"What?"
"I'm not the only one. There are others. Men who've lost faith in Henry's leadership."
"How many others?"
"I don't know. We were kept separate, compartmentalized. But enough. Enough to matter."
The knife slides between Marcus' fingers, just deep enough to draw blood. He screams.
"Names," Danny says.
"I can't. I don't know their identities."
"Guess."
Another cut, deeper this time. Marcus is sobbing now, forty years of tough guy facade cracking under the pressure.
"Please. I'll tell you everything I know, but I can't give you what I don't have."
"What do you have?" I ask.
"Communication protocols. Dead drops. Phone numbers."
"That's a start."
Danny works methodically, professionally. Each cut is calculated to maximize pain without causing permanent damage. Yet. Marcus talks between screams, giving us what little he knows.
Trace has been planning this for over a year. The attacks on our people, the systematic dismantling of our operations, all of it designed to weaken Henry's position within the family. To convince key people that new leadership was needed.
"How many have turned?" I ask.
"I don't know," Marcus gasps. "Could be five, could be fifty. Trace kept us all in the dark."
"Security protocols?"
"Changed monthly. I only knew what I needed to know for each operation."
"Safe houses?"
"Three that I knew about. All compromised now."
Danny makes another cut, this one along Marcus' forearm. The old man's scream echoes off the concrete walls.
"Phone records?"
"Burner phones. Destroyed after each use."
"Money trail?"
"Cash only. Small amounts, nothing traceable."
We're getting details, but nothing that helps us find Trace. Nothing that tells us where he's taken Alastríona.
"Think," I say, getting in Marcus' face. "Where would he take her? What's his endgame?"
"He wants to break Henry. Wants to prove that the old man can't protect his own family."
"And then?"
"Then he kills her. Slowly. And he makes Henry watch."
Rage builds in my chest, cold and focused. This bastard has been planning Alastríona's torture and murder for months. He’s been sitting at Henry's table, pretending to be family, while plotting the destruction of everything Henry built.
"Where?" I ask again.
"I swear to God, I don't know."
Danny's knife finds another spot, this time between Marcus' ribs. Not deep enough to hit organs, but deep enough to make him think he's dying.
"Last chance," Danny says. "Before I start cutting things you'll really miss."
"Please," Marcus sobs. "I've told you everything. There's nothing else."
He's telling the truth, I realize. Whatever else Marcus is, he's not strong enough to hold out under this kind of pressure. If he knew where Trace was, he'd have told us by now.
Which means we're running out of time and options.