Chapter 13 #2
"One more question," I say. "How does Trace communicate with his people? Real-time, operational stuff."
"Encrypted phones. Military grade. He changes the frequencies daily."
"You have one?"
"Upstairs. In my office safe."
"Combination?"
"Henry's birthday. Month, day, year."
Of course. Even in betrayal, Marcus couldn't completely let go of the man who'd been like a father to him.
I turn to leave, but Marcus calls out.
"Wait. There's something else."
"What?"
"Trace isn't just after the girl. This whole war, everything he's done—it's personal."
"Personal how?"
"His wife. Ava. He blames this family for her death."
"Ava died because she was playing both sides. He shot her. He killed her."
"Try telling him that. In his mind, you seduced her away from him and made her betray everything she believed in."
"I didn't. She chose him. She married him."
"Doesn't matter. He loved her, and now she's dead. He wants everyone responsible to pay."
"Everyone?"
"Everyone she ever cared about. Everyone who touched her life."
The implications hit like a sledgehammer. This isn't just about territory or power. It's about revenge for a dead woman who was never worth dying for.
"He's going to kill us all," Marcus whispers. "One by one, until there's nothing left of what Henry built."
Danny raises his knife again, but Marcus is already convulsing. His eyes roll back, foam appearing at the corners of his mouth. His body jerks once, twice, then goes still.
"Fuck," Danny breathes. "Heart attack."
I check his pulse. Nothing. Forty years of loyalty, ended in a basement interrogation room. Not the death Henry would have wanted for his oldest friend.
But it's the death Marcus earned.
"Come on," I say. "We need that phone."
We leave Marcus' body in the basement and head upstairs. Every second we waste is another second Trace has with Alastríona. It’s another second closer to losing the only good thing that's happened to me in years.
Time to find the bastard and end this war.
Permanently.
We find Marcus' phone in his office safe, exactly where he said it would be. The combination works, Henry's birthday, numbers that represent forty years of shared history, now turned to betrayal.
Danny examines the device, frowning at the screen. "It's encrypted. I can't crack this."
"Can anyone?"
"Melissa can. That woman can hack anything, she can crack any code. But it'll take time."
Time we don't have. Every minute that passes is another minute Trace has to hurt Alastríona, to carry out whatever twisted plan he's been nurturing.
"How long?" I ask.
"Few hours, maybe more. This isn't amateur encryption; it's professional grade."
Henry appears in the doorway. The attack, the betrayal, Marcus' death, it's all taken its toll.
"Any luck?" he asks.
"Melissa's going to work on it," Danny says. "But it's going to take time."
Henry nods, unsurprised. "Then we do this the old-fashioned way. Freddie."
"Yeah?"
"Go get my granddaughter. Bring her home."
"Henry, if Trace is still out there—"
"Then we deal with him when he surfaces. But I want Alastríona here, where she belongs. Where we can protect her properly."
"And if it's a trap? If he's waiting for us to move her?"
"Then we spring the trap and end this." Henry's voice is steel. "I'm done playing defense. It's time to bring this war to him."
I check my weapons and make sure I've got everything I need. The drive to Stephen's house feels like it takes forever, even though I'm breaking every speed limit in Dublin.
My phone stays silent. No calls from Stephen, no updates from Maverick. Either everything's fine or everything's gone to hell and there's no one left to call.
I try Stephen's number again. Straight to voicemail.
Jessica's number. Same thing.
The silence is worse than bad news. At least with bad news, you know what you're dealing with.
Dublin's streets blur past as I push the BMW harder than it's meant to go. Every red light I run, every corner I take too fast, brings me closer to answers I'm not sure I want to hear.
What if Trace got there first? What if the attack on Henry's house was exactly the distraction it appeared to be? What if while we were congratulating ourselves on our easy victory, he was torturing the woman I—
I can't think like that. Won't think like that. Alastríona's fine. She has to be fine.
My phone rings. Maverick's name on the screen.
"Talk to me," I answer.
"The house is secure. No movement, no threats. Everything's quiet."
Relief floods through me like a physical thing. "Alastríona?"
"Safe. Jessica's got her in the living room, teaching her to knit or some shit. They're both fine."
"Thank fuck."
"What happened at Henry's after we left?"
I quickly give him a debrief on what Marcus said before the fucker's heart gave out. "I'm five minutes out."
"Copy that. We'll be ready."
I disconnect, finally allowing myself to breathe properly for the first time since the attack started. She's safe. Whatever game Trace is playing, he hasn't gotten to her yet.
But that doesn't mean he won't try again. Doesn't mean this is over.
Stephen's house comes into view, warm light spilling from the windows. Normal, peaceful, like the kind of place where families gather for Sunday dinner instead of planning wars.
I park behind Maverick's car, noticing the extra security positioned around the property. Professional, well-armed men who know how to kill and when to kill. Good. If Trace does try something, he'll find more resistance than he bargained for.
The front door opens before I can knock. Maverick, looking grim but unharmed.
"About time," he says.
"House secure?"
"Tighter than a drum. Stephen's got men on every approach, motion sensors on the perimeter. Nothing's getting through."
"Good. Where is she?"
"Living room. With Jessica."
I push past him. I need to see her with my own eyes. Need to confirm that she's real, whole, unharmed.
She's sitting on Jessica's sofa, laughing at something the other woman said. The sound hits me like a physical blow, warm, genuine, alive. She's wearing the same clothes from this morning, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, looking younger than her eighteen years.
She’s beautiful, safe, and mine.
She looks up when I enter, and the smile that spreads across her face could power half of Dublin.
"Freddie."
That's all it takes. Her saying my name, relief and happiness and something deeper in her voice. I cross the room in three steps, pull her into my arms, and hold her like I'm never letting go.
She fits against me perfectly, warm and solid and real. I bury my face in her hair and breathe in the scent of her shampoo, feeling her heart beating against my chest.
"I'm okay," she whispers, hands fisting in my jacket. "I'm okay."
But I'm not okay. The thought of losing her, of Trace getting his hands on her, has shaken something loose inside me. Something I didn't know was there until it was threatened.
I’m falling in love with her.
The realization hits like a sledgehammer. It’s not just attraction, not just a protective instinct. It’s love. The real thing, the kind that makes smart men do stupid things and careful men take risks they can't afford.
Christ, when did that happen? When did she stop being a job and start being everything?
"Freddie?" Her voice is concerned now. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
"No. No, I'm fine. Just needed to see you."
I pull back enough to look at her face, check for any signs of fear or trauma. But she looks calm, and steady, like someone who's spent the evening learning domestic skills instead of hiding from killers.
"Henry wants you to go home," I say.
"Is it safe?"
"Safer than anywhere else. We dealt with the immediate threat."
"All of it?"
"Most of it."
She nods, understanding that there are things I can't tell her here, in front of Jessica. Details that belong to our world, not hers.
"I'll get my things," she says.
Jessica moves to the kitchen to give us privacy. Good woman, she’s been married to Stephen long enough to know when conversations need space.
"What really happened?" Alastríona asks quietly.
"Twelve men attacked Henry's house. They’re all dead. But Trace wasn't with them. It was a distraction."
"To get to me?"
"That's what we think. But you're safe, and that's what matters."
"And after? When he tries again?"
"Then we'll be ready for him."
She studies my face, seeing more than I want her to. "You were scared."
"Yeah."
"Really scared."
"Yeah."
"About me."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Terrified."
Something shifts in her expression. Recognition, maybe. Understanding that this thing between us has moved beyond simple attraction into something deeper, more dangerous.
"Freddie—"
"I know. I know it's complicated. I know we haven't known each other long enough for this to make sense. But when I thought Trace might have you, when I couldn't reach Stephen's phone..."
"What?"
"I realized I'd rather die than lose you."
The words hang between us, too honest, too raw. But true. God help me, they're true.
She reaches up and cups my face with her hands. "You're not going to lose me."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do. Because you won't let it happen. Because you're the kind of man who keeps his promises."
"And what promises have I made?"
"To come back to me. To keep me safe. To be worth trusting."
Right. Promises I intend to keep, even if it kills me.
"Ready?" Maverick asks from the doorway.
I step back from Alastríona, letting the professional mask slide back into place. Time to get her home, where Henry can see for himself that she's safe.
"Ready," she says.
The drive back to Henry's house is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Dublin's streets look different now, more dangerous, and full of shadows that could hide threats.
But Alastríona's beside me, close enough to touch, close enough to protect. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it feels like coming home.