Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
alastríona
The gates to Henry's estate look different when we drive through them this time. Scarred, bullet holes in the wrought iron, and scorch marks on the stone pillars where explosives went off. It’s evidence of a war that happened while I was safely tucked away learning to knit with Jessica.
The house itself shows more damage. Windows boarded up, the front entrance blackened with smoke, and the beautiful landscaping torn up by gunfire. It looks like a battlefield, which I suppose it was.
"Christ," I breathe.
"Could've been worse," Freddie says, parking near the steps. "Could've been a lot worse."
Henry's waiting on the front steps, and the moment I get out of the car, he's moving toward me. For a second I think he's going to shake my hand or nod formally like he did when we first met.
Instead, he pulls me into his arms.
The embrace catches me completely off guard. Henry Gallagher, the man who commands respect from killers and criminals across two continents, is holding me like I'm something precious he thought he'd lost.
"Thank God," he murmurs against my hair. "Thank God you're safe."
I should pull away. Should maintain the careful distance I've been keeping since I arrived in Dublin. But his arms around me feel like something I've been missing my whole life without knowing it.
This is what I've been fighting against, isn't it? This feeling of belonging somewhere, of mattering to people who'd move heaven and earth to keep me safe. I've been so afraid of being hurt, of being abandoned again, that I've been pushing away the very thing I've always wanted.
Family.
"I'm okay," I say, my voice muffled against his shoulder. "I'm fine."
"I know. But when I heard Trace was after you specifically..." He pulls back and studies my face like he's making sure I'm really here. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you when I've only just found you."
The raw emotion in his voice breaks something open in my chest. This isn't duty or family obligation. This is love, pure and simple. Love from a grandfather who's spent eighteen years wondering about the granddaughter he never got to meet.
All this time, Henry's been trying to be family to me. Real family. And I've been holding him at arm's length, waiting for him to prove himself worthy of trust that should have been freely given.
"I'm here," I say, meaning it for the first time. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Good. Because we need to move. This house isn't secure anymore, not with what happened tonight."
"Move where?"
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere Trace doesn't know about."
Denis appears beside us with blood on his shirt that I hope isn't his. "Cars are ready. We should go now, before he regroups."
"Right." Henry keeps one arm around me as we walk toward the vehicles. Protective, possessive, like he's not taking any chances on losing me again.
Freddie falls into step beside us, his presence solid and reassuring. Between the two of them, I feel safer than I have since Dad died. Like I'm finally part of something bigger than just surviving day to day.
* * *
The safe house is twenty minutes outside Dublin, hidden at the end of a private road that winds through dense woods. It's smaller than Henry's main estate but still impressive; an old stone cottage that's been expanded and modernized, surrounded by trees that provide natural cover.
"How many people know about this place?" I ask as we pull into the circular drive.
"Four," Henry says. "Now six, counting you and Freddie."
"That's it?"
"That's it. I bought it through shell companies, never listed it in any family records. It's completely off the grid."
Smart. A bolt-hole for when everything else fails, or when enemies get too close to the main operation.
The inside is cozy in a way Henry's mansion never was.
Warm lighting, comfortable furniture, the kind of place where you could actually relax instead of worrying about breaking something priceless.
There are family photos on the mantle, books scattered on side tables, a kitchen that looks like people actually cook in it.
"There are three bedrooms upstairs," Henry says, setting down his overnight bag. "Take whichever one you like."
"What about security?"
"Handled. Freddie's here and I've got two of my best men watching the perimeter. Anyone tries to get close we'll know about it long before they become a problem."
Freddie's been quiet since we arrived, checking windows and sight lines with professional efficiency. Making sure the place is as secure as Henry claims.
"All clear," he reports. "Motion sensors are active, cameras are recording. We're good."
"Excellent. Now then." Henry settles into an armchair by the fireplace, suddenly looking less like a crime boss and more like a tired grandfather. "I think we need to talk. Really talk. About your father, about your mother, and about everything I've missed."
I take the sofa across from him. Freddie disappears, but I know he won’t be far, and that if I need him, he'll be here immediately.
But maybe it's time to stop being afraid of the hard conversations. Maybe it's time to let this man be my grandfather instead of keeping him at arm's length.
"What do you want to know?" I ask.
"Everything. I missed eighteen years of your life." Henry's voice is careful, like he's afraid of saying the wrong thing. "Start with your mother. How was she after... after everything fell apart?"
My mother. Christ, where do I even begin with that mess?
"She never wanted to be a mam," I say finally. "When Dad was around, she'd always try to be part of the family, but she just didn't have it in her. After Dad died, it was like she was done. She packed her bags and was gone. She left for London without saying goodbye."
Pain flickers across Henry's face. "I should have found you sooner. Should have brought you both home before things got that bad."
"Mam would never have let me come."
"She was probably scared. Your father told me once that she lived in constant fear that something would happen to him, to you. That fear ate away at her until there was nothing left."
I don't believe that. Looking back, I don't think she loved either me or my dad; she just liked the life my dad gave her.
Hell, before Dad died, she had a boyfriend in London.
My dad always showed me he loved me, and always made me feel as though I was wanted.
My mam on the other hand, she did the exact opposite.
"She made me feel like I was a burden my entire life. "
"That's not true. Your father's death had nothing to do with you."
"How can you be sure?"
Henry leans forward, his eyes intense. "Because I know what happened that night in Chicago. Killian died because of a war that was started over territory. He didn't die because he was distracted by thoughts of you."
The words hit like a physical blow. "What do you mean, a war over territory?"
"As you know, I am head of the family. I give instructions for others to follow.
When things started to work out on the East Coast of America, I instructed my son-in-law, Liam, to make moves into territories in Chicago.
The Masters family weren't happy that we were making moves in Chicago.
One night, one of Masters' sons thought he'd take out Hayden, your cousin.
Instead, Hayden killed him and in return the Masters wanted revenge.
They waited five years to take it and they did.
They killed your father, and they killed Hayden's wife's little sister.
Vivianna was only fourteen when she died. "
I sit back, processing. All this time I've been carrying guilt about Dad's death, wondering if my very existence somehow led to it. And all this time, it was just another casualty of a war.
"Tell me about him," I say. "Really tell me. Not the sanitized version for family dinners, but who he actually was."
Henry's smile is sad, proud, and complicated. "Your father was the best of us. Strong enough to lead, smart enough to know when not to fight, and loyal enough to die for the people he loved."
"But?"
"But he had a soft heart in a hard world. He was always trying to save people, protect people, give them choices he never had."
"Like keeping me away from all this."
"Exactly like that. He thought if you never knew what you were missing, you'd never have to choose between safety and family."
"Did he ever regret it? Keeping me separate?"
Henry's quiet for a long moment, choosing his words carefully. "He missed you. Constantly. Every family gathering, every holiday, every important moment, he was thinking about you. Wondering what you were doing, how you were growing up, what kind of woman you were becoming."
"But he never came to get me."
"Because he thought you were better off without it. Without this world."
"Was I?"
"I don't know. Were you happy in Belfast? Pulling pints, dodging grabby drunks, watching life pass you by?"
The question stings because it's accurate. "No. I felt... stuck. Like I was waiting for something that was never going to come."
"Maybe what you were waiting for was this. Family. Purpose. A place where you belong."
"And if I decide I don't belong here?"
"Then that's your choice. But I hope you'll give us a chance first. Give me a chance to be the grandfather I should have been all along."
The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. This powerful man, this king of Dublin's underworld, is asking for my permission to love me.
"I'd like that," I say quietly.
"Good. Because I've got eighteen years of birthdays to make up for, eighteen years of Christmas presents gathering dust in storage."
"You kept presents?"
"Every year. Your father would tell me what you were interested in, and I'd buy something I thought you'd like. Just in case."
The image of Henry Gallagher wandering through toy stores and bookshops, picking out gifts for a granddaughter he'd never met, makes my chest tight.
"What did you buy me?"