Chapter 35
Chapter thirty-five
Dante
Moira’s sitting room has been transformed into a war room.
Maps spread across every surface. Photos of Declan’s Richmond property pinned to a corkboard that appeared from somewhere. Lists of names, guard rotations, entry points. It looks professional, except the people gathered around the coffee table are the most unlikely strike team I’ve ever seen.
Carlo looks the part as he stands by the window, arms crossed, radiating the quiet competence I’ve come to rely on over the years.
Ginni perches on the arm of his chair, practically vibrating with barely contained excitement.
The boy might dress unconventionally, but there is no mistaking crime is in his blood.
Nicolo leans against the wall, phone in hand, coordinating with contacts across the city. Exuding ruthless efficiency.
But then there are Dylan’s people. Incongruous next to mine.
Sean and Teagan are sitting on the sofa, looking terrified but determined. They’re so far out of their depth it’s almost painful to watch, but neither of them has backed down. When I told them this could be dangerous, Sean just squared his shoulders and said, “Dylan would do it for us.”
He’s right. Dylan would.
Moira is presiding over all of it like a general commanding her troops, a woman who somehow manages to have one foot in each world. She fits in with both the criminals and the civilians in this room. While quite possibly being the most dangerous person here.
Earlier, she walked into the room with a shotgun slung over her shoulder, which she set in the corner with a casual “just in case” that made Carlo raise his eyebrows. The more time I spend with this woman, the more I understand where Dylan gets his steel.
“Right,” she says, spreading a hand-drawn map of the Richmond property across the table.
“Let’s go over this one more time. The house has three floors, with guards on rotating shifts.
Two on the perimeter at all times, sometimes three.
They’re not professionals. Hired muscle, mostly. Bored and sloppy.”
“How do you know all this?” Sean asks, looking slightly awed.
“I called in some favors.” Moira’s smile is thin and sharp. “I’m still an O’Shea. Information flows if you know how to ask for it.”
I catch Carlo’s eye. He looks impressed despite himself. Whatever Moira’s past involved, she clearly hasn’t lost her touch.
“The main challenge is getting close without alerting them,” Moira continues. “The street is residential. Quiet. A van full of armed Italians would stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Which is where we come in,” Teagan says, and there’s a fierce determination in her voice that reminds me of Dylan.
“Sean and I can approach the house without raising suspicion. Two idiots with car trouble, yelling for help because the engine is on fire. It’s exciting enough to get their attention.
Plus, they won’t want the fire spreading to the house. ”
“You’ll be putting yourselves at risk,” I say. “If something goes wrong...”
“We know.” Sean meets my gaze steadily. “But Dylan’s in there. And if we can help get him out, that’s worth the risk.”
These people. These ordinary, civilian people who have no business being involved in something like this. They’re willing to walk into danger for Dylan, simply because they love him.
I understand the feeling.
“The distraction won’t last long,” Carlo says, studying the map. “Five minutes, maybe ten, before they realize something’s wrong. That’s not much time.”
“It’s enough.” I tap a spot on the map. “While Sean and Teagan draw the guards to the front, I go in through the back. The garden wall is climbable. Once I’m inside...”
“You find Dylan and get him out,” Moira finishes. “Whatever it takes.”
Whatever it takes. I nod.
The door opens, and Liam slips into the room. Nicolo’s fiance is quiet and watchful, carrying a medical kit that he sets down near the door. He catches my eye and nods.
“Whatever happens,” he says softly, “I’ll be ready.”
He means if Dylan is hurt. If Declan has done something to him in the days since he was taken. The thought makes my blood run cold, but I force myself to focus. I can’t think about that now. I can only think about getting Dylan out.
“Liam’s the best medic I know,” Nicolo says, and there’s pride in his voice. “If anyone can help Dylan, it’s him.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Moira says grimly. “But it’s good to be prepared.”
“What about the rest of Declan’s men?” Nicolo asks. “The ones who don’t come to the front?”
“That’s where you and I come in,” Carlo says. “Anyone who isn’t Dylan gets dealt with.”
“Non-lethally,” I add, and everyone turns to look at me. “If possible. Dylan wouldn’t want a bloodbath on his conscience.”
Carlo raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about non-lethal?”
Since Dylan. Since everything.
“Just do what you can,” I say instead of answering. “The goal is to get Dylan out safely. Everything else is secondary.”
Moira clears her throat. “I have a contact who can help get you close. An old friend who runs a delivery service. He owes me several favors, and he won’t ask questions.”
“A delivery service?” Sean frowns. “How does that help?”
“His van is a regular sight in that neighborhood. Makes deliveries at all hours. No one will think twice about it pulling up near the house.” She looks at me. “He can get you to the street at the back of the property without raising any alarms.”
It’s a good plan. Much better than the ‘running for it and hoping for the best’ tactic I was going to use. I nod my thanks.
“What about Declan?” Ginni asks, and there’s an eager gleam in his eyes that’s slightly alarming. “What do we do with him?”
I think about Dylan. About everything Declan has put him through, not just in the past few days but over a lifetime. The childhood torment. The abandonment. The cruelty that never seemed to end.
“We take him alive,” I say. “Dylan gets to decide what happens to him.”
Ginni’s smile is sharp and eager. “And if Dylan decides he wants him hurt?”
“Then he’s all yours.”
Ginni’s dark eyes light up and he gives an excited wriggle.
Carlo looks a little alarmed, but he puts a hand on Ginni’s shoulder, equal parts affectionate and restraining. Beneath the concern, I can see the approval in his eyes. Carlo is coming to terms with the fact that his pretty little wife is good at hurting people.
And if anyone deserves to be hurt, it’s Declan O’Shea. He is going to pay for what he’s done. One way or another.
“When do we move?” Moira asks.
I check my watch. It’s nearly midnight. Dylan has been in Declan’s hands for almost three days now. Every hour that passes is an hour too long.
“Tonight,” I say. “We go tonight. Five AM, when the guards are tired and Declan is likely asleep.”
“That’s only a few hours away,” Sean says, and I can hear the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“Can you be ready?”
He looks at Teagan. She reaches over and squeezes his hand.
“We’ll be ready,” she says firmly. “For Dylan.”
For Dylan. The words echo around the room. Everyone here, from the mafia enforcers to the bakery workers to the aunt with a shotgun, all of them united by one thing.
Dylan.
The man who was exiled by his family, and didn’t turn bitter. The man who managed to make everyone in his new life love him. The man who made his way into my heart and refused to leave. The man I’m going to save, no matter what it costs me.
“Everyone knows their role?” I ask, looking around the room.
Nods all around.
“Then get some rest if you can. We meet back here at two. And when we leave...” I meet each person’s eyes in turn. “We don’t come back without Dylan.”
The room begins to clear. Sean and Teagan slip out first, holding hands, looking young and scared and impossibly brave. I catch Sean’s arm before he reaches the door.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For doing this. You don’t have to.”
Sean looks at me for a long moment. “Just bring him home,” he says eventually. “That’s all we want.”
He and Teagan leave. Nicolo follows, already back on his phone, and Liam trails after him with his medical kit. Ginni bounces out with an energy that suggests he won’t be sleeping at all, and Carlo pauses at the door to give me a long look.
“We’ll get him back,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
“And Dante?” He waits until I meet his eyes. “Whatever happens in there, whatever you have to do... I’ve got your back.”
He’s gone before I can respond.
Moira is the last to leave, but she stops beside me first.
“You really love him,” she says. It’s not a question.
“More than I knew I was capable of.”
She studies my face for a long moment. Whatever she sees there makes her nod slowly.
“Bring him home safe,” she says. “And then... we’ll see about the rest.”
It’s not forgiveness. Not yet. But it’s something. A door left open, a possibility of acceptance. More than I have any right to hope for, given what I’ve done.
“I will,” I promise. “Whatever it takes.”
She squeezes my arm once, briefly, and then she’s gone.
I’m alone in the war room, surrounded by maps and plans and the weight of everything that’s about to happen. The silence feels heavy. Expectant. Like the whole world is holding its breath.
I move to the window and look out at the dark street. Somewhere across the city, Dylan is locked in a room, waiting. I hope the note reached him. I hope he knows I’m coming. I hope he hasn’t given up on me the way I gave up on my self when I walked out without a word.
I think about the first time I saw him. Tied to my chair, terrified, insisting he wasn’t the man I was looking for. I didn’t believe him. I hurt him anyway.
And then there was the last time I saw him. Curled up in my bed, still shaken from his panic attack while I walked out without a word. Leaving him alone and vulnerable.
I won’t make those mistakes again. Never again. I’ll never hurt him, and I’ll never leave him.
In a few hours, I’ll be walking into Declan O’Shea’s house. I’ll be facing armed men, unknown dangers, a desperate criminal with nothing left to lose. I might not walk out again.
But Dylan is in there. Dylan, who was kind to me even when he had every reason not to be. Dylan, who kissed me like I was worth something. Dylan, who somehow saw past the monster to the man underneath.
I’m going to save him. And then I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to deserve him.
I check my gun. Check my knife. Check the cold, calm place inside me where the monster lives, waiting to be unleashed.
Five hours until we move. Five hours until I’m either saving Dylan or dying in the attempt. Five hours that will stretch like an absolute eternity, every minute a small torture of its own.
There’s no version of tonight where I come back without him. I won’t allow it. I’ve spent my whole life being the monster in other people’s stories. Tonight, for once, I’m going to be something else.
I’m going to be the one who saves him. The one who brings him home safe.
Hold on, Dylan. I’m coming for you. I promise.