Chapter 2
Aidan
“Upstairs, pixie,” I say. “We’ll bring you what you need and leave you to process this shitshow.”
She doesn’t move her head. “Yeah,” she says. “That sounds good.”
It doesn’t sting. We can’t crowd her even though we want to spend every minute with her, she needs space. And I need to try to get hold of my dad again. I’d rather do that in private because he is probably going to blow a gasket. Or two.
I wait until I hear her on the stairs before I take my phone out and move through the kitchen to the back garden as I dial.
He answers on the second ring. “Aidan.”
“About fucking time. You missed my call.”
“I was in a meeting.”
“That must have been important if it outranked your son publicly backing a mafia heir into a Board seat and nearly getting shot in the process.”
A beat of silence.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
So I do. The assembly. Dervla taking the seat. Padraig Nestor putting himself in front of her like a fucking idiot. The shot from the gallery. Whitmore revealing himself as a facilitator. Séamus making his point with blood and theatre.
My father says nothing until I finish.
When he does, his voice is very controlled. “And you let her make the claim.”
I laugh once. “You say that like I can stop her when she decides to set a building on fire.”
“Point taken.”
“But that is the least of it.”
“Least of it?”
“Declan had a call from his dad. Apparently, there is a lot of sneaking around going on.”
He snorts. “What did he say?”
“A lot. Most of it you already know, but Declan didn’t. The most interesting thing he said was that he, Dervla’s dad, you and a few others are part of a movement on campus. Old but newer. Care to share?”
“No.”
“Not helpful.”
“It’s not relevant. What you need to do now is make sure that our plan stays the course. I want that place annihilated by the end of term.”
“Oh, it will be, but there has been a change of plans in the end game.”
“Meaning?” he grits out.
“Dervla is likely making a play to run this place.”
The silence on the line lasts long enough to turn pointed.
Seamus O’Connell doesn’t like being surprised. He likes being the one handing out reality in measured little doses and calling it guidance.
“Run it,” he says at last.
I smile without humour and look out over the back garden. Damp grass. Bare branches. Grey sky pressing low. “Yes.”
“And how exactly does she plan to do that?”
“By using her grandfather’s name,” I state. I know it’s coming. It’s as plain as the grey sky above me.
“I see. She would need to dismantle a lot of networks. It would take a complete rebuild.”
“You aren’t against it?” That surprises me. I thought he would go on a tirade about how I should stop her.
“No,” my father says. “I’m against chaos without an owner. That is different.”
I go still.
Rain starts up again, light at first, ticking against the stone edging by the patio.
“Explain,” I say.
“If Dervla Callaghan takes control of St. Augustine’s, the place becomes legible.
” His voice stays calm, clipped. “Right now, it is a rotten hybrid of legacy loyalties, private arrangements, ideological vanity, and criminal opportunism. It is unstable. Instability draws attention. Attention gets everyone killed. A corrupt system can be useful. An incoherent one cannot.”
That sounds exactly like him. Clean. Controlled. Vile in a way that wears cufflinks.
I look out over the garden we worked on only a few days ago, jaw tight.
“She claimed the seat in front of everyone, and then Séamus decided to kill her competitor in front of her and everyone else. It makes a statement. It gives her the foothold she needs to weed out every last traitor and makes that place ó Briain territory from the top to the bottom.”
“She could. If her grandfather will let her.”
“And why wouldn’t he?”
“Who knows? He never did it himself, and he could’ve quite easily.”
“So maybe he was waiting for Dervla.”
“A test,” he murmurs, and I raise an eyebrow. “Sounds plausible.”
“Sounds deranged. She could get herself killed.”
“That’s the point of a test, though, isn’t it. Passing.”
I’m about to respond with something dry and witty, but I don’t get a chance as an explosion rocks the airwaves.
“Dad?” I bark as the line crackles.
“And so it begins,” he says, almost laughing. “Act quickly, Aidan. Ireland is being set on fire.” He hangs up.
“Right. Cillian’s map activated, I presume,” I mutter to the dial tone. I stare at my phone for half a second, then I move.
“Declan!” I call out as I shove back through the kitchen doors. He is on his way upstairs with a tray of tea and sandwiches for Dervla.
He stops and places the tray on the table. Cormac is in the doorway to the hall before I even finish crossing the room.
“What?” Declan clips out.
“Something’s kicked off.”
Then every phone in the room starts going at once.
Mine. Declan’s. Cormac’s. A second later, Dervla’s upstairs.
“Fuck,” Declan mutters.
Cormac pulls his out and checks the screen. His face goes colder. “Campus group chats are losing their minds.”
“Something blew at my dad’s estate. He said, ‘and so it begins. Ireland is being set on fire’.”
“That was quick,” he mutters and answers his phone. “Yeah?”
He listens for three seconds, then his expression turns murderous. “Who?”
Cormac is already typing with one hand, the other reaching inside his jacket on instinct. “There’s smoke over Dublin. People are posting videos. Two blasts so far. One near the river, one on the south side industrial.”
My phone buzzes again. A number comes up that I don’t recognise.
I answer. “What?”
“Dervla is not picking up,” Séamus says. “Where is she?”
“Upstairs, probably in the shower.”
“Probably?” he growls.
“Going,” I say, already moving. “I’ll call you back.” I hang up before he can argue and shove my phone into my pocket. I take the stairs two at a time. I hit the landing and hear her phone still ringing somewhere inside the room.
I burst through the door and see the en-suite door closed, the shower running. Striding across the room, I shove it open and stare at her in the shower.
“Hey?” she snaps. “I thought I was getting alone time?”
“Shit has hit the fan. Séamus is trying to get hold of you. I would advise you to answer. Fast.”
“What now?” she grumbles.
“Now means get out,” I say.
She stares at me through the glass, wet hair plastered back, expression going from irritated to alert in a second flat. She shuts the water off hard enough to make the pipes knock.
“What happened?”
“Your dad’s map, apparently.” I grab the towel off the rail and hold it out.
She snatches the towel and wraps it around herself fast. “Jesus Christ.” She steps out, water running down her legs onto the tiles. “Did Séamus say anything else?”
“He said you weren’t answering your phone and then acted like that was a personal betrayal.”
She scrubs water off her face with one hand, moving towards her drawers.
My phone vibrates again in my pocket, then again. Messages are stacking up. Calls. Updates. Panic in digital form.
I ignore it all as her phone rings again.
“Will you fucking answer that before he sends every last armed guard he has to whisk you away into a secure tower?”
“When I’m dressed. I don’t jump for anyone.”
“Learn,” I growl and pick up her phone, crossing over to her and slapping it into her hand.
“Fine,” she mutters and answers. “Séamus? I’m trying to shower. What is going on?”