Chapter 49 #2
“I… I was supposed to help,” Isabella whispers, almost inaudible. “They wanted me to be active. To guide things, make sure it all stayed… on track. But I never wanted any of it. I tried to stay out. I tried to be invisible. They”—she swallows hard—“they threatened me if I didn’t cooperate.”
Matt presses his lips together, eyes darkening, jaw flexing. The room is frozen, the weight of every revelation pressing down on us.
“Every piece of this,” he mutters, voice low, barely contained fury, “every last fucking piece… they wanted to use me. They wanted to use everyone I care about. And they thought they could just… orchestrate it all.” He exhales sharply, breath hot on the back of my neck. “They thought wrong.”
I reach up and squeeze his hand, feeling the tremor of anger rolling off him like a wave, but I don’t speak.
Isabella swallows hard, voice barely above a whisper. “I hated them for it, hated knowing what they wanted from you, from me. But I grew up hidden, and they knew my greatest weakness was craving a family. They used that against me.”
Jonathan leans forward on the stack of crates he’s perched on, elbows resting heavily on his knees. “You’re telling us Antonio and Una were behind all of this. But what happens now? To the ring? To the Cosa Nostra?”
Isabella swallows, trembling, then lifts her gaze to meet Jonathan’s, and finally ours. Her voice is quiet but firm, carrying over the tense silence of the room.
“They never made a backup plan,” she admits.
“Papà was so sure he had thought of every angle, he never considered the consequences. With him and Nico gone… there is no next in line. Unless Gianna or I want to claim it, I suppose. The men will have to fight to see who’s strongest or… the whole thing disbands.”
The weight of her words settles like stone. For a moment, we’re all silent, absorbing the reality—that an empire built on fear, manipulation, and blood has no successor.
Liam exhales slowly, running a hand over his jaw. “What about the buyers? His men, the ones he planted in our ranks?” he asks. “Anyone we need to worry about?”
Isabella shakes her head, dark hair slipping loose around her face.
“The buyers won’t stay,” she says quietly.
“The moment it goes dark, they’ll disappear.
They’re cowards. Rich ones, but still cowards.
As for his men…” Her mouth tightens. “You find them the same way you find the girls. Look for the brand. It’s hidden under their other ink, but you should be able to find it with the right tools. ”
Brennan cuts in, voice sharp as steel. “And Vera? Gianna? Carlo? We know he was at our docks.”
Isabella swallows, then lifts her chin, gaze steady.
“They didn’t know anything. Papà never trusted Vera with anything that mattered, he just used her when it suited him.
Gianna…” Her mouth tightens. “Her only role was to be Matt’s wife.
Nothing more. Everything else—everything that counted—was orchestrated by Mum and Papà.
Jen seduced Ciaran on his orders. She kept him close, and fed him information.
Mum helped Jen move the girls to the docks without drawing attention.
After that…” Her voice dips. “It was up to Nico and Papà to deal with them. And Carlo just did what he was paid to do. No questions asked.”
Something ugly loosens in my chest.
Relief, tangled with grief and fury.
This is what winning looks like.
Scars and wounds still raw, but every girl like Niamh and Alice now has a chance.
Every nightmare ended.
Every girl who didn’t make it… finally avenged.
Matt’s hand slides from my shoulder to my forearm, slow and steady, grounding me. A silent reminder that I’m here. That I’m breathing. That I’m safe. I curl toward him, letting the warmth of his body bleed into mine, steadying me in the aftermath of everything we survived.
“Then it’s over,” Matt mutters, the fury in his voice replaced by the sharp, clean edge of victory as he helps me stand.
Brennan pushes off the wall to free Isabella’s restraints, stepping back without ceremony. No threats or posturing. Just quiet finality. She folds in on herself, shaken, free in a way she’s probably never been before.
The door opens behind us.
Ciaran and Declan return, faces grim, but looking a touch more relaxed. Declan gives Jonathan a brief nod. Ciaran’s eyes flick to Isabella, then to Matt, something vulnerable passing over his face before he looks away again.
I realise then how violently my legs are shaking. How badly I need space—air—distance from the weight of what we’ve just unearthed. I move away from the group and slide down the far wall, knees pulling in instinctively, like my body knows how close I am to coming apart.
My chest still heaves, breath catching and stuttering as every emotion collides at once, jagged and uncoordinated.
Matt is there immediately, settling beside me without a word. His shoulder presses into mine as he takes my hand—not tight, not possessive. Just there. Steady. A quiet promise that I’m not alone in this.
“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, so low it barely exists outside the space between us. “I’ve got you.” His thumb moves slowly over my knuckles, grounding, deliberate.
I swallow hard. “I just—” My voice fractures. “Everything hurts.”
“I know.” He leans in slightly, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him, solid and real. “You don’t have to carry it all at once.”
I rest my forehead against his shoulder, eyes closing, letting the unyielding presence of him hold me upright when I can’t do it myself.
For the first time since this began, I stop forcing myself to stay intact.
His lips brush my temple and something in my chest finally gives. I lean into him, the tension in my shoulders easing in slow increments.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I admit, the words breaking as the last few hours crash through me all at once.
“You won’t have to find out,” he says quietly. “Not now. Not ever.”
Something inside me loosens. Not relief—not yet—but the absence of panic. The space where breath can exist again.
Around us, the others move in low voices, quiet orders, the methodical work of ending something rotten and making sure it never finds roots again. But here, in this small pocket of stillness, none of that reaches me.
I lean into Matt, shoulder to shoulder, breathing him in. Letting myself believe one fragile, impossible truth.
We made it through.
The girls are safe.
And for the first time in a long while, survival is no longer the only thing holding me upright.
Matt’s hand tightens around mine—warm, steady, unshakeable. I close my eyes against him and let the weight fall away, knowing that whatever comes next, I won’t face it alone.