Chapter 50
DOMINIC
The BMW tears through the Wicklow back roads as Lewis pushes the engine hard.
I sit in the passenger seat, leaning forward with my elbows braced on my knees, phone still clenched in my hand.
The metallic stench of Kavanagh’s blood clings to my skin.
Outside, the countryside rushes past in dark, indistinct shapes.
My guts twist.
They have Aoife.
I promised I’d protect her, and the first night we get home, she’s fucking snatched. Cold fury coils tighter in my chest. Santiago Cruz is a fucking dead man. And so is every one of his men.
My instincts scream at me to go straight to Belfast, straight to his fucking warehouse and kick down every door between here and the harbour until I find her.
But that’s not how this works.
I force myself to breathe and dial Frankie’s number.
He answers before the second ring.
‘Is it done?’ He demands in that calm, gravel-edged voice.
‘It’s done. Ben’s taking the trash out as we speak.
But we have a bigger problem.’ I exhale heavily.
‘He was working with the Colombians. The heroin was theirs, as predicted. What we didn’t predict was that the cunt hadn’t paid for it yet, or that he’d promised them the girls.
And they’ve taken my wife as leverage until they get them back,’ I say.
Silence hums down the line.
I drag a hand over my face.
Frankie doesn’t respond immediately. Then he asks the only question that matters. ‘Do you still have the heroin?’
‘No.’
My jaw tightens. ‘I had it incinerated.’
Another beat of silence, then Frankie exhales slowly. ‘Good,’ he says.
I frown. ‘Good?’
‘If you still had fifteen million worth of heroin sitting in your warehouse, Dominic, I’d be questioning your judgement.’
I stare out the window, rage simmering beneath my skin. ‘They threatened—’
‘I know exactly what men like Santiago Cruz threaten,’ Frankie cuts in calmly. The quiet certainty in his voice does nothing to settle the storm inside me.
‘I’m on my way to Belfast,’ I say.
Frankie sighs softly. ‘You’re not thinking clearly,’ Frankie says. ‘You’re thinking like a husband, not like a Kincaid.’
My grip tightens around the phone. ‘We need to go in carefully, not guns blazing.’ Frankie continues before I can argue. ‘Listen to me carefully. The Colombians want a transaction. That means Aoife is still alive.’
A beat passes.
‘Dead hostages don’t negotiate.’
I close my eyes for a moment.
He’s right. For the first time since I took over The Syndicate, I am beyond grateful my uncle is in the country.
‘What do we do?’ I ask.
Frankie doesn’t hesitate. ‘I’ll call Ciaran and Cathal. Pull them back from Limerick.’
‘Kavanagh’s men—’
‘Can wait,’ Frankie says. ‘Your wife can’t.’
Lewis flicks the indicator and merges onto the motorway.
‘Go to Portlaoise,’ Frankie continues. ‘There’s a service area just off the M7. We’ll meet there.’
‘Why Portlaoise?’
‘Because it’s central enough that the whole family can reach you quickly. Once everyone’s assembled,’ Frankie says, ‘we move north together.’
‘A convoy?’
‘Yes.’ I glance at Lewis through the moonlight to check he heard. He nods.
‘Cruz will be surrounded by his own men,’ Frankie continues. ‘This could end up in a bloodbath. I don’t need to remind you, we don’t have the same support in Belfast. If the cops arrive, it’s not our payroll they’re on.’
My jaw tightens. ‘What about the women? There’s no fucking way in hell I’m giving them back.’
Frankie snorts. ‘If you did, Dominic, I’d shoot you myself. We’ll give Cruz exactly what he asked for.’
I frown.
‘The illusion of it, anyway.’ Understanding dawns slowly. A fake shipment. It should give us the edge. Buy us even a few minutes to work out where they’re holding Aoife.
Frankie continues. ‘I’ll get Ciaran to bring crates. Let him believe the heroin is inside.’
‘And the women?’
‘We’ll assure him they’re at a nearby location.’ He decides. ‘He doesn’t seriously expect you to hand him everything he wants. If you did, he’d put a bullet in your head and then Aoife’s. Think clearly, Dom,’ he snaps. ‘Your wife is depending on it.’
I shake my head. I don’t have any other options. And it’s fucking killing me. ‘What then, when we get her back?’
‘You’re going to need some new suppliers,’ Frankie states coldly, ‘because we’re going to burn Santiago Cruz’s entire operation to the ground. Wait in Portlaoise,’ he reiterates, then hangs up.
I lean back in the leather seat, staring out into the dark.
Aoife is somewhere out there.
And the men who took her have no idea what they’ve just started.
The BMW surges forward, slicing through the night towards the motorway, towards my family, my wife, and another fucking war.