Declan
Liam storms into the warehouse office before I even have a chance to take off my coat, and the moment the door slams behind him, I know he’s been waiting to corner me.
He doesn’t bother with subtlety—never has.
His footsteps echo across the concrete floor, each one heavy with the kind of anger that comes from fear he refuses to acknowledge in public.
“You disappeared with her.” No greeting. No buildup. Just accusation, sharp as a blade. “You took Ailish without clearance, without protocol, and without even telling Kellan what was happening.”
I keep my jaw tight, my hands still. If I move too fast, I’ll break something.
“Something happened,” I say simply.
“I don’t care if something happened,” Liam snaps.
“You took one of my strategists—my second-in-command when Nadia’s not in the field—and vanished.
And then you have the nerve to use your own loyalists like we’re divided again.
” His voice edges into a threat. “We’re not doing that, Declan. Not again.”
My heartbeat slams once, hard. The violence that flashes through me is second nature, an instinct honed by years of survival, by watching betrayal carve the Irish mafia into factions.
For one terrifying second, I imagine my fist connecting with Liam’s jaw. I imagine the shock in his eyes. I imagine the relief I’d feel after.
My hand curls slowly into a fist.
Liam sees it. His eyes narrow.
That’s all I need to snap myself back to sanity.
Ailish’s face flashes through my mind—bloody, terrified, fighting in that alley with a ferocity she shouldn’t have needed.
The sound of her scream. The knowledge that if I had arrived thirty seconds later, she would’ve been dragged off and never seen again.
That memory douses my anger like a bucket of ice water. I unclench my hand. But only because of her.
“You want to know where I’ve been?” I say, voice low, controlled. “Fine. She was hunted last night. Stalked through the streets. Pulled into an alley by a male and female operative. Russian. Trained. Not random muscle. Someone wanted her taken out, Liam. And it wasn’t subtle.”
His expression flickers—first disbelief, then something he tries to hide but doesn’t quite manage: fear.
I press on. “She is becoming the replacement target for Nadia. You pulled Nadia off the board, so the Russians needed someone else to break you. Someone visible. Someone connected to you. Someone they can frame.”
Liam breathes out, slow and measured, arms tightening across his chest. “Or they didn’t need to frame her, because she already opened the door.” He says it flatly, without heat, which is worse. “You’ve given me five reasons they’d want her. Give me one that isn’t also a reason to suspect her.”
That question hits something low in my stomach, because I asked myself the same thing at four this morning and didn’t like how long it took to answer.
“Because a plant doesn’t get jumped in an alley by her own people,” I say.
“Because she is too close to your operations but not insulated by your last name. Because she is smart enough to be a threat and new enough to be doubted, and they know that about her as well as you do.”
He goes quiet. The fight drains out of him, replaced by something steadier, heavier. The weight of leadership. The cost of it. “You should have come to me,” he mutters. Softer. Not weak—just honest. “You shouldn’t have taken her off-grid.”
“Would you have acted fast enough?” I ask. “Would you have put her safety above the optics? Above the Italians? Above your perfect hierarchy?”
Liam stiffens. He knows the answer. He knows it, and that’s why the Russians moved. They saw the crack.
For the first time since he entered, Liam’s shoulders drop. Only a fraction. But enough to tell me he understands the severity. “Declan… mixing feelings with war strategy is a mistake. You know that.”
Hypocrite. The word surfaces before I can stop it.
“Nadia’s locked away because you can’t separate your fear from your decision-making,” I say quietly. “If she were free, she’d already have answers. Instead, she’s in a room pacing like an animal, waiting for news about a friend she thinks might be alive.”
Liam looks away. That alone tells me he heard the truth in it. He lets out a slow, controlled breath. “Fine. Bring Ailish in. She goes under the same protection as Nadia.” A pause. “Nadia has already told me twice today what she thinks of that arrangement.”
It’s not the reaction I expected. “What’s the deal?” I ask.
“You bring Ailish back into the fold,” Liam replies. “No more disappearing. No more rogue missions. No more loyalists acting like the old days. They communicate with me at the very least.” His gaze sharpens. “And in return, I won’t tear apart every hideout you’ve ever built looking for you.”
“And what does that protection actually look like?”
“Declan, you know you shouldn’t mix war and feelings.”
I laugh, wryly. “Is that why Nadia feels like a prisoner?”
His expression deflates and he shakes his head, dismissing the comment for now. “Things are getting worse with the Russians. I want them at home base where Ronan can put men on them.”
“Men on them.” I let it sit there a second.
“Nadia has killed more people than Ronan has met. Ailish put a man on the ground in an alley last night with a bottle and her hands, and she did it while concussed. You don’t need to guard them, Liam.
You need to stop pretending they aren’t the two best assets you have. ”
He’s quiet for a moment. Long enough that I know I’ve landed it, and long enough to know he won’t say so. “Then arm them and keep them close. Ronan coordinates, they report in. That’s the offer.”
I can’t see what else he could do and still keep control of the situation. We both know it’s the best we’re going to get.
“Fine. Deal. I’ll get her out.”
I take the long route back to the meeting point—detours through empty streets, crosswalk loops, every trick I’ve ever used to detect a tail.
She can’t know where the safehouse is. Not because I don’t trust her heart, but because she’s too tied to Liam, too entwined with his structure.
One mistake and the Russians will track patterns right back to that door.
I park where Liam instructed—an industrial lot outside the docks, quiet enough to hear your own breathing.
When I step out, Mackenzie is already there with her security detail—four of them, armed and alert but trying not to make Ailish feel like she’ll be boxed in. Mackenzie looks exhausted, but resolute. The kind of tired only love and fear can produce.
I get out and go around to let Ailish out. I offer my hand, but she quickly scrambles out to go stand beside Mackenzie. Her hair is still damp from the shower, and one of my shirts hangs past mid-thigh on her. She looks small in a way she rarely allows herself to be.
When her eyes lift to mine, something tightens inside my chest. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t accuse me, either.
The silence between us is worse.
Mackenzie steps forward to bridge the gap, close enough that only I can hear her. “She hasn’t slept. She hasn’t eaten. And she’s decided the whole thing was a mistake, so whatever you’re about to say to her, say it like you mean it.”
“I’m taking her to Liam.”
Mackenzie’s mouth flattens. “Then say that part carefully too.”
I turn to Ailish. “We’re done here,” I say, sharper than I intend. “Liam wants you working out of the compound. Men on your building, men on your car, men on the hallway outside your door. You keep your flat. You don’t keep your privacy.”
Behind Ailish, Mackenzie closes her eyes.
Her brows pull together. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
She studies me—torn, angry, hurt, confused. “So that night meant nothing? And now I’m being handed off like cargo?”
My jaw locks. “I’m not discussing that night.”
“You’re not discussing anything,” she fires back.
“I’ve done what I can,” I say. “You’re safe now.”
She laughs once, short and humorless. “Safe. Mackenzie’s people picked me up nine blocks from the river, so I have a decent idea where you had me.
I know you spoke to Liam before you spoke to me.
” She tips her head. “What I don’t know is why every decision about my life got made in a room I wasn’t in. ”
“There wasn’t time.”
“There was a whole night.”
That lands somewhere I don’t have a wall built for.
“The guard,” she says. “Was he insurance against them, or against me?”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
“A war,” I say simply.
Ailish’s throat works as she swallows. Her eyes are bright but dry. She looks away, and the loss of her gaze feels like a blow.
I turn to Mackenzie. “Liam’s arming everyone. Ronan coordinates, and he reports to you and Nadia on movements, not the other way around.”
Mackenzie’s brows lift. “Nadia’s going to have opinions about the word coordinates.”
“Nadia can take it up with him. I’d pay to watch.”
Ailish’s breath catches softly beside her.
Ailish says nothing. I take one small step toward her. Not enough to touch. Just enough so she’ll hear me clearly. “You’ll be safer now,” I say. “That’s all that matters.”
She turns her face toward me, eyes sharp with something I can’t name—pain or anger or the remnants of something neither of us should have crossed. “Is it?” she whispers.
My breath catches. For a moment—one suspended, painful heartbeat—I almost reach for her. But I don’t.
Instead, I step back. Put distance where there should have never been closeness. And nod once at Mackenzie.
“She’s yours,” I say quietly. Mackenzie stiffens at the phrasing but doesn’t argue. She gestures for her men to escort Ailish toward the waiting SUV.
Ailish hesitates. Not long. Just long enough for the moment to knife through my ribs. Then she turns away from me.
Walks to the SUV. Gets inside. Door shuts. And I’m standing alone in the cold lot, pulse steady, breath even, posture composed—But everything inside me is a quiet, unrelenting implosion.
When her SUV pulls away and disappears into the dark, I finally let my hands fall open at my sides. The tension bleeds out slowly, painfully.
At least she’s alive. At least she’s safe.