Page 60 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

Three coordinated disruptions. Same window. Same precise gap between response and impact.

Declan watched me read, then added, quieter now, “It didn’t look like pressure from outside,” he said.

That made me look up. He didn’t flinch. “It looked like someone knew exactly how not to waste time.”

I exhaled once through my nose, slowly. That was the problem.

Anton had never been clean, and he had always been reactive. Opportunistic. Messy in execution.

This wasn’t that. This was structured, timed, almost patient. I straightened fully now, the last trace of sleep gone.

“West logistics corridor was hit at four,” he said.

“How clean?”

I kept my eyes on him. There was a brief pause, not hesitation exactly. It was just a fraction of time where his expression didn’t change, but his answer didn’t come immediately, either.

“Clean enough to avoid triggering the first layer of alerts,” he said.

“Damage?” I asked.

“Contained,” Declan said. “But not without cost.”

I nodded once. That should have been the end of it, but it wasn’t. I caught something small in the way he phrased it.

“First layer.” Not “our systems.” Not “security.” Not even “alerts” on its own.

First layer. Like there were others he wasn’t mentioning.

“Second hit?” I said.

“Two hours later,” he replied. “Same corridor network, different nodes. Smaller, but it confirms it’s not isolated.” He shifted slightly as he spoke, adjusting his stance.

There was always a rhythm to Declan’s updates—controlled and efficient and stripped of excess detail. But today there were pauses between certain phrases that didn’t fit his usual cadence. It was something more careful than uncertainty.

Like he was measuring how much information I needed at any given time. I watched him a moment longer than necessary.

“Say what you’re not saying,” I told him.

A slight tilt of his head. “I’m saying he’s learning our structure faster than we’re adapting it,” he replied. That was clean.

I leaned back slightly. “Or he already knows it,” I said.

That time, he paused again. “That would require access we haven’t accounted for,” he said. I held his gaze. Something in the exchange didn’t settle the way it usually did.

I stood slowly. “Update me on internal movement.”

“Already contained,” he replied, quickly this time. Too quickly. Then, after a fragment of hesitation, “Most of it.”

I turned slightly toward the window, letting the view hide the fact that I was thinking more about his phrasing than the report itself. When I spoke again, my voice stayed level. “Keep it tight.”

“Yes,” he answered.

But I didn’t miss the way he paused before leaving. That was unusual.

He usually left once the information was delivered—clean entry and clean exit, no lingering presence unless something was unresolved. He stayed standing near the table instead, hands loosely behind his back.

“I need to flag something else,” he said.