Page 86 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

“Understood,” came the response.

I added another instruction. “Make it visible to the right circles.”

“Visible to which people?” the voice asked. I looked up briefly at Declan. He was watching me now, and I kept my attention on him while I answered.

“People who need to understand what happens when trust is broken,” I said. The call ended with a confirmation.

Declan’s voice stayed controlled, but there was less confidence in it now. “You’re overreacting,” he said.

One of my men adjusted his position slightly. Declan noticed it and stopped speaking immediately. The silence that followed had structure to it, as if everything in the room now understood its place. I walked around the desk at a steady pace, until I stood close enough for him to hear me clearly.

“You had your chance to speak,” I said. He looked up at me, still searching for an opening that no longer existed. I gave a small nod to the team. They moved him out of the room without delay.

There was no resistance worth mentioning, only controlled movement as they escorted him away. Declan didn’t speak again while he was taken down the corridor. The sound of their footsteps faded. I stayed in the doorway for a moment after they were gone, then returned to the desk.

I picked up the phone again. My instructions stayed direct and controlled. “Make sure every relevant circle knows what happens when someone tries to manipulate my structure and rebuild it from within. And make sure they understand it does not end quietly.”

I stayed still for longer than necessary, looking at the place where Declan had been. His presence had run through everything that mattered, from decisions to timing to the way outcomes formed around him.

Losing that presence didn’t feel like removing a person. It felt like removing part of the structure itself. I turned away before the thought could go further than it needed to. The phone rang again, and I answered without checking the screen.

There was no greeting, only sound coming through the line. Gunfire reached me first, followed by shouting layered over movement. My attention sharpened as I listened.

“Report,” I demanded.

A strained voice came through. “Outer routes are compromised. Perimeter is under direct attack.”

Another burst of gunfire followed, closer than before.

A second voice cut in quickly. “It’s Anton. He’s hitting every point at once.”

Gunfire continued in the background, steady and increasing.

“He’s escalating to full engagement,” the voice added.

I looked toward the window. The city outside continued as normal, unchanged in appearance. Anton wasn’t testing the system anymore. He was attacking it directly, moving through it without pause, as if he’d already decided what would give way first.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Maeve

I left the coast house with a silence that stayed with me long after the building disappeared behind me. It followed me into the car and stayed through every turn away from the coastline. Even when the house was gone from sight, it still felt present, like something unresolved sitting at the back of my thoughts. Father Michael kept coming back to me.

His presence there mattered, but what mattered more was how natural it had seemed for him to be there. That kind of access didn’t happen by chance. It happened through connection, through history, through something already in motion long before I saw it.

I drove until the coastline gave way to denser roads and the city began to close around me again. Traffic returned, lights returned, ordinary movement returned, none of it reacting to what I’d just seen. I checked my phone as I stopped at an intersection.

No messages. No missed calls.

I turned onto a narrower street that cut between buildings and carried less traffic, the kind of road that felt easier to move through without being noticed. That was when I became aware of the car behind me.

A black vehicle held a steady gap behind me, matching speed without closing in. When I changed lanes, it changed lanes as well. The first time, I told myself it meant nothing.

I turned again at the next intersection. The vehicle followed with the same timing, the same distance, the same calm control in its movement. The pattern became harder to dismiss.

I adjusted my route again, choosing a tighter street between buildings that left fewer options for movement. The car behind me followed without hesitation, never rushing, neverfalling back, never breaking rhythm. I checked the mirror again and saw it closer now, still steady, still controlled, still aligned with every change I made. That removed any remaining doubts that this was a coincidence.

I took a left turn onto what I realized was a dead-end service road. The space was narrow and enclosed, the kind of place that usually allowed a quick exit or a quick escape depending on who reached it first. I slowed as I reached the end. The car behind me entered the same space and stopped.