Page 82 of Declan

The guns in the shipment only had a little ammo to make it look believable. However, the scattered explosions from the heat hitting the remaining rounds sent sharp cracks echoing across the dockyard. It’s a hell of a show.

Connor strides ahead, heading straight for the fire captain, his voice loud and commanding as he demands answers. I glanceat him and then back at the chaos, and I’ve got to admit, my brothers are better actors than I gave them credit for.

“Another one. Fucking hell,” John Flanagan mutters as he strides up beside me, the flames reflected in his narrowed eyes.

Sweat glistens on his face from the heat, and his usual cocky smirk has been replaced with a grim line. Nolan Keeffe stands next to him, uncharacteristically quiet, his expression a mix of unease and discomfort.

The glow from the flames lights up his pale face, making him look even more like he’s about to lose his nerve.

“Yeah, the Koslovs got lucky with this one. It’s one of ours,” I say, doing my best to sound pissed. Honestly, it’s not that hard, considering all I really want to do right now is knock Nolan’s head into the ground and watch his eyes pop out.

“Did anyone see anything?” John asks, shaking his head as he stares at the inferno.

“Not that I know of,” I reply, leaning against the car and watching the shit show unfold. “But Kian’s still talking to the men.”

Nolan scoffs, and that’s it; I’ve had enough.

“You,” I snapped, pointing directly at him. “We’ve got some issues to take care of.”

The colour drains from his face as John steps aside, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama.

I walk toward Nolan slowly, cracking my neck from side to side. A smirk plays on my lips as I watch him instinctively take a step back.

“Just take it, lad,” John says, lighting a cigarette, his tone amused.

I raise an eyebrow at Nolan, watching his chest rise and fall as panic sets in. “Face or gut?” I ask coolly.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I shrug. Fine. Without waiting, I punch him square in the jaw and follow it up with a sharp knee to the stomach.

“Fuck! You asked, face or gut!” Nolan groans, rolling to the ground, blood dripping from his mouth.

“And you didn’t answer, shitface,” I replied casually, wiping my knuckles on his jeans.

“So… we’re square?” he asks, trying to get up but wisely keeping his distance.

“Not even by a long shot,” I chuckle, turning back toward the car. Behind me, John lets out a loud laugh, clearly entertained. It’s not enough, but it will do for now; maybe I can convince Viviana to give him a little of her right hook as she gave me—my chin is still sore.

“There is nothing else we can do; no one saw a fucking thing,” Connor strides, voice loud for anyone nearby to listen. “How the fuck did they know about this shipment, Dec?” he continues.

“I don’t know, fucking Koslovs,” I mutter, my face a mask of rage.

In the car, I look at the next few shipments; the next one will be from Flynn. To make all of this believable, we need to give them information about several Irish Consortium shipments, not just ours.

During the next couple of weeks, Viviana sent Giovanni two more targets: one of ours and one from Flynn. Her father’s replies are as dry as ever, but I can’t deny the reality: we’re running out of targets.

A warehouse, two speedboats, and still no movement from Aleksandr. She’s been playing her role to perfection, but I can see it taking a toll on her. The fire in her eyes hasn’t diminished, but it’s flickering with all the uncertainty of what’s to come. I don’t know how long she can keep it up.

So tonight, I made sure the house was empty and everyone was out.

We can’t leave the mansion together, not yet. As long as we stay inside, the narrative we’ve carefully built stays intact.

I asked the staff to prepare her favourite lasagna and tiramisu, a small slice of home, to remind her of herself and not this mess. Something real. Something far better than that fucked-up dish she made us eat last time; I haven’t been able to eat eggs since.

I asked her to dress up.

I take one last look in the mirror as I adjust my black tailored suit and buttoned up matching black shirt. She loves black, and tonight is for her. I’ve felt her growing colder these past few days, and I don’t know if it’s because of this plan or because of me.

God help me if it’s the latter.

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