Page 90 of Forbidden Vengeance

Her laugh is terrible—all sharp edges and barely contained rage. “I thought you’d want a front row seat to watch me burn my father’s empire to the ground.” She straightens her bloodstained jacket. “Besides, I need Elena’s network. And…” She looks like she’s swallowing glass. “Your help.”

Part of me wants to savor this—the mighty Siobhan O’Connor asking for my assistance. But Sean Murphy’s boy was innocent; Sean didn’t deserve to die. Some things matter more than petty satisfaction.

“What do you need?” I finally ask.

I’m already moving as she outlines her plans—activating networks, coordinating with our allies. Elena’s hands flying across her laptop as she connects with her own sources.

“You should stay here tonight,” Elena offers. “Rest before?—”

I shoot her a sharp look, but Siobhan’s already shaking her head.

“Sweet of you to offer,” she says, rising with the elegance she learned from boarding schools. “But I need to get back to Boston. I have a revolution to implement.” Her smile is downright sinister. “Time to show my father exactly what his ‘cancer of modernization’ can do.”

The moment she’s gone, I’m on the phone. “Get me everything,” I tell Dante, heading for our command center. “Every reaction, every whisper. I want to know exactly how this plays out.”

The responses flood in within hours. Young Patrick Brady withdraws his crew’s support from Seamus’s dock operations. The Flaherty heir redirects three major shipments without explanation. Michael O’Brien’s construction unions suddenly find reasons to delay projects that benefit the old guard.

The revolution isn’t coming. It’s already here.

Through surveillance feeds, we watch the younger captains gather in back rooms of pubs and social clubs across Boston. Their voices coming through clearly:

“For Sean.”

“For his boy.”

“Time to show these old men what real loyalty looks like.”

Elena’s breath catches beside me as we witness power shifting in real time. Young faces hard with purpose, pledging themselves to Siobhan rather than Seamus. The revolution happening not with gunfire, but with whispered oaths and digital signatures.

“My father thinks he’s taught them fear,” Siobhan tells her gathered captains, her voice carrying that deadly calm that inspires loyalty. “He doesn’t understand he’s taught them hate instead.”

The cheers that erupt make the surveillance audio crackle.

“For Sean Murphy!”

“For the future!”

“Death to the old guard!”

Elena works her network while I coordinate with Sean’s remaining loyalists. “Get your crews in position,” I tell Tommy Flynn, Sean’s former second. “When Siobhan gives the word?—”

“We’re ready,” he cuts in. “Every young captain from here to fucking Providence. We’ve had enough of watching our friends die for refusing to bow to outdated methods.”

Elena’s phone rings—Siobhan, who we put on speaker.

“The old guard’s making their move tonight,” she reports, her voice cool. “Against all of us who support change. My father, the conservative captains…they’re meeting Anthony in an hour to plan coordinated strikes.”

But Seamus’s fatal mistake was underestimating his daughter. While he clung to old methods, she built a shadow network of loyal young captains. While he demanded blind obedience, she earned genuine loyalty.

“It’s time,” Siobhan announces through our secure channel, her voice stripped of its usual polish—just pure, cold purpose. “Sean’s execution was his last mistake. Every young captain, every modernized crew, they’re all in position.”

Through multiple feeds, we watch her network activate like a precisely coordinated dance. The Murphy crew—still wearing black armbands for Sean—secure the docks with military precision. The younger O’Briens lock down South Boston block by block. The Brady heir’s political connections ensure police focus elsewhere tonight.

“My father always said I was too soft,” Siobhan says as reports of her success flood in. “That I spent too much time with computers and cryptocurrency when I should have been learning about power.” A joyless sound emerges from her. “He never understood that real power isn’t about breaking bones anymore. It’s about controlling systems.”

Elena’s intelligence confirms what we’re watching unfold—Seamus remains completely oblivious, too fixated on his meeting with Anthony to notice his empire slipping through his fingers. His own security teams, carefully infiltrated by Siobhan’s people months ago, are already turning.

“Your father’s still got loyal captains,” I warn her. “Men who remember the old ways. Who helped build his power.”

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