Page 80 of Forbidden Vengeance

Each family head brings their chosen successor—sons and nephews who eye their elders with barely concealed ambition. The generational tension crackles even through the digital feed.

Elena adjusts camera angles on her laptop while I pace, unable to stay still. Just forty-eight hours since bullets tore through our safe house, since I killed all those people in the alley, and here we are—watching through hidden lenses while planning revolution with the daughter of the man who wants me dead.

The irony would be amusing if the stakes weren’t so high.

“They’re all here,” Sean murmurs through our earpieces. “Let the games begin.”

“The old ways are dying,” Siobhan announces, her voice carrying authority that belies her youth. Through the feed, Elena can see how the younger family members keep glancing her way, seeking direction. “While we cling to outdated vendettas, our legitimate profits drop 60 percent. Meanwhile, modernized operations like the DeLucas in New York have doubled their earnings.”

“Legitimate?” Seamus sneers, his contempt obvious even through the digital feed. “Since when do we care about?—”

“Since RICO investigations started targeting traditional operations,” she cuts in smoothly. “Since blockchain made old-school money laundering obsolete. Since we realized survival means adaptation.”

My hand rests on Elena’s shoulder as she documents reactions—the younger O’Briens nodding in agreement, the Gallagher heir’s carefully blank expression, the way the Bradys shift almost imperceptibly closer to Siobhan in silent support. The battle lines being drawn between old and new couldn’t be clearer.

“She’s playing it perfectly,” I murmur, watching power shift in real time. “Setting up exactly what we need.”

Elena nods, already compiling intelligence through their secure channel. Every outdated scheme Seamus clings to, every digital vulnerability in his operation, every piece of evidence showing how his stubbornness has cost the Irish families millions.

“Your father’s refusal to modernize has left them vulnerable to federal investigation,” Elena types to Siobhan. “Show them the digital trails.”

Through the feed, we watch Siobhan pull up records on the meeting room’s screens—documentation Elena spent months gathering, now deployed like precision-guided missiles.

“These banking records,” Siobhan announces, displaying files Elena discovered months ago, “show how our traditional money laundering methods leave digital footprints that might as well be neon signs for federal investigators.”

Seamus’s face darkens dangerously as his daughter systematically dismantles everything he’s built. Every weakness Elena found, every vulnerability she cataloged while playing the perfect society planner, now becoming weapons in Siobhan’s hands.

“Your own daughter had to create shadow accounts to protect family assets,” young Patrick Brady speaks up, his voice carrying the weight of his family’s political connections. “While you were busy fighting modernization, she was keeping us from financial collapse.”

Elena squeezes my hand as we watch the old guard’s power crumbling in real time. The revolution we helped plan unfolding through hidden cameras and careful manipulation.

This is how empires fall—not with gunfire and blood, but with spreadsheets and digital footprints.

My hand tightens on Elena’s shoulder as we watch Seamus realize he’s losing control. “He’ll make a move soon,” I murmur against her ear. “Men like him always do when cornered.”

As if on cue, Seamus stands, his chair scraping against hardwood with a sound like breaking bones. “This modernization you’re all so eager for,” he spits, face mottling with rage, “it’s what let that DeLuca exile and his pregnant whore spy on us for months. Let them steal our secrets while pretending to plan our parties.”

“Interesting choice of example,” Siobhan says smoothly, and I have to admire her delivery. “Since Elena Santiago’s intelligence gathering proved exactly how vulnerable your old methods are. She walked right through our security because you refused to update it. Gathered evidence because you insisted onpaper records. Used your own stubborn adherence to tradition against you.”

Elena’s fingers fly across the keyboard:Show them the shipping manifests. The ones that don’t match the digital records.

Through the feed, we watch Siobhan pull up document after document, each one demonstrating how Seamus’s outdated methods have left the Irish families exposed. Not just to law enforcement, but to rival families, to ambitious upstarts, to anyone smart enough to exploit their weaknesses.

“Jesus,” I breathe as the younger family members start openly challenging Seamus. “You really did catalog everything.”

“Knowledge is power,” Elena responds, her hand drifting to her stomach. “And I needed enough power to protect what matters.”

The meeting descends into barely controlled chaos. Decades of resentment explode as sons face fathers across the polished table. The Brady heir slams his fist down, demanding access to digital operations. Michael O’Brien lists millions in lost revenue due to outdated methods. The Flaherty successor reviews federal investigations that could have been avoided with proper cybersecurity.

“Mark my words,” Seamus growls at his daughter as the old guard storms out, “you’ll regret this betrayal. Family is everything.”

“Yes,” Siobhan responds coolly. “That’s exactly why I’m saving ours.”

The door slams shut and there’s silence for a heartbeat.

“It’s done,” her voice comes through our private channel once the dust settles. “The families are with us now. Time for phase two?”

Elena and I look at each other, satisfaction clear in her blue eyes. “Phase two,” Elena confirms, already pulling up ourcarefully gathered evidence about Anthony’s operation. “Let’s show them exactly what modern warfare looks like,” I say.

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