Page 51 of Conall's Reign

I simply smiled, turning toward the room of my next patient. While I enjoyed the antics of Amy and Sandra, I wasn’t ready to share the whole truth.

In this hospital, I could simply be Francesca—not a mafia wife or someone entangled in a world of power and bloodshed, but just a nurse helping people. That was exactly what I needed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

conall

The night airwas heavy with tension, the salty tang of the harbor mixing with the distant hum of machinery. I crouched behind a stack of shipping containers, adjusting the cuff of my jacket so it rested just right against my wrist. The urge to straighten the seam gnawed at me, but I forced myself to focus. My dark clothing blended seamlessly into the shadows as the soft murmur of voices crackled through my earpiece, anchoring me to the moment.

“Sean, are you in position?” I whispered, ensuring my voice remained low but firm.

There was a brief pause, followed by Sean’s gruff reply. “Aye, boss. Northeast corner. The blind spot is clear. The guards are switching now.”

I counted my breaths—four in, hold, three out. The rhythm steadied me as I flicked my gaze to the dock checkpoint, where two guards stood idly, smoking. Beside me, Paddy nudged my shoulder, disrupting my carefully maintained balance.

“I suggest we eliminate them quietly. Sean enjoys a good chokehold,” Paddy joked.

I exhaled sharply and adjusted my stance back to center. “Focus, Paddy.”

Even in the dim light, I caught his smirk. His irreverence was a constant thorn in my side—aggravating during meetings but strangely grounding in moments like this.

“Right,” he whispered back. “Focus. Let’s hope we don’t get our arses handed to us, eh?”

“Cut the chatter,” Sean snapped through the earpiece. “Two more coming up from the south pier. They’re armed.”

I pressed my thumb and forefinger together, a small grounding habit I couldn’t shake, before signaling to Brody and Fergus. Brody raised a hand in acknowledgment, the moonlight reflecting off the gleam of his knife.

The plan was straightforward: strike quickly, hit hard, and make a clean getaway. However, straightforward didn’t mean safe. My thoughts drifted to Francesca back at the apartment, likely rearranging the plants she had insisted on buying. Again. I had counted four changes yesterday—one moved just an inch to the left, suggesting she probably adjusted it again today. That thought anchored me. She had to work today, and it drove me mad knowing she was out socializing with people who could potentially harm her. Sure, she had Finn for protection, but I had monitored her tracker all day, fixated on the flashing light.

“Paddy, you’re with me. Sean, eliminate the guards at the blind spot. Brody, Fergus, secure the south pier,” I commanded.

A chorus of affirmatives buzzed in my ears.

We moved as one, shadows slipping through the maze of containers. My heart thudded steadily, and my focus narrowed to the precise angles and spacing between the crates. As we approached the main shipment area, the hum of conversation grew louder. I peered around the corner and spotted three men unloading crates.

Paddy leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “I suggest we scare the shite out of ’em. Make it memorable.”

“Subtlety, Paddy.” I adjusted my grip on the gun, flexing my fingers twice before settling them.

Sean’s voice interrupted. “Guards down. The blind spot is ours.”

“Good. Maintain your position. We’re moving in,” I said.

Paddy moved ahead, surprisingly silent for someone who never stopped talking. I followed, each step deliberate. The dockworkers stayed oblivious until Paddy stepped into the light.

“Evening, lads,” he chirped, gun leveled. “I hate to interrupt, but we’ll take this shipment off your hands.”

One of the men lunged for a weapon, but I was quicker. A single shot rang out, echoing across the docks. The man crumpled. The other two froze, their hands raised.

“Smart choice,” I remarked icily, my grip tightening then loosening. “Tie them up.”

As Paddy secured the dockworkers, Sean and his team arrived, their presence strong and imposing.

“Crates are filled with AKs,” Sean reported, prying one open. “It seems your intel was correct.”

“Of course it was,” I replied, already cataloging the next steps in my mind and rearranging them like a puzzle until everything fit. “Fergus, signal the boats. We need to act quickly.”

“On it,” Fergus replied, disappearing into the shadows.

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