Page 5 of Dublin Charmer
Let me know if anything changes.
I give my phone the middle-finger salute and roll my eyes.
The leather of my desk chair creaks as I sink deeper in my seat and take in the feed from Clontarf Castle. The Quinns like to have a good time, that’s for sure. The party footage shows women in designer gowns and men in tuxedos mingling in the grand hall. They’ve got an open bar and food on an endless circuit from the kitchen and a live-freaking-orchestra.
Mafia families are all the same.
They are just rich people playing at being civilized while their empires are built on the blood and suffering of others. Generation after generation, the rich get richer, and the poor get exploited and left behind.
As I watch, the youngest Quinn—Finlay—slips out of the ballroom and heads upstairs with one of the guests.
“Oh, no you don’t. There’s no getting away. The really exciting part of the night is just beginning.”
My system pings. My breaching program has run into another barrier, refusing entry into their network. “For fuck’s sake, Quinns. Why does this need to be so difficult? Can’t we all just get along?”
I crack my knuckles and dive in, searching for an opening where I can deploy my custom rootkit. My malicious software can grant me privileged access, allowing me to control and manipulate their system without them being any the wiser. Once I finally break into their system, I’ll be able to steal data, launch cyber-attacks, or simply maintain persistent access to the infected system.
But if I don’t get in…I’ve got nothing.
Patience is the key here. Sure, the Quinn’s security is impressive, but I’ve spent months studying their infrastructure. Tonight’s party is the distraction I need to work my way through their protective protocols.
I check the time and smile. From what I’ve learned, Quinn parties rage on well into the wee hours of the night. It’s only 21:10, so there’s almost a full hour before Gravely’s men move in, and then they’ll be too distracted by the chaos to realize I’ve infiltrated their system.
A security alert flashes, and I race to contain it.Shit.
With calm focus, I address the watchdog alert and reroute the security notifications it’ll send out. I can’t let them detect menow. Not when my continued success gives me access to Gravely and the chance to find out where he’s holding my brother.
It takes a bit of fancy finger work, but once I’ve nullified the security alert and ensured no one will be notified, I erase my footprint and back out of that part of the system.
I bypass another line of encryption and work my way through a new window of code.
Something seems to slip into place and then, unexpectedly, I’m staring at a folder entitled “Quinn Family Assets.”
“Hello. Where did you come from?”
Movement on the fourth monitor fragments my focus, and I watch as an asshole guard runs his nightstick along the bars of Gio’s cell as he walks by. My brother jerks awake and stares out at the passing threat.
He looks so thin, shadows hanging under his eyes like bruises. The bastards haven’t even given him a fucking blanket or pillow. All he has is a wafer-thin mattress on a rickety cot.
Each passing hour he’s held prisoner feels like an eternity. How dare Gravely. How dare anyone think they could play God with our lives and use us as pawns in their quest for power.
I shift my attention back to the task at hand, mentally shaking off the emotional weight—it will only slow me down. “Okay, Quinn Family Assets.”
I hover my cursor over the folder and double-click.
Even as my finger is pressing the button, I roll my eyes and give my head a shake. It was too easy. My heart sinks as a lockout protocol activates and everything I’ve done to weave my way into the Quinn system shuts down and kicks me out.
“Dammit, Emilia!” I slam my palms down on my desk and watch as two weeks of planning go up in a blaze of failure.
Shit. Shit. Shit.If my dad were here, the room would be filled with Italian curses, and his hands would be flying through theair. “Distraction will cost you,bimba. Emotion gets you killed in this game.”
Or worse—get my brother killed.
As my screens lock out and my breach fails completely, I do what I can to erase my footprint and, at the very least, remain a ghostly glitch in the Quinn system.
When that’s done, I sit back and sigh.
21:45. Fifteen minutes until Gravely’s team moves in. I should feel guilty about helping the bastard attack a holiday party, but all I feel is icy determination.
