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The numbers above the doors climb too fucking slowly.

“You expecting Tallons to let us help?”

“I’m not asking for permission.”

“They’ll shoot at anything coming through the smoke.”

“Then tell our men not to look like targets.”

Brennan is quiet for half a second. “If Crowe men are still inside?”

“Then we kill them.”

I end the call before he can ask more annoying questions. The lift doors open, and as we descend, I text Eilish for Sera’s number.

The moment it appears, I call. It rings until her voicemail cuts in.

My palm cracks against the metal wall. “Fucking answer.”

The doors slide open into the underground garage, where the air is cold and thick with exhaust fumes. My Range Rover sits in the first bay beneath the strip lights.

I open the boot and lift the panel beneath the floor. A gun, a spare magazine, and a black balaclava sit inside. I take all three, slam the boot, and get behind the wheel.

The engine turns over as I hit the garage control. Eilish’s name appears across the dash.

“I just heard. Is this your father, Fionn?”

“No. Keep calling Sera. The moment she answers, let me know.”

I end the call and throw the Range Rover into gear while the garage door is still climbing. The instant there’s enough space to pass under it, I stamp on the accelerator.

Those bastards haven’t just hit Tallon ground. They’ve hit the port, the routes and the freight, and every family with money moving through Cork will feel the damage by morning.

I should be calculating retaliation, containment and which alliances will fracture first. Instead, all I can see is Sera inside that smoke, fighting for her life, and everything inside me goes to war.

Chapter 31

Sera

Rafe stands over the desk, pointing at the delivery sheets while Saint reads through the latest shipment figures.

Dane has taken the chair nearest the door, one ankle resting over his knee.

I lean against the filing cabinet and watch rain stripe the window overlooking the harbour.

Most of the night crew are outside moving freight, their voices carrying whenever the office door opens.

Somewhere near the loading bays, someone shouts for a forklift before another man tells him where he can stick it.

Rafe draws a line through one of the figures. “That truck was meant to clear customs this morning.”

“It did,” Dane says.

Rafe looks toward the yard. “Then why’s it still sitting out there?”

“Gearbox went.”

“Fuck, why didn’t someone write gearbox instead of leaving the reason blank?”