My nephew Liam downloaded the layout of the warehouse. From the image that Morran sent, it looks as if Amelia is being held in a room adjacent to the reception, which makes my life a whole lot easier.
The plan—get Amelia out, make sure the perp understands where he went wrong, and torch the place with his body in it. He won’t be expecting me. The demand that he attached to the image of my wife was for me to transfer 10 million Irish pounds into an offshore account and wait for him to send me an address with Amelia’s whereabouts.
I’m trusting the power of Snap Maps and Amelia’s friend Carol to be right.
I give the signal for my team to move in.
They approach the building like ants swarming a jelly sandwich. We have every exit point covered, men on the roof preparing to enter via the skylights, and our own leverage.
I’m calm as I enter the main reception flanked by Dermott and Liam, three more armed men covering our backs. We don’t make a sound. The warehouse is silent apart from the low hum of electricity running through the cables.
Liam gestures to the STAFF sign.
It feels too easy. The monster didn’t gain his reputation by making rookie mistakes. Or maybe the news that he had a daughter he never knew about threw him off-balance.
Dermott and Liam cover me, guns ready, and I kick open the door, entering first with my finger on the trigger.
The lights are off, and when my men flick the switch, nothing happens. I don’t see Amelia to begin with, but as my eyes adjust to the gloom, I notice her on the floor in the corner of the room behind a table and chairs, knees pulled up to her chest, protecting the baby in her womb.
But she isn’t alone.
Michael Morran is sitting behind her, using his daughter and her unborn baby as a human shield. And he has a gun pressed against her temple.
“What took you so long, Declan? Is there something amiss in the Byrne household? Most men know where their new brides are when they’re not in the bedroom.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Let her go. She’s pregnant.” I step closer, gun aimed at his head in the shadows.
I can’t tell if Amelia is unconscious or pretending to be.
But he isn’t going to relinquish his leverage. He didn’t earn the ‘monster’ label by having a heart, and Amelia means nothing to him. She’s a means to an end, the end being a substantial sum of money and a target on the Byrne empire when he kills the boss.
“Congratulations, Declan. Under different circumstances, I’d buy you a Guinness and we could put the world to rights between us. Two powerful men. Twofamilymen.”
Another step. “Amelia is family too. But I guess you don’t understand the meaning of the word.”
I pause, assessing the situation. I can’t risk shooting him while he’s holding Amelia hostage. But there’s a faint patch of gray from above our heads. A skylight. My men entering from the roof will create a distraction. I’ll only need a fraction of a second to take him down. Until then, I’ll keep him talking.
“Do you know where your son is right now?”
He hesitates. I swoop in, close enough to see the rise and fall of Amelia’s chest.
I’m going to save you, my sweet Amelia. I only hope that she believed me when I said that I would always protect her. No matter what.
“Nice try, Declan. It won’t work. In case it slipped your attention, I’m the one with the hostage here.”
“You’re sure about that, are you?”
His eyes flicker to the rest of my team standing behind me, his fist applying pressure to the gun at Amelia’s temple at the same time.
Steady now. That’s my wife you’re holding hostage, you fucker.
I count in my head. One… two… three.
Then I hear Dermott shoving our own leverage into the spotlight.
Monster Morran and his wife waited years to produce an heir to his unstable empire. Rumor was that nature had taken matters into its own hands. Until his wife finally gave birth to their only child, a son, now approaching eighteen. A son who would rather be an artist than a mafia boss.
His eyes settle on his son briefly, but his face shows no emotion.
