I tense, ready for the reprimand. But it doesn’t come.
“They know we’ve drained their trafficking accounts. That we moved their money and locked them out. Ryan rerouted it so cleanly, they didn’t even realize it was happening until it was gone.” He huffs a quiet laugh. “That boy’s a ghost.”
He taps the table with two knuckles. “But they haven’t made a move. Not yet. That means they’re regrouping. And that means we’re winning.”
Rowan leans forward, brows pulled together. “Okay, but can someone please tell me what the hell we actually did? Because the last time I checked, the Greeks weren’t this quiet. They don’t alert us to threats with old coins. They just strike.”
My father gives him a long, satisfied look. “We starved them.”
Rowan blinks. “Starved them?”
I answer this time, because the pride in my father’s voice is doing something to me I can’t even begin to name. “Ryan was able to get into their network. He isolated the trafficking funds. Every account they were using to move money, every shell company they had under a false name—he rerouted it. They can’t launder it, can’t use it, can’t access it. They’ve got assets, sure. But liquid cash? They’re bleeding.”
Mick Walsh lets out a low whistle. “Sweet Jesus.”
“They let us in,” I add. “Through Taryn’s account. Thought they were smart, setting her up so that we’d think she was intentionally funding them. They left a few doors open on purpose to bait us in—let us see what they wanted us to see.”
“But they didn’t account for Ryan,” my father finishes. “They didn’t know we’d bring a feckin’ scalpel when they expected a sledgehammer.”
Rowan laughs. Actually throws his head back and laughs. “Of course they expected a sledgehammer. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Yes. It’s what the Irish are known for. Blood first. We’ve always liked a good fight.
“So you’ve crippled their trafficking operations?” Taryn asks. She sounds…hopeful.
I kiss her temple. “For now.”
My father grins. “For long enough to weaken them. Distract them.”
“Then, what’s with the coin?” Nolan growls. Taryn shivers at his lethal tone.
I shift slightly, tightening my grip on her. She leans into me without hesitation, but I can’t stop the flicker of unease in my chest. She has no idea who her brother really is.
Nolan Walsh might wear his loyalty like a badge of honor, but no one in this room deals in blood more efficiently. More creatively. He’s not just the youngest hitman the New York Irish ever produced—he’s a fucking artist. And if Taryn ever saw the pieces he’s left behind, I don’t know if she’d look at him—or any of us—the same way again. He’s already antsy that he’s up here with us while Timmy is locked somewhere in the basement. I’m hoping he keeps his fucking mouth shut before he further upsets his sister.
His father is the one who answers, his voice low and annoyed. “Because they can’t let us keep bleeding them out. Theyhaveto hit back. Hard. I’d expect it to be done publicly.”
“They need to remind us—and everyone else—what happens when you fuck with the Greeks,” Rowan agrees grimly.
“But how?” I ask. “They don’t know how we did it. And they sure as hell don’t know how to stop it.”
My father taps the coin again. “They don’t need to stop it. They just need to scare us into stopping it ourselves.”
“Scare us?” Nolan’s chilling laugh causes Taryn to tense. Yeah. The man is not right in the head. I’m surprised when Taryn speaks next.
Her voice cuts through the tension, steady and clear. “Maybe we should remind them who they’re dealing with.”
Everyone turns to look at her. My mouth drops open. I couldnothave heard her right.
“They’re trying to use fear,” she continues. “That only works if we flinch. So we don’t. What if we make noise instead? We could throw them off balance. We could force them to spend time and money managing a crisis if we leaked information about their activities.”
My father raises an eyebrow. “You want to bait them?”
“No,” she says, eyes locked on him. “I want to bleed them dry—but I’ll settle for making it hurt.” So…maybe her brother’s tactics wouldn’t scare her quite as much as I assumed.
Rowan chuckles, low in his throat. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” He grins at my wife. “No wonder Gráinne is so taken with you. Not afraid to get your hands dirty, Tare?”
I watch the corner of my father’s mouth twitch—barely—but it’s there. Approval. And just like that, she’s not my wife sitting at this table. She’s part of the clan.
TARYN
