"Sean and I can override the security?—"
"No. If we do this, we're the only ones involved," Brody cuts me off.
"We won't fuck it up," Sean assures.
"No. It's our job, and we do it all, or we don't do it," Brody demands.
Another round of tension passes.
"Your call," Kirill answers.
Brody nods. "Run us through the security setups."
We spend the next hour dissecting every inch of structure, arguing over pressure waves and blast echoes, gesturing wildly as they map out the order of detonation. The office fills with their thick Irish voices, their violent enthusiasm, their absolute comfort discussing destruction like it's an art form.
Watching them work is the first time in days I've felt even a trace of relief. These men don't hesitate, flinch, or moralize. They level threats like skyscrapers with no apologies before or after.
It's exactly what we need.
By the time the O'Connors gather their notes and start toward the door, the plan screams terrifying and brilliant.
Brody points at me as he leaves. "Be ready. Once we start, there's no stopping it."
"That's what we want," I assure him.
They leave, and Kirill folds the last blueprint, his expression carved from stone. "This is happening."
"Yes," I say.
Sean drags a hand through his hair. "No turning back."
"There never was," I reply.
They leave the office, and I stay behind for a moment, staring at the rolled blueprints, and the evidence of a future we're about to rewritein fire. My chest tightens, part fury, part determination, part something heavier and more human.
Valentina.
I leave the office and walk down the hallway, past the photographs Fiona hung to make the penthouse feel like a home, not a fortress. The closer I get to the family room, the more something in me settles.
Valentina is on the floor with the twins, Willow babbling in her lap while River kicks his feet against a cushion. Her hair falls over her shoulder in soft waves, her cheeks flushed, her eyes searching the babies' faces with a tenderness that shouldn't exist in a world like ours.
When she notices me, her gaze lifts, and immediate worry shadows her expression. "Well?"
I lower myself to the floor beside her, then pick up Willow and hold her in front of my face. She squeals and reaches for my jaw, her tiny fingers latching onto my stubble. I coo, "We're going to take them down, aren't we, Willow?"
She giggles, oblivious to everything. It's innocent and pure, the only kind of future worth protecting.
Valentina watches me with a question trembling in her eyes.
And everything in my body confirms it. This is the beginning of the end. Not just for the Omni or Royal Council. It's the obliteration of every sadistic tradition, masked ruler, and ritual soaked in blood.
The Underworld thinks it's going to steal my wife and her babies.
They have another thing coming.
I lean over and kiss my wife, retreat, and order, "Stop worrying. The only babies you're having are mine."
Surprise fills her expression.
