"The families," I say.
Matty nods. "The Reillys. Dillon's people. Whatever smaller houses we can pull in. Everyone who still has skin in this."
"They won't come willingly."
"They will if you ask them right."
I look at him. "Since when do you give speeches?"
Something that might be the ghost of a smile crosses his face. "I don't. You do. That's the point."
He's right, and I hate that he's right. The Irish families have been fractured since Viktor started moving against them. He's been picking them off one at a time because none of them trust each other enough to stand together. The Reillys lost men in Limerick. The Brennans and the Walshes have been bleeding from the port disruptions Viktor's people have been running since October.
They're all hurting. But hurt doesn't make people cooperate. Fear does. And right now, they're more afraid of each other than they are of Viktor.
I need to change that.
"Set up a meeting," I say. "Tomorrow. Neutral ground. I want the heads of every family at the same table."
"The Shelbourne?" Matty suggests.
"Too public. Too many eyes."
"Aidan has the farmhouse in Meath. Forty acres. Private road. Easy to secure."
I think about it. Nod. "That works. Call Aidan. Tell him we need the house, and we need it clean."
Matty's already typing.
I stand up. My body aches in ways that have nothing to do with anything physical. The tiredness goes deeper than muscle and bone. It lives in the part of me that's been making decisions no twenty-seven-year-old should have to make for longer than I can remember.
"William."
I stop in the doorway.
"She's going to figure it out eventually," Matty says. He doesn't look up from his phone. "Aoife. She's too smart not to."
"I know."
"What happens then?"
I don't answer. Because the truth is, I don't know. The truth is that the woman asleep in my bed has already survived more loss than most people face in a lifetime, and I just added to it, and when she finds out, there's a real chance she'll never look at me the same way again.
I'll deal with that when it comes.
Right now, I have a war to win.
The morning is gray and cold. March in Ireland. The kind of day that makes you feel like the sun forgot to show up.
Aidan arrives at eight. He looks like he hasn't slept either, dark circles under his eyes, his jaw tight. He walks into the kitchen and pours himself coffee and leans against the counter and looks at me.
"Reilan's gone," he says. Not a question.
"He's gone."
Aidan studies me. He's always been able to read me better than anyone except maybe Jason. Those dark eyes with the gold flecks moving across my face, looking for whatever I'm not saying.
I hold his gaze and give him nothing.
