"No pleasantries?" He smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes. "No 'hello, Uncle Frank, good to see you're not dead?’”
"You want pleasantries, go have tea with someone else." My hands curl into fists at my sides. "I'm here for information. That's it."
"Straight to business then." Frank's smile fades. "Just like Edward. Your father never had the patience for social niceties either."
The mention of my father makes rage flare hot in my chest. "Don't talk about him."
"Why not?" Frank tilts his head. "Because Alex killed him? Because the great Edward Murphy was murdered by his own son?" He laughs, low and bitter. "I always knew Alex had it in him. That boy was too much like Edward for his own good."
I take a step forward before I can stop myself. "Say his name again, and I'll throw you off this fucking dock."
"Temper, William." Frank doesn't move, doesn't even flinch. "That rage is going to get you killed one day. But then again, maybe that's what you want."
The words hit too close to home.
I force myself to step back. To breathe. To remember why I'm here.
"The Russians," I say through gritted teeth. "You said you know about their plan."
"I do." Frank's expression shifts, goes serious. "Viktor Tarasov isn't just coordinating random attacks. He's planning something bigger. Something designed to eliminate the Murphy family entirely."
The words settle like stones in my gut. "How do you know this?"
"I built relationships with the Russians years ago." Frank's voice is matter-of-fact, like he's discussing the weather. "Connections that deepened after I disappeared. I've been cultivating them. Listening. Learning."
"You've been working with the Russians." The accusation comes out flat.
"I've been using the Russians," Frank corrects. "There's a difference. I feed them small pieces of information. Nothing critical. Nothing that could actually hurt us. In return, they trust me. Tell me things they shouldn't."
Us. Like he's still part of this family. Like he didn't try to destroy it.
"What things?" I ask.
Frank studies me for a long moment. Measuring. Calculating. Deciding how much to reveal.
“Viktor sees the Irish families as competition. Obstacles to expanding Bratva operations in Ireland. He wants us eliminated so he can move in and take over our territories."
I knew this. Aoife told me yesterday. But hearing it from Frank, hearing the confirmation, makes it real in a way it wasn't before.
"He's planning a coordinated strike," Frank continues. "Multiple targets. Multiple families. All at once. Something big enough to fracture the alliances you're trying to build. Something that will leave the Irish families too weak to resist a Russian takeover."
"When?" My voice sounds calmer than I feel.
"Soon." Frank's eyes narrow. "Within weeks. Maybe days. The attack on Dillon O'Rourke was just the beginning. A test to see how you'd respond. How the families would react."
"And?" I force myself to ask. "How did we do?"
"You survived." Frank's expression is unreadable. "But barely. The engagement party you're planning for tomorrownight? Viktor knows about it. He knows when. He knows where. He knows who will be there."
The air leaves my lungs.
How? How does Viktor know about the party? We only finalized the details yesterday. Only sent invitations to a handful of people. Unless...
"The mole," I say.
"Yes." Frank's voice softens, just slightly. "Someone close to you is feeding Viktor everything he needs. Every plan. Every meeting. Every weakness."
"Who?"
