“Then by the authority vested in me?—”
The rear doors burst inward.
The first sound isn’t the gunfire. It’s wood splintering under force and a shouted warning cut short mid-syllable.
Then shots explode through the chapel.
Glass shatters high along the side windows, benches scrape violently across stone as guests drop, and Conall moves before the echo fades, pulling my mother down behind the first pew while Declan draws and returns fire toward the doorway.
“Down!” Maeve shouts, already dragging Saoirse with her as I pivot and push her behind the stone column nearest the altar.
Two men in dark jackets force their way inside, weapons raised, firing in controlled bursts toward the front where they expect me to be standing in full view. They don’t know the reinforcement behind the walls, or the outer perimeter tightening at the first breach.
I step out just long enough to get a clear line and fire once, and the lead attacker drops hard against the threshold, weapon skidding across the floor. The second pivots toward me, and a shot from the balcony cuts him off at the shoulder and spins him sideways into the pews.
More gunfire erupts from outside.
Conall’s voice carries through the chaos. “Secondary at the west window!”
Stone chips near my head as a round tears through the edge of the column, and Saoirse grips my sleeve.
“This is it,” she says quietly, and there’s no panic in her voice.
“Stay down,” I reply.
Outside, engines roar, and another volley cracks through the air as the outer teams engage.
Inside the chapel, smoke hangs low and sharp, alarms begin to shriek from the main house, and somewhere behind me, the priest is ushering my mother and Maeve toward the side passage built into the old stone wall.
Declan advances toward the rear doors with two men flanking him, stepping over the body at the entrance, while Conall signals toward the ridge team through a hand sign I’ve known since I was eighteen.
The sea beyond the shattered window looks the same as it did an hour ago.
Another blast rocks the outer courtyard, closer this time.
Then the gunfire intensifies, tearing through stone and glass as the real assault begins.
I move before the second burst finishes, and my hand is already at Saoirse’s waist, shoving her down behind the stone lip of the chapel platform while Nikolas and Conall step in hard on either side of us.
“Down,” I bark, and Maeve is already dragging my mother behind the first pew while Declan hauls the priest flat by the shoulder and curses loud enough to cut through the shots.
This is the part Patrick thought would break us.
He fed on habits for years. He studied grief, family, timing, and pride, and he always assumed everyone else did the same. He thought a wedding made me soft, and he thought public joy would make me sloppy. He thought I would stand in a suit at an altar and forget I was raised in blood.
He never understood that I planned this day like a siege.
“Nikolas,” I snap.
“West wall, two down already,” he answers, firing through the side opening between columns. “South gate team is engaged. They’re inside the outer grounds.”
Good. Let them come deeper.
Saoirse grabs my sleeve, her face pale but steady, veil half-torn and pinned under her shoulder. “The back corridor,” she says, voice low and fast. “If Gavin’s here, he’ll send a second pair through service access. He always doubles entries when he thinks the first team is noise.”
I look at her and nod once. “Conall, service corridor now. Two men with you. Take them alive if you can, but don’t slow down.”
Conall moves at once, ducking low as another round punches through stained glass over the side aisle. Colored shards rain across the stone floor, and someone near the entrance screams before one of my men shouts, “Friendly, friendly,” and drags them behind cover.
