That makes my stomach twist, and I force myself to breathe evenly. It’s odd how he speaks of Cillian like he isn’t a human being, but a mere stone to be removed from his path.
If Cillian falls, the docks shift overnight. The export lanes realign. The suppliers who hover in neutral ground scramble for new protection. My father absorbs the uncertainty like he always does, offering stability where he first created chaos. Byrne Imports collapses or fractures, and the men who depended on Cillian’s structure look for the next man who can promise them order. That man would be Patrick O’Callaghan.
He gains territory without firing a public shot. He gains influence in Madrid and Vigo through the gaps left behind. He gains leverage over politicians who prefer one predictable kingpin to a turf war. And he gains something quieter, something he values more than territory. Proof that his daughter can dismantle a rival from the inside.
That was always the assignment. Earn trust. Learn habits. Identify weaknesses. Make the final blow clean. I understood it as a way of life. I even believed in it. Cillian was a rival. A threat. A name attached to a tragedy that shaped my childhood. Removing him wasn’t personal. It was structural. That’s how I framed it when I agreed. That’s how I kept my hands steady when I first walked into his office. He was a target, not a man. A position, not a person.
“He’s getting serious about me.” Butterflies erupt in my stomach at the mere memory of his mouth on mine, how he took me apart under him, and how much I want him to do it again.
“Men like him don’t invite lightly,” Father replies. “You’ve moved past the bed and into his blood.”
I close my eyes for a second. I’ve been around men like Cillian before, and I’ve seen charm used as leverage and discipline used as theater. I’ve watched men with power build empires out of fear and call it respect. This should feel the same kind of transactional. Yet it doesn’t. He doesn’t talk about dominance as destiny. He talks about keeping lanes clean and people paid. He doesn’t posture at the table. He listens and then decides. He doesn’t touch me like he’s proving something to himself. He touches me like he’s choosing.
I’ve trained myself not to care about tone or nuance. Men are men. Power is power. But when my father speaks of him as an obstacle, I hear the absence of everything I’ve actually seen. I hear a plan that erases the dockworker’s son who still drives himself to his mother’s house on Sundays. I hear a strategy that ignores the man who invited me into a space without guards and without negotiation.
And I ask myself why that unsettles me. It isn’t attraction. I’ve desired men before. It isn’t novelty. I’ve navigated complex operations before. It’s the possibility that this isn’t just a removal of a rival but the removal of something that, for the first time in years, feels… uncalculated.
I was meant to dismantle him. I agreed to it. I prepared for it. But now, when I imagine the city without him in it, I don’t see a cleaner map. I see a fracture line, and I don’t know which side of it I’d be standing on.
“That was the goal,” father adds.
“And what happens when this isn’t clean anymore?” I ask. “When he finds out?”
“He won’t,” Patrick says. “Not until it’s too late for him to matter.”
I sit back down slowly.
“He likes me,” I whisper, knowing I’m risking sounding weak.
“He likes what you give him,” Father corrects, his tone taking a sharper edge. “And you gave him exactly what he needed. Saoirse, I will not have you lose sight of the goal when you’re so close.”
“I’m not losing sight of anything,” I counter. “I just want to be careful. He watches everything.”
“Then give him something worth watching,” Patrick replies. “Stay sharp. Stay useful. Get me access to the family.”
I look at my reflection again.
“Why tell me now?” I ask quietly.
“Tell you what?”
“That you were behind Vigo.”
Another pause. “Because you earned it,” he says. “You handled it without falling apart. You didn’t hesitate when the pieces moved. That’s my daughter. You keep doing what you’re doing now, and this family will be whole again.”
I press my lips together and stare at the wall across from me.
“You’ll go to lunch,” he continues. “You’ll observe the mother. The sister. The uncle. You’ll note their routines. Then we move to phase two.”
“What’s phase two?” I ask.
“That depends on how well you keep performing.”
I nod once, even though he can’t see me.
“I won’t disappoint you,” I say automatically.
“I know you won’t.”
