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"My car is around the corner," Declan says as we burst into the alley behind the building.

Conor clings to him, face buried against Declan's shoulder, terrified. The sight of my son in his father's arms—a picture I never thought I'd see—I melt a little even in the chaos.

There is a black SUV parked in the shadows. Declan unlocks it and helps Conor into the back seat.

"Get in," he tells me.

"My purse, my phone?—"

"Are not worth dying for, get in."

A shout from the building's back entrance scares me into listening. Shadows move in the doorway.

I climb in next to Conor, pulling him close as Declan jumps into the driver's seat. The engine roars to life, and we peel away from the curb, tires squealing.

"Mom, what's happening? Who is he?"

I meet Declan's eyes in the rearview mirror. In them, I see a promise of protection, but also a reckoning delayed too long.

"An old friend," I tell my son. "He's going to help us."

Declan's hands tighten on the steering wheel as he navigates through back streets, putting distance between us and whoever broke into my home.

"I'm taking you somewhere safe," he says.

I want to argue, to demand he take us to the police or to my mother's house in the countryside. But the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw tells me it would be pointless.

Just like that, Declan Donovan is back in my life, dragging danger and chaos in his wake.

CHAPTER5

DECLAN

The car engine growls as I drive through Dublin's back streets, taking a route, no one expects. Every few minutes, I check the rearview mirror. No tails yet.

"Where are you taking us?" Maeve asks from the back seat, her arms wrapped around Conor.

"Somewhere the Russians can't find you."

"Russians?"

I glance at her in the mirror. "That's who's after us. Ryan Byrne mentioned them at the wake—they're moving in on Donovan territory. Testing boundaries. Those thugs did not speak English."

My safe house is on the outskirts of the city, tucked away behind high walls and a biometric gate. I use facial recognition to open up and drive through, closing it behind us. The place looks abandoned from the outside—exactly how I want it.

"This is yours?" Maeve asks as I park in the garage.

"Bought it years ago under an alias. No one knows about it."

"Not even your brothers?"

"Not even them." Some secrets are just for me, my family can’t always be trusted.

I usher them inside, flipping on lights to reveal sparse furnishings and bare walls. The place isn't pretty, but it has reinforced doors, security cameras, and bulletproof windows.

"There are two bedrooms upstairs," I say. "The kitchen has food. Bathroom has towels."

Conor stares at me, his green eyes—my eyes—wide. He hides behind Maeve, peeking around her hip.