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Page 1 of Dublin Charmer (Emerald Isle Mafia #5)

CHAPTER ONE

Finn

T he Grand Ballroom in Clontarf Castle hums with laughter and music, filled with the warmth of our annual Quinn family and friends Christmas party.

We’re dressed to impress in custom-tailored Armani tuxedos, and while I’ve been told a dozen times how hot I look, I can’t shake the cold that clings to my bones.

The venue is glowing with holiday cheer—twinkling lights and evergreen garlands wrapped around every banister, the scent of roasted meats and mulled wine thick in the air, and bite-sized mince pies disappearing faster than the catering staff can replenish them.

I stand near the window, watching snow fall like glitter from the midnight sky, softening the sharp lines of the manicured grounds outside.

But inside, everything feels too loud, too showy, too much.

Tag and the twins get off on these sorts of events, their voices rising above the crowd, their women close by, thriving as if they were born to love their Quinn men.

Tag stands with Laine, his arm around her back, his hand resting on her hip, keeping her tucked in at his side. It’s like she’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. She looks stunning tonight, her belly rounded with the next generation of our bloodline.

In less than a month, our little Quinn princess will be with us.

That’s been the best gift this holiday season. Hands down.

After Da’s death, Tag moved out, and our home felt like a hollow shell of what it once was. Laine and Baby Q brought him back to us—made us a family again.

A lot has changed in the past year. Most of it was good…but not all of it.

Still, the Quinn clan has never been stronger.

Aiden and Henessey flank Tag, throwing back drinks with a celebratory gleam in their eyes.

Tag is every inch the leader Da raised him to be. Strong. Steady. Feared. It took a while, but the other heads of families have realized that over the past year.

Sean isn’t normally one for public affairs, but this party is all about family and friends, so he’s more at ease than usual. At the moment, he’s deep in it with Kieran and Gallagher, the Dublin Devils’ top brass.

Piper’s laugh cuts through the air, softening Sean’s rough edges in a way I still can’t quite believe. After the kidnapping that left him scarred as a kid, he relegated himself to rule from the shadows, to lurk and strike without mercy, to lead men who answer to no one but him.

But after twenty years of being violent and angry, there are now moments when he steps into the light. He laughs. He teases. And he loves.

That’s all Piper.

Brendan leans in close to Nora, his voice low, his hand resting on her thigh like he owns the space around her. Which, knowing how Quinn’s protect what is theirs, he likely does.

And Bryan…well, Bryan’s still got that restless look in his eye.

Even with Harper by his side, his arm slung protectively around her shoulders, there is still something violent and dangerous brewing inside him.

It’s better than it was, but having lost one love already, I’d bet loving Harper makes him realize he’s opened himself up to being shattered once again.

I hope it’s worth it.

And me? I’m the one who keeps the lights on, the money clean, and the deals running smoothly. I ensure our enemies stay one step behind us—and I do it quietly, from behind my screen.

No cheers for the hacker.

No fandom of local women seeking a Quinn bad boy.

No toasts raised for the brother who doesn’t bleed for the cause—at least, not in any way that counts.

I don’t begrudge them their happiness. They’ve earned it. Every scar and shadow they carry has been hard-earned. But sometimes, standing on the outside is like watching a play where everyone knows the part they’re playing but me.

I scan the room, letting my gaze fall on familiar faces—family, friends, and allies.

Jimmy Frances throws his head back in a laugh, his voice gravelly as hell in his old age.

As well as running the pub we frequent, the man’s a legend among made men.

As our father’s enforcer, he’s been a fixture in our lives since I was in nappies.

His daughter, the lovely Ginny, sips from a crystal glass, her gaze catching mine. She’s a firecracker and a knockout, and being seven years older than me, reigned as queen of my shower pleasure inspirations for most of my teenage years.

I always got the feeling she fancied Tag, but he never seemed interested.

I don’t understand that one bit.

Ginny is a goddess. She has never made me feel insignificant or less than. With her, there is no pretense, no ‘you’re the youngest,’ no ‘stay out of the way, Finny’.

She’s always been good to me.

I give her a nod, and she answers with a lift of her glass. It’s nothing, but it’s a comfort in a room full of noise and expectations.

I lean back against the wall, arms crossed, letting the sounds of the party wash over me. Maybe tonight isn’t about feeling left out. Maybe it’s about seeing things for what they are—and what they’re not.

My brothers are fighters, warriors, leaders.

But me?

Where do I belong in all of this?

The hum of conversation fades into background noise as I get lost in thought—at least until Tag catches my attention. He’s across the room, standing with Jimmy, deep in the kind of conversation that hardens jaws and tightens shoulders.

Tag lifts his chin, a silent summons.

No rest for the weary.

I push off the wall and make my way over, weaving through the crowd, accepting good-natured shouts and claps on the back. Toasting and smiling, I make my way toward my oldest brother.

Brenny hands me a shot of Fireball, and I throw it back before downing the last of my whiskey. The cinnamon burn feels good, and I reach to the tray of a passing server to swap my empty glass for a fresh tumbler.

The room has taken on a lovely spin, and I have no intention of wasting the buzz. Tonight is a party.

“Happy Christmas, Finn,” Ginny says as I get close.

“To you as well, Ginny. Save me a dance, will you?”

“Och, you know I will.”

I clink glasses with her and make it over to Tag and her father.

“Finny, I was telling Jimmy what you dug up about Gravely’s plan,” Tag says.

I look over my shoulder to make sure Laine isn’t within earshot. “Christ. Are you trying to put us in the doghouse? Your wife said no family business tonight or there will be hell to pay.”

“Aye. She means it, too.” Tag chuckles. “She described in great detail how she would torture anyone she caught dragging down the evening with talk of death and deception. But I’m willing to take the punishment for the both of us, little brother. Don’t you worry about that. So go on. Tell him.”

Jimmy folds his bulky arms across his broad chest and fixes me with a look that weighs heavily. “Aye, what have you got, kid?”

Kid. I hate when he calls me that, but I don’t flinch. Why would I? I’ve been ‘kid’ or ‘little brother’ or ‘Finny’ my entire life. I’m twenty-six years old, and the people in my family treat me like I’m still fourteen.

Knowing we likely haven’t got much time before Laine’s radar goes off and we’re busted for talking shop, I fill Jimmy in.

I tell him how Billy Gravely’s been stockpiling. Not just manpower—he’s bringing in guns, heavy ones. Outsourcing through contacts in Belfast, and I’ve traced some chatter that puts him in talks with lads from the mainland too. This isn’t small-time posturing.

Jimmy’s jaw tightens. “So, he’ll be making a move.”

“Aye, he will. What we don’t know is where he’s aiming his assault. He could be after the McGuire brothers—to take out Niall and the others to claim all of South Dublin for himself. Or he might well be gunning for us.”

“Or both,” Tag adds.

I nod. “There’s that, too.”

Jimmy swears under his breath, low and vicious. “Fucking Gravely.”

Tag’s eyes narrow, all that sharp intelligence behind them flickering like a storm. “If that fucker thinks he can come at us unprovoked and walk away from it, he can think again. Northside is ours. If he wants it, he’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

Jimmy gives a grim nod and claps Tag on the shoulder. “I’ll reach out to my old contacts and see what they’ve heard. If Gravely is coming for you, he won’t get far before I know about it.”

Jimmy shifts his attention to me next. “Keep digging, kid. The more we know, the better. If there’s intel to find, you need to find it.”

Tag’s grip tightens around his glass, the ice inside clinking as he swirls the amber liquid. “And find it fast, Finny. We’ve got a lot riding on you.”

Jimmy walks away, and I stay rooted to the spot, the weight of Tag’s words settling heavy on my chest. For the first time, my fingers itch for more than a keyboard—I want to fight, to bleed, to prove I’m not just the one who watches from the shadows.

The snow outside thickens, blanketing the world in white. But even as the party rages on around me, I feel something dark looming in the distance.

Gravely’s just the start.

Whatever is coming for us, I’m ready to step out from behind my computer and take it head-on.

An hour or two later, I sip the last of my whiskey, savoring the warm burn as it slides down my throat.

The party is in full swing, crystal chandeliers casting golden light across the ballroom of the rented estate.

My brothers are scattered throughout—Tag charming politicians, Brendan and Bryan shooting the shit with business associates, the usual family operations disguised as holiday cheer.

Ginny appears beside me, her red dress catching the light as she sways slightly. Her cheeks are flushed, matching the color of her dress, and her eyes sparkle with mischief.

“How many of those have you had?” I nod toward her empty champagne glass.

“Enough for a lovely buzz and swirl. You?”

“About the same.”

“Then we should have that dance.”

“Aye, we should.” I set my empty glass on a passing server’s tray.

Alcohol has loosened my limbs and taken the edge off my mood.

I take her hand in mine and lead her to the dance floor.

The live orchestra is playing a rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and I spin her into position.

Her eyes widen as her intake of breath gets swallowed by the surrounding room. I place my hand on her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric, and hold my opposite hand up for her to claim.

“Look at you, Mr. Quinn. I didn’t know you had the moves of Fred Astaire.”

I waggle my brows and get us moving. “I expect there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

We move across the floor, our steps not quite matching the rhythm, but we’re in good company. We’re not the only ones riding the buzz of the night.

Not that Ginny seems to care. She’s relaxed in my arms, beaming at me with a smile that makes my chest tighten. “This is nice.”

“Aye, it is.” I nod to the head of our charitable arm of Quinn Industries dancing with his wife and turn us to follow the flow of the other dancers.

“When did you become a man, Finn?”

I laugh. “I was fifteen and took Lexi Dawson for a joyride in Tag’s Jeep. Poor planning on my part. I should’ve taken Sean’s Camaro. The back seat was way bigger.”

Ginny giggles and shakes her head. “Not what I meant, but now I feel bad for Lexi Dawson.”

“Och, there’s no need. I made it up to her a dozen times over the next week.”

“A dozen times. Well then, now I think—” She stumbled slightly, pitching to the side. I reach to steady her, my hand accidentally cupping her breast. After getting her back on her feet, I yank my hand away immediately, heat rushing to my face.

“Shit—I’m sorry?—”

Ginny bursts into laughter, drawing curious glances from nearby dancers. “Are you hitting on me, Quinn?”

“That wasn’t intentional.” My embarrassment fades as she continues laughing, her head tipping back to expose the elegant line of her throat.

“I know it wasn’t, but you should see your face.” The song changes, and as the tempo slows, she straightens, throwing her arms over my shoulders, and steps against my chest. “I think this is more my speed anyway.”

Nothing wrong with that.

I shift to rest my hands politely on her hips as she leans in closer. “When I asked when you became a man, I meant you grew up nice. This whole James Bond look suits you.”

Her approval is welcome, and so is the appraising gaze she’s searing me with. “Women love a man in a tux.”

Her fingers trace the lapel of my jacket, and she bites her bottom lip. “I bet you’d look even better without it.”

The music fades into background noise.

The party, my brothers, the business—everything disappears except for Ginny’s lust-filled gaze locked on mine. Her comment hangs between us, and my cock stiffens at the possibility of where the night is headed.

“Do you want to find out?” The words are out of my mouth before I can reconsider.

She dips her chin. “Lead the way, Dublin Charmer.”

I turn her toward the corridor, guiding her through the crowd with a hand on the small of her back. We slip past a group of guests, past the Devils serving as security for the event, and up the grand staircase.

Kieran—Sean’s Sergeant at Arms—raises an eyebrow but says nothing, pretending not to notice.

The sound of the party dulls as the second-floor hallway stretches before us, lined with doors to guest bedrooms. Tag assigned us each a room to get dressed in or, if we should decide to stay, to use for the night.

“Which one’s yours?” Ginny whispers, her fingers intertwined with mine.

I pull her through the third door on the right.

The door clicks shut behind us, and suddenly we are alone in the darkness. The only light to guide us toward the historic framed bed comes from the moon glowing past heavy brocade drapery.

Ginny’s hand finds my face in the dim light. “Now, about that tuxedo...”