Page 3 of Dublin Charmer (Emerald Isle Mafia #5)

CHAPTER THREE

Finn

W e move toward the grand staircase, the opulent Christmas decorations now a grotesque mockery of celebration.

Crystal ornaments glitter beneath the emergency lights as shouts echo up from below.

The violence feels obscene against the backdrop of such beauty—like someone taking a knife to a masterpiece painting.

Blood spatters across white marble. Bullet holes in antique woodwork. Our family’s annual tradition desecrated.

I spot three of Gravely’s men at the bottom of the stairs, backs to us as they guard the entrance to the ballroom. They’re dressed in black tactical gear, completely out of place among the evening gowns and tuxedos scattered across the floor.

Ginny taps my shoulder and signals with her fingers: three targets. She’ll take them.

I dip my chin in understanding and allow her to pass.

She steps out onto the staircase, gun raised. The first shot cracks through the air before they even register our presence. One man drops, then another as she descends with terrifying precision. The third man spins, raising his weapon, but Ginny’s already firing—a clean shot through his throat.

“Jesus,” I whisper, following her down.

“Technically, no, though I’m not opposed to being worshipped as a goddess.” Her voice is steady despite the chaos, and I marvel at her.

She is definitely her father’s daughter.

When we make it to the main floor, I crouch beside the last man she dropped and grab his semi-automatic. The weight feels foreign in my hands—I’m more comfortable with keyboards than triggers—but tonight calls for adaptability.

“Stay tight to the walls. Head on a swivel, aye?”

She nods. “Aye, I’m good.”

We press close to the wall, inching toward the ballroom. The sound of gunfire comes in sporadic bursts now. Someone’s crying—a woman. I search the disaster zone of the corridor, praying not to see any of the wives.

Even the idea of it makes me sick to my stomach.

I follow the hushed whimpering into the parlor and train my gun toward the shadowed corner. My finger relaxes on the trigger when I recognize the couple hiding there—James Donovan, one of our biggest legitimate business partners, and his wife, Elise.

They’re huddled behind a velvet chaise lounge, her evening gown torn at the shoulder, his face streaked with someone else’s blood.

“Mr. Donovan,” I whisper, lowering my weapon. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but they’re killing everyone,” Elise chokes out. “Several of the guests and the catering staff…”

Fucking hell. They aren’t just after us—they’re here for a massacre.

“There’s a service door behind that tapestry.” Ginny points to the far wall. “I saw them use it during the setup this afternoon.”

I check that we’re still undetected and urge them to move. Ginny covers us as I lead the way and flip back the heavy tapestry. Opening the narrow wooden door behind, I glance down the steps to the basement. “Find somewhere to hide and stay quiet until one of us comes for you.”

They disappear into the dark stairwell, and I close the door behind them. One minor victory in this nightmare.

“Ballroom?” Ginny whispers, checking her ammunition.

“Aye.” That’s where we left everyone we love.

We move back toward the main hall, stepping over bodies—some in suits, others in tactical gear. The Christmas tree in the foyer lies toppled, ornaments shattered across the floor like fallen stars, making silent steps impossible.

Beneath it, one of the security guards from the compound stares upward with vacant eyes. Martin. Fucking hell. He was a good man. He has a wife and two kids…I think.

Ginny pats my shoulder when I hesitate, and I get my head back in the game.

We reach the ballroom doors, or what’s left of them.

They hang splintered on their hinges, the decorative glass shattered and spilled everywhere across the threshold of the entranceway.

Inside, overturned tables create a battlefield of makeshift barricades.

The chandelier swings precariously, casting wild shadows across the carnage.

And then, just as we prepare to enter, the gunfire stops.

Complete silence falls, more terrifying than the chaos that preceded it.

I strain to hear voices, to identify who’s still standing. Is it my brothers? Gravely’s men? My lungs burn as I hold my breath, waiting for some sign.

Ginny’s wide eyes ask the same question. Who won?

I grip the semi-automatic tighter and prepare to step through.

The ballroom’s festive energy rings with the aftermath of violence and chaos.

Antique chandeliers lay shattered like broken teardrops against the polished marble.

Pools of blood mingle with spilled champagne, creating sickening pink puddles.

And the air hangs thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder.

“Sean is clear! Let’s hear it, people.” My brother’s voice rings out from behind an overturned table.

“The stairs and entranceway are clear,” I shout.

“One to the shoulder, but Laine and the baby are fine.” Tag’s words carry a grunt of pain and a growl of fury.

“Brendan’s shot.” Nora’s scream pierces through the room. “He’s unconscious and bleeding!”

“The last of them bugged out.” Bryan runs in from outside one of the French doors accessing the grounds. “We’re clear.”

The tactical caution we maintained when approaching evaporates. I sprint across the ballroom, my dress shoes slipping in pools of blood and spilled champagne. Bodies litter the floor—most moving, some still.

Ginny rushes to Jimmy, who’s sporting a nasty gash across his forehead but looks otherwise intact.

I find Nora kneeling beside Brendan behind the toppled Christmas tree at the back of the orchestra stage. Her blue dress is soaked crimson at the knees, and I take in Brenny’s wound. “Brenny is shot in the leg and has a gash on the side of his head.”

“Femoral?” Bryan asks, joining us.

“No. Just thigh, I’m pretty sure.”

If the bullet tore through his femoral artery, there would be a shit-ton more blood and little any of us could do to save him. “How did he hurt his head, Nora? Did you see?”

My brother lies motionless, blood pumping steadily from a wound in his thigh.

“Nora!” I say a little more forcefully. “I need you to tell me what happened.” I yank at my belt, the leather sliding free from my waist with a whisper.

I loop it around his leg, above the wound, and pull it tight.

The buckle clicks into place, and I say a silent prayer that it’s enough to slow the bleeding.

Next, I move up to look at his head. Thankfully, Nora seems to snap out of her panic and joins me in the here and now. “We were rushing for cover. He got shot, and his leg buckled. He crashed against the edge of the stage and went down.”

“Okay, so being knocked out is likely only a bump to the head. How long ago was that?”

She blinks up at me. “Um…like right when the shooting first started.”

I check my watch and try to gauge how long that’s been—maybe ten minutes?

“All right. I’m sure he’s just having a well-deserved nap. Once we get him to the hospital, they’ll do a couple of tests and realize he’s got a head as hard as rocks.”

Nora lets out a teary chuckle. “You think?”

“Aye, you’ll see I’m right.” I wink and give her a smile. “Stay close. I’m going to get him some help.”

Straightening, I find Sean among the chaos and rush over.

He’s gathering the MC boys and taking control of the situation.

His long hair is matted with blood—someone else’s, I hope—and his tux is torn at the shoulder.

“I want every person in this building assessed and triaged for care. No one dies because we didn’t do our best, got it? ”

“Aye, boss, we got it.”

When he sends them off, he looks to me. “Brenny?”

“He’s shot, but also cracked his head good and is still out cold. He needs a hospital, not Doc Kelvin.”

“Agreed. Kieran already called for as many ambulances as they can send.”

Bryan jogs over to join us and frowns at the carnage. “Where’s the fucking honor in this?”

Sean frowns. “There is none.”

“At least the cops can’t say we’re at fault here,” I add.

Sean grunts. “That’s a conversation for later. Finn, go outside and flag down the first EMT to tend to Brenny. Go with him and Nora to the hospital and keep me up to date.”

“What about Tag?” I ask.

“He’s got a through and through, but will go to the hospital to have Laine and the baby checked while he gets patched up.

Bryan, take Piper and Harper to one of the sitting rooms down the hall and away from this mess.

Then move the guests who are whole there too.

There’s no sense scarring them for life. ”

That reminds me. “James Donovan and his wife are downstairs. I put them through a staff door behind the tapestry in the parlor. I told them we’d call them up when it was over.”

Bryan nods. “I’ll get them after I settle the girls.”

“And I’ll handle the police,” Sean continues, his voice steady. “Happy-fucking-Christmas.”

I’m already moving toward the grand entrance as he finishes speaking.

I pass Tag leaning heavily against a pillar, one bloody hand pressed against the marble column, his focus squarely on his wife. “All right?”

“Aye, still breathing, little brother.”

“Grand, let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

The December air hits like a slap when I emerge into the courtyard. Christmas lights still twinkle along the castle walls, obscenely cheerful against the horror inside.

The Quinns certainly can throw a party.

When the first ambulance arrives, I jog over and wait while they park and open the back doors. “You’ll also need a neck collar and a backboard, boys. Your patient was shot in the leg and took one hell of a crack to the head on the way down. He was still unconscious when I came out.”