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Page 8 of Dublin Charmer (Emerald Isle Mafia #5)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nyx

T he diner buzzes with a strange stillness, the clatter of plates and silverware muted as I sit at a private table in the back corner. Fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over the booths, and the smell of burnt coffee mingles with the faint scent of lingering holiday cinnamon.

Outside the door, Billy Gravely’s goons clock my arrival. Like always, they ignore me, other than to say they’ll let the boss know I’ve arrived. Not that I care. Idle conversation with Irish street thugs isn’t on the top of my list of things to do.

I run my fingers across my laptop, eyes scanning lines of code and data.

Something feels off, but I can’t pinpoint it. The code is straightforward but after last night’s showdown with Finn Quinn it feels like things are a bit laggy.

Barely. Maybe a fraction.

Or maybe I’m just jumpy.

I backed out before he could fully trace me. But now that minor victory seems like a whisper against the looming threat of feeling exposed.

I’m sure he doesn’t know who I am, but he’s definitely aware there’s a hacker circling in the waters of his family network. It annoys me to no end that he’s on to me.

That doesn’t happen…like ever.

And though the quiet hum of my system gives me no obvious concerns, I can’t shake this feeling in my gut. Everything looks normal on the surface, but there’s something. Or maybe there isn’t. Who the fuck knows?

Nothing is truly normal when you’re tangled up in a web of crime and deceit.

I glance at the clock on the wall. Twenty past two. Gravely’s late again.

Maybe he has legitimately been delayed by mob business, or maybe he’s just lauding his power over me, keeping me waiting to remind me who holds the cards.

I don’t need reminding.

The door swings open and there he is, cane in hand, striding in like he owns the place—which, given the current state of fear and violence on the south side of the Liffey—I’m sure he practically does.

Without a greeting or even a look of acknowledgement, he drops a thick folder onto the table with a loud thud.

“What’s this?” I reach for it cautiously, ensuring I’m meant to take it and look inside. When he doesn’t warn me off or tell me otherwise, I pull it closer.

“I’ve purchased a warehouse.” He slides into his usual seat across from me. “Add that to your map of my holdings, add it into whatever you do, and keep the details private.”

I fight not to roll my eyes. Who would I tell? The only person I care about is locked in a cell. I don’t have friends. I don’t go out. And I sure as hell don’t go around gossiping about my clients no matter how hostile I am about working with them.

“There will be a lot of movement between two of the McGuire warehouses and that warehouse tonight. You’ll be on overwatch. I need you to ensure those trucks aren’t stopped by the McGuires or by the cops.”

I open the map of holdings I designed for just this type of job.

After adding the address of the new property, I run my fingers against the cool surface of the table and consider my options.

“I have access to the traffic grid. I can give them green lights all the way. But even though I can tell them what’s coming, I’m not a god.

I can’t stop the McGuires from defending their own properties. ”

He gives a curt nod, his dark, beady eyes narrowing slightly as if gauging my resolve. “Leave the defending forces to me and my men. You just keep unwanted party crashers from slowing us down on the road.”

“That I can do.”

He seems pleased enough with that answer. “Don’t fuck this up, kid. I want my trucks to disappear into the night with no trace.”

The weight of his gaze hangs heavy between us. To avoid his scrutiny, I flip through the contents of the folder and make myself busy. It’s the deed, building plans, and site surveys of the new warehouse.

Damn, it’s massive.

It could likely hold the contents of most, if not all of the McGuire warehouse inventory in one location. Which is either ballsy or stupid. There’s a whole ‘putting your eggs in one basket’ theory he seems to have forgotten.

Not that I care. I plan on taking him down and destroying him the moment Gio is safe. But hey, if he wants me as overwatch while he fucks over the McGuires, that’s fine by me.

“I’ll be ready,” I assure him.

“I’ll text you the addresses of the McGuire properties involved when it’s go-time.”

A knock on the door brings two more guys into the room. Billy’s army are all a bunch of mercenary thugs draped in black that look just as menacing as their stony expressions suggest. They move like predators stalking prey, all focused intensity and cocky superiority.

Gravely lifts his chin in acknowledgement and then gestures to two of the empty seats. “Good. You’re here. Take a seat.”

They do as they’re told without hesitation. Their gazes dart between Gravely and me but they’re trained well enough that they don’t speak up. They are Gravely’s good little soldiers.

“You’re excused, Miss Farina,” Gravely announces flatly. “You are clear on your part in this, aye?”

I close my laptop and slip it into my bag, leaving the purchase information for Gravely’s new warehouse behind. “Crystal clear.”

It’s on. I’ve often wondered if he was going to double-cross the McGuires now or after he’s got Northside in his clutches. Maybe he actually believed he could wipe out the Quinn brothers at their party and is continuing with his plan as if he had.

But then why would he go after the McGuire warehouses and not them?

I don’t understand.

I suppose that’s a good thing. It might be more worrisome if I understood the workings of the mind of a psychotic killer and soulless criminal.

When my gear is stowed in my bag, I sling it over my shoulder and get the hell out of that room. Whatever Gravely has planned, there is a collision course brewing between forces larger and more powerful than me.

When I exit the room, I close the door behind me and take a knee to retie my shoe.

“Tonight’s the night,” Gravely tells the mercenary men still seated at the table. “While I take a team to eliminate the McGuires, you boys will oversee the transfer of holdings from their two most valuable warehouses to the new location.”

Ah, there it is. His plan to kill the McGuires doesn’t surprise me. Still, it’s a betrayal.

Billy was meant to partner with the McGuires. That was the dying wish of his best friend and former boss—Mattie McGuire.

To then kill his wife and sons? That’s cold.

Somewhere deep inside me simmers an urge to break free from this twisted game—to find Gio and pull us both out before we become mere pawns in someone else’s war. Because if he can kill his best friend’s family without caring, he’ll never give me or my brother a second thought.

But tonight? Tonight isn’t about freedom; it’s about survival—and keeping one step ahead while navigating this dangerous chessboard where every piece is potentially lethal.

Finn

The clock on my monitor reads 3:47 AM, but I barely register the time.

I’ve been working with some familiar hacker friends on the dark web from around the world, showing them the nuances of the hacker’s attacks from the past two attempts to breach our network.

They all agree they are better than good.

The code structure is elegant and speaks of someone who thinks in pure binary poetry.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my tired eyes. The cans from empty energy drinks scattered across my desk mock my failed attempts at staying sharp.

I can’t stop now. Not when I’m this close.

A notification appears on the message board. It’s from CryptoKnight, one of my oldest contacts in the underground hacking community:

CryptoKnight: Dude, send that sequence again. The nested loop structure looks familiar.

I copy-paste the relevant code snippet and add a comment:

Wraith: I swear I’ve seen their work before, but can’t figure out where.

Three dots dance on my screen for what feels like forever, but before he comes back, 4040racle breaks in:

4040racle: Holy shit. That’s Nyx.

My heart skips. Nyx? The hacker who once crashed the London Stock Exchange just to prove she could? She’s a legendary ghost in the machine?

Wraith: Are you sure?

4040racle: 100%. See that signature move on the third line? Classic Nyx. Nobody else chains exploits that way. Fucking beautiful.

Wraith: What do you guys know about her?

While I wait for their response, I pull up everything I know about Nyx—which isn’t much. She’s been active for years. Never caught. Never traced. Some say she’s ex-government. Others swear she’s self-taught. The only thing everyone agrees on is that she’s brilliant.

A message pops up from DarkMatrix:

DarkMatrix: Heard she went dark four months ago. No idea why she’d be hitting your systems.

And that’s what I need to figure out.

A hacker of her caliber working for Billy Gravely? It doesn’t add up. Someone like Nyx could name her price with any organization in the world. Why align with a Dublin gangster?

My screen lights up with messages as word spreads through my network. Everyone’s got a Nyx story to tell, but no one has what I need—her real identity.

I crack my knuckles and dive back in, this time following a different approach.

If she’s working with Gravely, she must be somewhere in South Dublin. Physical proximity. I start correlating attack timestamps with local network nodes. Then, I cross-reference that with the intel we get from having eyes on Gravely.

I stare at the map on my screen, trying to figure out what represents my best chance at zeroing in on Nyx’s location. Except my brain is fog and sleep is making a siren’s call, imploring me to hit the sack.

Before I push back from my keyboard, I ensure the network protocols are all working and that my notification alarms are set.

Fine. Tomorrow, then.

Tomorrow I’ll start hunting. Because somewhere in South Dublin, a hacker queen is hiding. I won’t stop until I find out why she’s here and why the fuck she’s playing for the wrong team.