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emmanuel

THREE YEARS LATER

“Emmanuel,” Ma says the moment I walk into the house, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She wraps her arms around me and I hug her back.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, wondering who’s made her cry.

“Son,” I hear the deep tone of Declan O’Brien, Ma’s husband.

She met him after she got out of rehab. She was hesitant about dating, especially after what happened with my dad, but Declan isn’t like my father.

He’s not a drunk, he’s not an asshole, and he dotes on my ma like she’s the reason he breathes. He treats her like the queen she is.

“What?” I ask, Ma still holding on to me as a tremble runs through her body.

“Your father called today,” Dec tells me, his eyes flashing with rage.

I grit my teeth. Fucking hell, what the fuck does he want?

“He wants to see you,” he continues. “Unfortunately, it was your ma who answered the phone.”

Ma pulls back, her eyes brimming with tears. I watch as they spill down onto her cheeks. “He’s adamant about speaking with you.”

Declan reaches for her and pulls her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her head as he holds her tight.

I feel a cold fury building inside me as I process what they’ve just told me. My father, the man who destroyed our family, who traumatized Clodagh O'Rourke, who I've spent years trying to forget—he wants to see me.

"Like hell," I growl, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "He lost any right to speak to me when he kidnapped that little girl."

Ma reaches out, placing a trembling hand on my arm. "I know. I told him as much. But he was... insistent. Said he had important information, something you needed to know."

I shake my head vehemently. "No. Whatever game he's playing, I want no part of it. He can rot in that prison cell for all I care."

Declan nods approvingly. "That's what I said. But..." he hesitates, exchanging a look with Ma.

"But what?" I ask, a sense of dread settling in my stomach.

Ma takes a deep breath. "He said if you don't go to see him, he'll start talking. About your... work."

The world seems to tilt on its axis. My father knows about my work with the Agency? How is that even possible? Wait… How the hell do Ma and Declan know?

“Son,” Declan says as he watches me, “there’s been talk for years. We may be older than you but we're not stupid. We don’t know the ins and outs of your job but we know the basics. As for how your father found out, that I do not know.”

"That's impossible," I say out loud, my mind racing. "He's been locked up. There's no way he could know..."

But even as I say it, doubt creeps in. My father may be a monster, but he's not stupid. If he's managed to get information while in prison...

"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

Declan steps forward, his face grim. "Son, whatever you decide, we're behind you. But if there's any chance he actually knows something..."

I nod, understanding the unspoken implication. If my father starts talking about The Agency, about the work I do, it could put everyone I care about in danger. Ma, Declan, Maverick, Jer—they'd all be at risk.

"I'll handle it," I say, my voice hard. "I'll go see him, find out what he thinks he knows. And then I'll make sure he never threatens any of us again."

Ma's eyes widen. "Emmanuel, what are you saying?"

I force a reassuring smile. "Nothing, Ma. I'm just going to talk to him, that's all. Find out what he wants and put an end to this once and for all."

As I hug Ma goodbye and shake Declan's hand, my mind is already racing ahead. I'll need to talk to Jer and get clearance for whatever needs to be done. Because one thing's for certain: I'm not letting my father destroy my life again.

This ends now, one way or another.

As I drive away from Ma and Declan's house, my mind is racing. How could my father possibly know about my work with The Agency? And what game is he playing by threatening to expose me?

I pull over to the side of the road and call Jer. He picks up on the second ring.

"We've got a problem," I say without preamble. "My father is claiming he has information about my work. He's threatening to talk unless I go see him."

There's a long pause on the other end of the line. When Jer speaks, his voice is tense. "How the hell did he get that information?"

"I don't know," I admit. "But if there's even a chance he actually knows something..."

"We can't risk it," Jer finishes. "Alright, here's what we're going to do. You'll go see him, find out what he knows and how he got the information. But you won't be going alone."

"Who's coming with me?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

"Me," Jer says. "I’ve got connections in the prison system. I’ll get us in quietly, no records of the visit."

"Okay," I agree reluctantly. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning," Jer says. "Be ready at my house at eight a.m."

As I hang up, I can't shake the feeling that things are about to get a lot more complicated. My father has always been a wildcard, unpredictable and dangerous.

* * *

I arrive at Jer's house at 7:45 the next morning, my stomach in knots. The thought of facing my father after all these years fills me with a mixture of dread and rage.

Jer is waiting for me, his face grim. "You ready for this?"

I nod tersely. "Let's get it over with."

The drive to the prison is tense and silent.

I stare out the window, trying to prepare myself for whatever my father might say or do.

Part of me hopes he's bluffing, that he doesn't actually know anything about my work.

But a larger part knows better. My father has always had a knack for finding out things he shouldn't.

As we pull up to the prison, Jer turns to me. "Remember, we're here to gather information. Don't let him provoke you into saying or doing anything rash."

I nod, taking a deep breath to center myself. "I've got this."

“I know,” he replies easily. His belief in me has never wavered.

Jer's connections get us in quickly and discreetly. Before I know it, we're being led to a private visitation room. And then, suddenly, he's there.

My father looks older than I remember, his hair grayer, his face more lined. But his eyes are the same—cold and calculating. He smirks when he sees me.

"Emmanuel," he says, his voice grating on my nerves. "It's been a while."

I take a seat, fighting the urge to lunge across and wipe that smirk off his face. "Cut the shit," I growl. "What do you want?"

His smirk widens. "Now, now. Is that any way to greet your old man? And who's your friend here?"

Jer steps forward, his presence calm but intimidating. "I'm here to make sure this conversation stays civil. Now, I believe my colleague asked you a question."

My father's eyes narrow as he assesses Jer. Then he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. Let's get down to business then. I hear you've been busy, son. The Silencer, is it? Quite a reputation you're building."

I feel my blood run cold. He does know. But how?

"How did you get that information?" I demand.

He chuckles, the sound sending chills down my spine. "I have my sources. The question is: what are you willing to do to keep that information from becoming public knowledge?"

I lean forward, my voice low and dangerous. "If you think you can blackmail me?—"

"Blackmail?" he interrupts, feigning innocence. "No, no. I want something, and if you don’t get it to me, I’ll let slip who the Silencer is.”

Rage unlike anything I’ve ever felt hits me. Fucking prick. “That’s never going to happen, Jacob.”

“What do you want?” Jer snarls. “What’s the something you want?”

I turn to look at him. He can’t be fucking serious? There’s no way in hell I’m giving him anything. He deserves nothing.

“I want the girl.”

My blood runs cold at my father's words. "The girl? You mean Clodagh?"

He nods, a sick smile spreading across his face. "That's right. I want to see her. Talk to her."

White-hot fury courses through me. I'm on my feet before I realize it, my chair clattering to the floor behind me. "You sick fuck," I snarl. "You think I'd ever let you near her again?"

Jer's hand on my arm is the only thing that stops me from lunging across the table. "Emmanuel," he says quietly. "Sit down."

I force myself back into my seat, my hands shaking with rage. My father watches me with amusement, clearly enjoying my reaction.

"Why?" I demand through gritted teeth. "Why her?"

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. "Unfinished business, you could say. I never got to properly say goodbye."

The casual way he talks about Clodagh, about the trauma he inflicted on her, makes me feel physically ill. I glance at Jer, silently pleading for guidance. His face is a mask of calm, but I can see the anger burning in his eyes.

"That's not going to happen," Jer says firmly. "The girl is off-limits. Period."

My father's eyes narrow. "Then I suppose I'll have to start talking. I wonder how your colleagues at The Agency would feel knowing they have a murderer's son in their midst? Or how about the guards here? I'm sure they'd be very interested to know what little Emmanuel has been up to."

"You do that," I say, my voice cold, "and I'll make sure everyone knows exactly what you did to Clodagh and her family. Every sick, twisted detail. How do you think your fellow inmates would treat a child killer? Or better yet, I can slip in false information. Your inmates won’t take too kindly to having a pedophile among them. "

He didn’t touch Clodagh like that, but I have no doubt he would have if he wasn’t such a drunken bastard. He caused that girl enough pain to last a motherfucking lifetime. He’ll never see her again. Not as long as I live. The second he tries to, I’m taking him out.

For the first time, I see a flicker of uncertainty in my father's eyes. But it's quickly replaced by a calculated look that sends chills down my spine.

"Fine," he says slowly. "If I can't see the girl, then I want something else. My freedom."

I laugh incredulously. "You're insane if you think that's happening."

He leans forward, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Am I? Think about it, Emmanuel. With what I know, I could bring down your entire operation. Is my continued imprisonment really worth risking everything you've built?"

I open my mouth to retort, but Jer cuts me off. "We'll consider your request," he says smoothly. "But we'll need time to... arrange things."

My father sits back, a smug smile on his face. "Of course. Take all the time you need. But don't take too long. My patience isn't endless."

As we stand to leave, my father calls out one last time. "Oh, and Emmanuel? It really was good to see you, son. We should do this again sometime."

I don't respond, forcing myself to walk out of the room without looking back. My hands are shaking with barely contained rage as we make our way out of the prison.

Once we're back in the car, I turn to Jer. "Tell me we're not actually considering his demand."

Jer's face is grim as he starts the engine. "Of course not. But we needed to buy some time to figure out our next move."

I nod, taking a deep breath to try and calm myself. "So what do we do now?"

"First," Jer says as we pull out of the parking lot, "we need to find out how he got that information. There's a leak somewhere, and we need to plug it."

"And then?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

Jer's eyes meet mine, his expression hard. "And then we make sure your father can never threaten you or anyone else again."

I feel a chill run down my spine at his words. I know exactly what he's implying. "You want me to take him out."

It's not a question, but Jer nods anyway. "It's the only way to ensure our security. And after what he did to Clodagh, to you and your mother... he deserves it."

"Of course he does," I say quietly. "I'll do it. But not here, not in prison. Too many variables, too much risk."

Jer nods approvingly. "Agreed. We'll need to arrange a transfer, create an opportunity. It'll take some time to set up, but we'll make it happen."

As we drive back toward the city, my mind is racing. I'm going to kill my father. The thought should horrify me, but all I feel is a grim sense of resolution. This is what needs to be done.

"One more thing," I say as we near Jer's house. "I want you to check on Clodagh. Make sure she's safe, that he hasn't tried to contact her."

Jer considers this for a moment, then nods. "Alright. I’ll check in and make sure she’s doing okay. We don’t want to disrupt her life. The last time I checked in, she was healing and doing well."

I agree, knowing he's right. Interfering in her life will only cause her more pain.

As I get out of the car, Jer calls out to me. "Emmanuel. Remember, whatever happens next, you're doing the right thing. Your father made his choices. Now he has to live—or die—with the consequences."

I nod grimly, then turn and walk away. There's work to be done, and I need to be ready. The Silencer has a new target. My father.