He texts someone. I walk toward the edge of the quay. Two dock workers nearby drop their gaze.
A black sedan pulls in and one of our watchers steps out. “Confirmed sighting on McKenna’s boy. Liam. Drinking at Murphy’s since nine.”
I nod.
Ten minutes later, we’re in the car. I walk into Murphy’s at a steady pace, flanked by two men who know the order of things. The bar is half full. Midday crowd. Working-class regulars. Nobody looks up until we reach the back corner.
Liam McKenna stands to meet me, cocky and slow.
“Cillian,” he says, like we’re on good terms.
I grab his arm and slam it against the wall behind him, hard enough to crack the plaster. He grunts, swings once, wild and high. I drive my elbow into his throat and drop him to his knees.
The room freezes. Liam coughs and spits blood. “It wasn’t me?—”
“Who gave the order?” I ask.
“I don’t?—”
I kick his knee out, and it snaps loud enough to silence the bartender. Liam screams once before I cut it off with a blow to his jaw. He falls sideways. I crouch beside him, careful and calm. “You hit one of mine on a clean lane,” I say. “You staged it for noise. You wanted bodies.”
His mouth moves, but I don’t care what comes out.
“You just earned some,” I finish.
I stand. “Pull his phone and wallet. Clear the security tapes. No one speaks about this.”
Roarke nods. The others move fast.
The body stays down.
We leave just as quietly as we came.
By the time I get back to the port, the yard’s calm again.
Quinn sees me walk in. She doesn’t say anything, but her gaze lingers on the blood on my knuckles. She doesn’t flinch or smile. I pass without stopping and head directly to my study, busying myself with work.
Hours later, as the sun drops over the cranes and the day shift switches to evening crews, I make the call I’ve been dreading. “Mrs. Doran?” I say when she answers.
She’s crying. I wait until she can breathe.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Your husband worked hard. He was loyal. This shouldn’t have happened.”
She thanks me through the sobs. I keep my tone steady.
“There will be a full payout,” I say. “His salary will be extended six months. You’ll receive a fund transfer today and a second transfer next month. The children’s school costs are covered.”
She can’t speak.
“You’ll be protected,” I add. “No one will come near your home. You have my word.”
I end the call and send the order through Roarke. Outside, the port lights flicker on, but my attention is on the monitors. One shows Riley still at her desk. So I make another call, this time to Roisin. “Send Quinn to the residence. I’m in the study.”
I’m standing near the far table that I use when I need space from the desk. A folder waits for her—blank manifest, false seal report, and a stack of rerouted tags. I built it as a test. I want to see what she does when the logic breaks on purpose.
She arrives shortly after, ponytail tight with two strands loose at her face, blazer neat and unforgiving on her curves. Her expression gives nothing away, but the muted red on her mouth pulls focus anyway.
“You wanted to see me?” she says.