Page 77 of Mafia Kingdom

The lack of security is concerning. Intelligence indicated at least twenty O'Reilly men on site, yet we've encountered none so far. Either our information was wrong, or...

"It's a trap," I realize, the certainty hitting me like a physical blow. "Pull back, all teams. Repeat, pull back immediately."

I've barely finished the order when the night erupts in gunfire—not directed at us, but into the air, powerful spotlights suddenly flooding the area around the warehouse. We're exposed, caught in the open with limited cover.

"Walsh!" a voice booms through a megaphone. "We've been expecting you."

Deckie O'Reilly steps into the light, flanked by men with automatic weapons. His expression is one of smug satisfaction—the look of a man who knows he's won before the game has even properly begun.

"Quite the reception committee you've brought," he calls, gesturing to my men, who are now pinned down behind whatever cover they can find. "All for little old me. I'm flattered."

I remain in the shadows, assessing our options. We're outnumbered, outgunned, and caught completely by surprise. The operation has failed before it even began.

"You might as well show yourself," O'Reilly continues. "My men have the entire area surrounded. No one's leaving without my permission."

Tony glances at me, waiting for direction. I calculate our chances—slim, but not zero if we can create a distraction and withdraw in organized groups.

"Team Four," I murmur into my comm. "Execute Delta protocol."

There's a moment of silence, then a series of explosions rock the far side of the docks—the diversionary charges we set earlier as a contingency plan. The blasts aren't large enough to cause serious damage, but they serve their purpose. O'Reilly's men turn toward the commotion, their attention momentarily diverted.

"Now," I order. "Fall back to exit points, teams of three."

My men begin to move, using the confusion to withdraw from the trap. But O'Reilly isn't so easily fooled.

"Stop them!" he shouts, and gunfire erupts in earnest.

What was meant to be a clean interception becomes a chaotic firefight. I fire back, covering Tony as we retreat towardthe nearest exit route. Around us, my men do the same, professional even in the midst of an ambush.

"Boss, this way," Tony urges, pulling me toward a narrow alley between warehouses.

We're almost clear when the explosion hits—a deafening blast that throws me against the wall of the nearest building. Pain blossoms in my side as debris cuts through my jacket.

"Tony?" I call, ears ringing from the blast.

"Here," he groans, staggering to his feet, blood streaming from a gash above his eye. "Keep moving."

We continue our retreat, gunfire still echoing behind us.

By the time we reach the cars, it's clear the operation has been a complete failure. Three of my men are dead, several more wounded. The O'Reillys knew we were coming. They were prepared.

"Someone talked," Tony says grimly as we speed away from the docks, sirens wailing in the distance as police respond to the explosions and gunfire.

"Yes," I agree, pressing a hand to my bleeding side. And I think we know who.

The estate is quiet when we arrive; most of the household is asleep despite the relatively early hour. I send the wounded to the medical room we maintain for situations exactly like this—gunshot wounds and injuries that can't be explained at regular hospitals.

"We need to debrief," Tony says, his voice rough with fatigue and pain.

"Tomorrow," I decide, noting the exhaustion evident in his posture. "Get that head wound looked at. We'll regroup in the morning."

He nods, too tired to argue, and heads toward the medical room. I make my way upstairs, moving carefully to avoid aggravating the cuts along my ribs. Nothing fatal, but painful enough to remind me how close we came to disaster.

I expect to find my bedroom empty, but there she is—Sasha, curled in an armchair by the window, clearly having fought sleep as long as possible while waiting for my return. The sight of her there, vulnerable and trusting despite the violence that surrounds my life, hits me with unexpected force.

She stirs as I close the door, eyes blinking open, immediately alert when she registers my disheveled state.

"You're hurt," she says, rising quickly and coming to my side.

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