Page 90 of Mafia Kingdom

I move to the front of the room, Sasha taking a position near the wall where she can observe without being central to the proceedings. The conversations die away as I face my men, all eyes turning expectantly toward me.

"Last night," I begin, my voice carrying easily through the hushed room, "our home was attacked. Our brothers were killed. Our trust was betrayed. You all fought with courage and loyalty, and for that, I am grateful beyond words."

I pause, letting the acknowledgment settle. These men need to know their sacrifices are recognized, valued.

"You deserve the truth about what happened," I continue, "and about what comes next. So I'll be direct: the attack was orchestrated by the O'Reilly syndicate, using intelligence provided by Gerald Quinn."

Murmurs ripple through the crowd—shock, anger, disbelief. Gerald has been a fixture in our organization since before many of these men joined. His betrayal cuts deep, undermining foundational trust.

"Michael was working with him," I continue, addressing the other question hanging unspoken in the air. "When confronted, he attempted to kill me. He failed."

The blunt assessment draws grim nods of approval. In our world, the penalty for betrayal is understood, accepted.

"And Patrick?" someone calls from the back, voicing the question everyone is thinking but few would dare ask directly. "Where was your father during all this?"

The room falls silent, all eyes fixed on me. This is the moment of truth—how I frame my father's involvement will shape everything that follows.

"My father," I say carefully, "was absent. His house is abandoned. His security detail, gone. His most trusted advisor, working with our enemies." I let the implications sink in before continuing. "I don't know the full extent of his involvement yet. But I know this: anyone who orchestrated an attack on this house, on my people, is no longer family. No longer protected by loyalty or blood."

The declaration is met with a heavy silence, the weight of its meaning settling over the room. I've just effectively declared my father an enemy—crossed a line from which there is no return.

"What happens now, Boss?" Damien speaks up, his presence a rallying point for those still uncertain. His arrival with reinforcements last night has elevated his status considerably—the brother who came through when needed.

"Now we rebuild," I answer firmly. "We secure our territory, strengthen our defenses, and prepare for what comes next. Because this isn't over—the O'Reillys lost men last night, but they're still a threat. And they still have Gerald, with all his knowledge of our operations."

Heads nod around the room, the practical focus on immediate action providing solid ground amid the emotional upheaval of betrayal.

"Our priority is locating Gerald," I continue. "Finding out exactly what information he's provided to the O'Reillys, and what my father's role is in all this. Tony will coordinate the search teams. Damien will oversee security restructuring—new protocols, new passcodes, new communication channels. Everything Gerald knew, we change."

The clear directives seem to steady the room, giving the men concrete tasks to focus on rather than the abstract pain of betrayal.

"What about our business operations?" another voice calls out—one of our financial managers, practically minded as always.

"Continue as normal, but with enhanced security," I instruct. "We can't afford to show weakness in the marketplace. Our clients need to see stability despite last night's events."

Questions follow—specific concerns about territory, about potential O'Reilly movements, about immediate security needs. I address each one directly, projecting confidence and control I don't entirely feel. These men need a leader right now, not a man wrestling with the emotional fallout of his father's betrayal.

Throughout it all, I'm acutely aware of Sasha watching from her position against the wall. Her presence grounds me, reminds me what we're fighting for beyond power and territory. A future. A life beyond the endless cycle of violence and retribution.

The meeting concludes with a somber toast to our fallen—seven glasses raised for seven brothers lost in last night's defense. It's a ritual older than any of us, one that transcends the business aspects of our organization and speaks to the deeper bonds that hold us together. Family, not by blood but by choice. By loyalty.

As the men disperse to their assigned tasks, Tony approaches with a young associate I recognize as one of our best trackers. The man's expression suggests news of significance.

"Tell him what you found," Tony instructs.

"We got a hit on Gerald's car, Boss," the tracker reports eagerly. "Traffic camera caught it heading north on the M1 about three hours ago. He's not alone—there's another vehicle escorting him. Black SUV, heavily tinted windows."

"O'Reilly protection," I surmise. "They're moving him somewhere secure, somewhere they can extract every bit of information he has about our operations."

Tony nods grimly. "That's our assessment, too. Based on the direction and timing, we think they're heading for the O'Reilly compound near the border."

The location makes strategic sense—close enough to Dublin to maintain operations, but with the option of a quick escape into Northern Ireland if needed. The compound itself is heavily fortified, a former military installation repurposed for the O'Reilly family's less legitimate business ventures.

"How confident are we in this intelligence?" I ask, wary of another trap after last night's disaster.

"Very," the tracker assures me. "We have visual confirmation of Gerald in the passenger seat. And the vehicle's registration checks out—it's one of his personal cars, not a Walsh family asset."

I process this information quickly, calculating angles and implications. "If Gerald's heading to the compound, it's likely my father is already there. Or will be soon."

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