Page 154 of The Thief
His hands still for just a moment before resuming their work. "Jason made his choice. I made mine."
"That doesn't make it easier."
"Easier has nothing to do with it. He betrayed us, got good men killed. He had to die."
"I know. But you can still grieve the friend he used to be."
Freddie looks up at me then, something vulnerable flickering in his dark eyes before he locks it away again.
"Grief's a luxury I can't afford right now."
"Maybe. But holding it all inside isn't healthy either."
"I'll deal with it when Trace is dead."
When, not if. Like it's already decided, already done. Maybe in his mind it is.
The atmosphere in the house has been tense for days. Everyone's on edge, waiting for the next move, the final confrontation that we all know is coming. You can feel it in the air like electricity before a storm, that sense of inevitability, of forces gathering for something that will change everything.
Henry's been making calls all morning, coordinating with his people, ensuring our defenses are as strong as they can be. Denis has been checking security protocols every few hours. Even the guards outside seem more alert, more focused.
We're all waiting for the end. And we can feel it coming.
My phone buzzes with a text from Vittoria: Thinking of you. Stay safe.
I should call her back, should maintain the connection to my old life in Belfast. But that world feels so far away now, like it belonged to someone else. The girl who pulled pints at Murphy's, who lived above a pub and thought that was enough; she's gone. In her place is someone harder, more complicated; someone who belongs to this dangerous family and the man who'd kill for her.
Freddie's phone rings, cutting through my thoughts. Maverick's name is on the screen.
"Yeah?" Freddie answers.
I can't hear what Maverick's saying, but I watch Freddie's face change, see him straighten up with sudden attention.
"You're sure?" Freddie asks. "When?"
More conversation I can't follow, but Freddie's already moving, standing up and checking his weapons.
"We'll be there in twenty minutes," he says, hanging up.
"What's happened?"
"We found him. Trace. One of his accounts just pinged with a rental agreement. Property in Maynooth, paid for with cash but the paperwork trail leads back to one of his shell companies."
My blood runs cold. "He's close."
"Has been for days, probably. But now we know where."
Henry appears in the doorway like he's been listening. "Details?"
"Isolated farmhouse, twenty acres, perfect for what he's planning. Maverick's coordinating with Denis and the others. We move in two hours."
"Good." Henry's voice is hard, final. "End this."
Freddie's already strapping on his shoulder holster, checking his spare magazines. The transformation from the man who cleans guns obsessively to the professional killer is immediate and complete.
"I'm coming with you," I say.
"No."
