Alex and his men burst into the warehouse the moment the gun lowered at my side.
Boots thundering against concrete, weapons drawn, their eyes sharp, ready for a fight that had already ended.
Seamus followed at a slower pace. His lips parted slightly at the sight before him, then curved into a satisfied smirk as his gaze landed on my grandfather. The great Lorenzo Ricci, slumped forward in his chair, blood seeping from the wounds in his head and chest, staining what remained of his empire into the floor beneath him.
It was over.
Alex reached me in seconds, his hands closing around my shoulders, firm and grounding. His eyes sweeping over me, searching for any sign of harm. Only when he found none, did something in his expression finally shifted to relief.
Without another word, he pulled me into his arms.
"You're alright," he murmured into my shoulder, his voice low and tight with restraint. His lips pressed briefly to my temple. "Thank God...you're alright."
"I am," I said softly.
My hands stayed braced against his chest even as he pulled back, needing the contact to steady myself. His gaze flicked down, then realizing that his gun was still clenched tightly in my grip.
Carefully, gently, he pried it off of my fingers.
I didn't bother resisting.
He checked the safety with practiced ease before sliding it back into the holster beneath his coat, his movements controlled, deliberate like he was handling something fragile.
Behind us, Seamus's voice cut through the moment.
"Clean this up."
His men moved immediately, already stepping around the body, efficient and unbothered, as if disposing of a man like Lorenzo Ricci was just another task on a long list.
Alex's hand settled back around my arm.
"Let's get you out of here," he said quietly.
"Wait."
The single word cut through the room. Movement stilled. Even the men working at the ropes paused, glancing in our direction.
I kept my eyes on the chair.
"I want a proper burial," I said. "The body comes with us."
A beat of silence followed.
Then Seamus let out a low, amused sound as he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with practiced ease. The flame briefly illuminated the sharp lines of his face, before he took a drag and exhaled slowly, like he was enjoying this.
"I've got to hand it to you, kid," he said, smoke curling from his lips. "That's some compassion you've got there."
His gaze flicked toward the body, then back to me.
"Can't say I'd do the same," he went on. "Not after all that. Killin' your parents, separating you from your husband, then your unborn child..."
Beside me, Alex went rigid.
The shift in him was immediate. Subtle, but unmistakable.
I lifted my hand, pressing it lightly against his chest, a silent warning. Not now.
Seamus watched the exchange with interest, clearly entertained.
"He was still my family," I said. "The only one I had left."
The words tasted bitter.
"And despite everything..." I added, quieter now, "I can't pretend there isn't a part of me that still feels something."
Seamus studied me for a moment longer, then gave a small, conceding nod.
"Fine," he said at last. "He's yours."
He gestured lazily to his men.
"You heard her. Wrap him up."
My grandfather would have wanted to be buried beside my grandmother.
I didn't need to read his will to know that. For all the cruelty he was capable of, for all the blood on his hands, she had been the one thing he had loved without condition.
Now that I had my revenge, I decided that I would grant him that final wish, at least.
There would be no grand funeral. No long line of mourners dressed in black, no whispered tributes to a man who had once ruled through fear. I didn't have it in me to arrange something like that. And I doubted anybody would come without demanding for compensation.
His body was taken to the morgue owned by the Irish, where it would be prepared for transport, all the way to Italy.
Hours later, I stood outside, arms folded tightly across my chest, pacing the length of the pavement. The night had deepened, the air was colder now, biting through the thin fabric of my coat, but I barely noticed.
My mind was elsewhere.
The door behind me opened. I turned slightly as Alex approached, a small paper bag in his hand. The faint, warm scent of bagels drifted toward me, cutting through the metallic taste that had settled in the back of my throat.
My stomach betrayed me with a low growl.
Only then did I realize how long it had been since I had eaten.
"Where did you get those?" I asked, eyeing the bag.
"Had one of my men pick them up," he said with a small shrug.
Up close, I could see the fatigue lining his face. Subtle, but there. Still, it did nothing to dull the sharpness of his features.
"What about you?"
"Already ate," he murmured, holding the bag out to me. "This one's yours. Eat, Isla."
I took it from him, the warmth seeping into my cold hands.
Leaning against the wall opposite the double doors, I took a bite. Alex leaned next to me, hands in his pockets, those green eyes watching the door.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, glancing up at him. "You look tired."
"Tired," he admitted. "But I can't imagine how you're holding up."
"I'm the same," I said, taking another bite, though I barely tasted it.
He studied me for a moment, then pushed himself off the wall.
"How are you so calm?" he asked.
I let out a quiet breath, lowering the bag slightly.
"I don't think I am," I said. "I think...I've just run out of things to feel."
The words hung between us.
Alex stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, steady and solid against the cold night air. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair away from my face before resting against my cheek. The touch was gentle, grounding in a way nothing else had been since we walked into that warehouse.
"You did what you had to do," he murmured.
I searched his face, trying to find something. Judgment, doubt, anything, but there was none.
"I thought I"d feel...something more," I admitted. "Relief or closure. Anything."
"And?"
"Just quiet."
His thumb brushed lightly against my cheek. "That's not a bad thing," he said. "After everything you've been through...quiet is a start."
I leaned into his touch without thinking, my eyes closing for a brief second. For the first time that night, I allowed myself to breathe. Alex tilted his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. Lingering, deliberate.
"It's over," he murmured against my skin. "All of it."
I nodded faintly.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Before he could respond, the door right in front of us creaked open.
We looked up.
One of the men from inside stepped out, glancing between us.
"It's ready," he said. "The body's prepared."
A brief pause.
"If you'd like to say your goodbyes...now's the time," he said, hesitating slightly. "If you don't mind the...gory bits."
"I've said enough," I replied flatly, taking another bite of my bagel. "Just proceed."
He gave a short nod, clearly understanding before turning and disappearing back through the double doors.
Silence settled again, but it felt different now. Final.
I chewed slowly, though my appetite had already begun to fade. Beside me, Alex didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
His presence was enough.