Chapter 12

• The flight descended over Belfast, the city lights glimmering like fragmented memories far below. Kieran Walsh stared through the window, the hum of the engines muted in his ears. His pulse quickened not because of the mission ahead, but because this city held ghosts he thought he had buried.
• Isandro Moretti sat beside him, calm and controlled. Touching his leg beneath the armrest, Kieran offered a half‑smile. “Home.”
• Isandro returned the smile tender and sharp. “We’re close.”
• Kieran swallowed hard. Old wounds, old regrets, and old alliances flickered across his mind. But under that, beneath the fear, glowed something else: hope. A hope he’d almost forgotten but one he’d found again in Isandro’s eyes.
• The city air was cold and bracing when the plane’s wheels touched down. Stepping into the terminal, Kieran exhaled, letting the memories wash over him but this time he was armed differently. By his side, Isandro, his anchor in unfamiliar waters.
• They moved through the airport, flanked by discreet Doyle syndicate agents. Word of the latest plan hadn’t leaked yet, but it would soon: they were hunting Lina Barron, a former Grey operative who had hidden and betrayed many lives.
• Outside, the black SUVs glided through narrow streets and red-brick storefronts. The city smelled like rain, diesel, and distant whiskey a tapestry of Kieran’s past and possible redemption.
• By late afternoon, they reached the meeting point: a small café in a quiet Belfast neighborhood. Inside, the walls were pale green, faint with age and fading print. Kieran felt his chest tighten.
• They sat across from the contact, a gaunt man known as Cormac once aligned with Grey, now seeking redemption. His face was familiar to Kieran: regret etched deep in lines around his eyes.
• Cormac slid an envelope across the table. “She used to run with Grey’s inner circle,” he whispered. “She knows his Swiss logistics. She knows how he fenced bodies.”
• Kieran unsealed the envelope and withdrew a photo of Lina: mid-thirties, sharp jaw, haunted eyes. That same haunted look Kieran had seen in Dublin years ago.
• “Where is she?” he asked quietly.
• Cormac shook his head. “No one knows. Some say Derry. Others say she’s underground in the countryside. She vanished after Grey’s downfall.”
• Isandro tapped the photo, meeting Kieran’s gaze across the worn tabletop. “We find her. We end this.”
• Kieran nodded and stood. “We begin tomorrow.”
• Night settled over the city like a cloak. The duo returned to a safehouse outside the center a quiet, secure townhouse with high windows and backup plans. Inside, Isandro paced while Kieran watched the map on the wall.
• “This is bigger than Grey’s network,” Kieran said, voice low. “Barron’s reach runs deep politicians, cops, racketeers.”
• Isandro folded in beside him. “We stop at nothing.”
• They moved closer shoulders touching against that paper map. The intimacy was bittersweet, grounding.
• Kieran swallowed. “You ever been here?”
• Once, long ago; once before things turned to blood and exile. But memories flickered chilling warmth, hate, loneliness. As dangerous as this moment.
• When he looked at Isandro, though, he saw the present. The future. An alliance and something far more fragile, far more beautiful.
• At dawn, they split into two advance teams.
• Isandro’s team ...Doyle syndicate and Moretti veterans scanned the western suburbs. Kieran’s team Walsh loyalists and Belfast operatives swept a rural trail rumored to be a smuggling route.
• By midday, both teams radioed in: no Barron.
• Kieran frowned at his phone, worried energy fraying. But then his radio crackled.
• “Boss,” Liam’s voice hissed. “House on Wolfe Street. Fresh surveillance. Female subject matches the photo.”
• “This is it,” Kieran breathed.
• He called Isandro into Liam’s staging room grey maps scattered across concrete floors. “It’s at Wolfe Street. Urban flat.”
• Isandro gave a sharp nod and grabbed his coat. Kieran locked eyes with him. “Let’s do this.”
• The apartment on Wolfe Street stood three stories tall, unremarkable from the outside. But inside… painted over fingerprints, secret doors in cupboards Barron had vanished like smoke.
• The two teams breached simultaneously from front and back. Isandro swept the kitchen while Kieran covered the back rooms. The place held echoes of occupancy empty containers of tranquilizers, hastily discarded clothing.
• Then a muffled sound of drawn breath.
• Kieran signaled a halt. He crept toward it, Isandro at his side.
• They found Lina Barron burning incense in a hidden prayer alcove a woman fragile but fierce. Wide eyes met theirs.
• “You’re not who I expected,” she whispered. “You’re the two who took Grey down.”
• Isandro stepped forward. “We’re not here to kill you.”
• Lina’s laugh trembled. “Grey believed he owned you. Controlled you. He killed hundreds.”
• “We ended him,” Kieran said softly, glancing at Isandro. “Because you gave us the key.”
• Lina’s expression flickered fear, resentment, relief. She exhaled. “I’m not his wife. Just another ghost.”
• They gathered around a small table the three of them, the sudden trust a fragile truce.
• Beneath a single lamp, Lina began to speak: codes, bank accounts, routes. Names of corrupt cops. Politicians. Bureaucrats. The map of Grey’s reach extended far beyond their initial war.
• It was both beautiful and horrifying.
• Isandro listened silent authority. Kieran took notes every line a blade against their enemies.
• By the second hour, Lina stopped, exhaustion in her voice. “I don’t know what happens next.”
• Isandro stood. “You join us or you walk away.”
• Lina swallowed. “I inherited Grey’s debts,” she said. “People want him gone. But they want me too.”
• Kieran’s gaze flicked to Isandro. They shared one look. Isandro nodded and Lina stood taller.
• “I’ll help.”
• They left Belfast under cover of night. But this time, they weren’t alone. Lina sat between Isandro and Kieran, flanked by Doyle and Walsh enforcers. The fly home was somber, purposeful a new chess piece ready to be played.
• When they landed back in Milan, the three walked into the Moretti compound a triumvirate forged in trust, history, and dangerous promise.
• Inside Isandro’s office, Lina handed over encrypted drives and transcripts.
• Kieran exhaled. “We’ll wipe him out completely.”
• Lina looked over at them, a small tremor in her posture. “I want revenge not just for Grey… for the lives he destroyed.”
• Isandro crossed to her and offered a steady hand. “Then we’ll do it together.”
• Kieran took Lina’s other hand. Two mafia heirs standing together with the woman who broke Grey’s empire. It felt more like a reckoning than an alliance.
• That night, they stood on the balcony Kieran, Isandro, and Lina gazing over Milan’s lights. Their mission had shifted far beyond arms deals, rackets, or drug routes.
• They had unearthed a deeper rot and they would gut it.
• But beneath that purpose was something deeper still.
• Kieran touched Isandro’s thigh. “We’re more than rebels now.”
• Isandro’s hand found Lina’s first. “We’re more than mafia.”
• Lina pressed their hands together. “We’re danger made whole.”
• They stood there through the night, three souls bound by trust, grief, ambition and the promise that they’d remake a world that had been broken by their forebears.