Chapter 20

• The drive south from Belfast to Dublin was quiet, the morning sun painting emerald fields gold. Kieran sat behind the wheel, Isandro beside him hands casually brushing at the center console. The tension between them had eased, replaced by exhaustion and revelation: they had come face-to-face with the last specter of their shared past and emerged together. They were finally whole.
• “We’ll hold the press conference later,” Kieran said softly. “After we’re back in Milan, under home turf.”
• Isandro nodded. “Let them see the olive branch solid, not splintered.”
• Their hands touched, and in the warmth of the moment, both men felt the ache of relief.
• At Dublin’s international airport, they stepped into a waiting lounge quiet, secure. News of Shaw’s capture filtered through encrypted lines and reached contacts across Ireland.
• Liam had arranged a small celebratory gathering: a smattering of Doyle agents and vetted Walsh loyalists. Inside a private room, Florian Doyle offered Kieran a glass of whiskey.
• “Well done, mate,” he said with a firm clap on the shoulder. “Belfast’s quiet for now.”
• Kieran accepted the toast, exchanging a glance with Isandro.
• “This belongs to both of us,” he said, voice genuine.
• Isandro raised his glass in response. “To trust forged in madness.”
• They drank soft victory in each sip.
• Back in Milan later that week, the Moretti compound buzzed with calm urgency. Editors, journalists, and cameras gathered in the grand hall for the Dublin announcement: live global feed, expressions polished and solemn on the dais.
• Kieran stepped forward: “We brought those responsible for orchestrated violence in Belfast to justice last night. No longer will fear define our communities.”
• Isandro followed: “Today marks another step toward transparency and reform. No shadow will reclaim this city not from me, or from him.”
• Applause whispered through the room.
• When the cameras turned off, Kieran and Isandro shared a quiet smile.
• Later, in the penthouse loft, they poured two glasses of port. The city lights glittered beyond the windows.
• “I feel… lighter,” Kieran admitted, voice low.
• “So do I,” Isandro agreed.
• They stood close, letting the silence hold them. Hands found each other, fingers weaving.
• “We’re building a future,” Isandro said. “Not laundering our past.”
• Kieran kissed him soft. “We’ll build it together.”
• The next morning, Matteo and Liam entered the study. Reports lay open bank transfers, political maneuvers, hidden arms stockpiles still to be exposed.
• Matteo murmured: “We have intel recent funds moved through Malta, under another Grey conduit.”
• Liam added: “And politicians in three countries who owe him favors.”
• Isandro pressed his lips. “Not for long.”
• Kieran stood. “Let’s expose them.”
• Over the next week, Lina coordinated digital leaks: audio files, call logs, email chains implicating high-level officials complicit in the network. Media stories broke across Europe, compelling unbiased investigators to act.
• Pressure mounted against old regimes. Politicians resigned. Law enforcement agencies exposed corruption. Their alliance with Geneva’s agency pushed the narrative with integrity and precision.
• But not everyone welcomed the spotlight. At a private dinner in the Moretti villa, Don Vittorio and other elders watched Isandro and Kieran closely.
• “Are you sure this attention won’t destroy the empire?” Vittorio asked softly, concern lacing his voice.
• Kieran answered tactfully: “This is evolution, not exposure.”
• Isandro took his father's hand. “We’re forging legitimate power while safeguarding the core.”
• The elder Moretti studied them both for a long moment eyes softened, then nodded.
• By the second week, they returned to the penthouse suite victory etched in every stone of the city below.
• Isandro drew Kieran into a slow dance, music drifting from the speakers. They moved in harmony, a quiet celebration of triumph and survival.
• Between them lay grief, fear, power, and most of all, love.
• They whispered vows not doomed by legend, but forged in survival.