The joyful sound from the main hall felt like a physical blow as Meeka opened the study doors. The quartet was playing a lively piece, and the sound of laughter seemed obscene. Ashley stood beside her, her face a pale mask of professionalism, but her eyes were full of a shared horror. Every step down the grand staircase was a descent back into a world that no longer existed.

  Tommy saw her first. He was standing near the fireplace, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand, his attempt to keep things normal having clearly failed. His easy-going posture vanished the moment he saw Meeka’s face. The glass in his hand trembled slightly. He knew. Before a single word was spoken, he knew.

  Meeka didn’t have to give the order. Ashley was already moving, her voice a low, urgent murmur as she intercepted a senior bodyguard. “Cut the music. Get the non-family guests out. Quietly. Now.”

  The melody from the string quartet faltered and died. The sudden silence was more jarring than any alarm. Heads turned. Conversations trailed off. A hundred pairs of eyes fixed on Meeka as she reached the bottom step. The air grew heavy, thick with confusion and a dawning dread.

  Tommy pushed off the mantlepiece, his face tight. “Meeka? What is it? What happened?”

  Meeka let her gaze sweep the room, over her brother Reese, who had stopped charming the senator and was now watching her with narrow, analytical eyes. Over her mother Rosie and Auntie Liz, who were clutching each other’s arms. And finally, she looked at Caitlyn Doherty. Caitlyn stood perfectly still near the bar, her elegant black dress a stark contrast to the coiled lethality in her posture. She had been speaking to Finn, her cousin and the leader of the hit squad. They both went silent, their attention locked on Meeka.

  “There’s been an attack in Cairo,” Meeka said, her voice clear and cold, cutting through the silence. It carried to every corner of the massive room. “A bombing.”

  A collective gasp went through the hall. Rosie’s hand flew to her mouth.

  Tommy took two quick steps forward. “My dad? What about my dad? And Sean?” His voice was raw, pleading.

  Meeka met his gaze directly. There was no way to soften it. “They were at the center of it, Tommy. They’re gone.”

  The words landed like grenades in the quiet room. Tommy staggered back a step as if he’d been physically struck. A choked, guttural sound ripped from his throat. Across the room, Auntie Liz crumpled, her body going limp. Reese caught her before she hit the floor, his face a grim tableau of shock. Rosie started sobbing, a keening wail that filled the awful silence.

  Caitlyn Doherty did not move. She didn’t cry out or gasp. Her face, always disciplined, became unnervingly blank. The only sign of the news hitting her was the way her hands curled slowly into fists at her sides, her knuckles turning white. She looked less like a grieving daughter and more like a weapon being armed.

  The grand hall, moments ago a scene of celebration, had become a tomb. The festive floral arrangements seemed to mock them. Servants moved silently along the edges of the room, collecting glasses, their faces averted. Bodyguards took up new positions, their presence more pronounced, their eyes scanning the windows into the dark grounds. The party was over. The wake had begun.

  Tommy’s shock gave way to a furious, kinetic energy. He began to pace, his fists clenched, his jaw working. “Who?” he snarled, whirling to face Meeka. His eyes were wild with pain and rage. “Who did it?”

  “A terrorist group. They call themselves the Holy Islamic Army,” Meeka answered, her voice even.

  “I don’t care what they call themselves,” Tommy spat. “I want to know where they are. I want to know who we’re hitting. We go now. Tonight. We get on a plane and we turn wherever they are into a fucking parking lot.”

  “Tommy, stop.” It was Reese, his arm still around a weeping Auntie Liz. He guided her to a plush sofa, his own face pale but composed. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

  “Not thinking clearly?” Tommy laughed, a harsh, broken sound. “My father is dead! Sean is dead! They were blown to pieces in some manky market because we sent them there. And you want me to think clearly? No. I want revenge. I want blood.” He pointed a trembling finger at Caitlyn. “She wants it, too. Don’t you?”

  Caitlyn’s gaze shifted from Meeka to Tommy. Her voice, when she spoke, was devoid of all emotion, which made it terrifying. “Give the order, Meeka. My Saighdiúirs are ready to move. We can be airborne in three hours.”

  She wasn’t asking. She was stating a fact. She was a loaded gun, and her finger was already on the trigger. All she needed was a target.

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  “This is madness,” Reese said, standing up. He stepped between Tommy and Meeka, placing himself in the center of the forming storm. “We are a global corporation. We have political alliances, interests that span continents. You think we can just launch a private war in the Middle East without consequences? The entire world will come down on us. Everything we have built, everything your dad and Whitey worked for, will be at risk.”

  “They killed our family!” Tommy roared, getting in Reese’s face. “To hell with the business! To hell with your political friends! This is about blood for blood. It’s the only rule that’s ever mattered.”

  “That’s the rule of the back alleys of Southie, Tommy, not the world we live in now,” Reese shot back, his voice rising. “We are not street thugs anymore. We don’t solve problems by just shooting everyone.”

  “My father is dead because we got soft!” Tommy’s voice cracked. “Because we started listening to people like you!”

  “Enough!” Meeka’s command sliced through the argument. The single word carried the full weight of her authority, and both men fell silent, turning to her. The entire room was frozen, watching the leaders of the Clann fracture right in front of them.

  Meeka walked forward, her movements deliberate, controlled. She stood before the fireplace, the heart of her home, now the backdrop for a council of war. “Grief is not a strategy,” she said, her eyes pinning first Tommy, then Caitlyn. “Rage is a fuel, but it is not a plan. You want to charge into Cairo with guns blazing? Fine. You might kill a few of them. You might feel better for an hour. And then you will be arrested or killed, you will expose our entire organization, and the men who gave the order will sit back and watch us tear ourselves apart. Is that the justice you want for your fathers?”

  She let the question hang in the air. Tommy’s chest was heaving, his face a mess of tears and fury. Caitlyn’s expression remained a mask of iron, but her gaze was fixed on Meeka, waiting.

  They thought they were attacking two old men,” Meeka continued, her voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. “They don’t know what they’ve done. They don’t know that they have woken up a force that will erase them from the face of the earth. We will have our vengeance. But it will be on our terms. It will be precise. It will be overwhelming. And it will be absolute. We will not just kill the men who built the bomb. We will kill the men who bought the parts. We will kill the men who paid them. We will burn their training camps to the ground, salt the earth, and wipe their names from memory. When we are done, no one will even remember the Holy Islamic Army ever existed.”

  A grim silence settled over the room. Meeka’s promise of annihilation was far more terrifying than Tommy’s immediate rage.

  “How?” Tommy asked, his voice hoarse.

  “With intelligence,” Meeka stated. “With planning. With overwhelming force applied surgically to the heart of their organization.” She turned to Gema Banks, the former Air Force PJ who commanded her security forces. Gema had been standing near the edge of the room, observing everything with a trained, dispassionate eye. “Gema.”

  Gema stepped forward. “Ma’am.”

  “I want our transport fleet ready for a global deployment. Fuel, supplies, munitions. I want our best assets from every region prepped and on standby. Get me a secure satellite link to Talibi in Cairo. Now.”

  “Understood,” Gema said, already tapping commands into a small, hardened device she pulled from her jacket pocket. She was all business, a bastion of calm competence in the emotional storm.

  Reese stepped forward again, his face etched with worry. “Meeka, please, just think about this. The diplomatic fallout…”

  “You’re my diplomat, Reese,” Meeka cut him off, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Your job will be to manage the fallout. Put out the fires. Call in our markers. You wanted to prove the power of your connections? Now is the time. Keep the vultures off our back while we handle the wolves.” She then looked to her cousin, Quinn Delahunty, the family’s lawyer. “Quinn, I want you with Reese. I need a legal firewall built around every asset we have, legitimate and otherwise. Expect trouble. Be ready for it.”

  Quinn nodded, his expression grim. “We will be.”

  Finally, Meeka turned back to the two people whose loss was the sharpest. “Caitlyn.”

  “Yes, Meeka,” Caitlyn answered, her body thrumming with contained energy.

  “Talibi is putting together a target package. The moment it comes through, you and Finn will vet it. Assemble your teams. You wanted the order? Here it is: prepare to hunt. But you do not move until I say so. You do not fire a single shot without my express command. Is that understood?”

  Caitlyn held Meeka’s gaze. A flicker of something, respect, understanding, passed between them. “Understood.”

  “And you, Tommy,” Meeka said, her voice softening just a fraction. “Your father was my uncle. My family too. Do not for one second think my bronn is less than yours. But I am the Matriarch of this Clann. And I will not lead us into ruin. Your place is here, at my side. You are the Underboss. I need you to help me hold this family together while we wage this war.”

  Tommy looked from Meeka to Reese, then over to where his mother, Maureen, sat shattered on the sofa. The fight seemed to drain out of him, replaced by a heavy, crushing weight. He wasn't just a grieving son. He was a leader. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and gave a sharp, jerky nod. “Okay, Meeka. Okay.”

  The rift was still there, a fault line of anger and caution running through the family, but Meeka had bridged it, for now. She had taken their raw, howling grief and begun to shape it into a weapon.

  Ashley approached, holding out an encrypted satellite phone. “Talibi is on the line. He has the preliminary package.”

  Meeka took the phone, turning away from the devastated faces of her family to face the darkness outside the tall windows. She brought the phone to her ear, her focus narrowing to a single point. “Amir. Give it to me.”