I push to my feet and make my way to the printer where I left the documents that I printed off for them. I didn’t want to tell anyone about this, but we can’t stop the shite about to hit us. I set the pages on the table and push them over to Rebel.
“Take one and pass it on. We always thought Bragan was the head of the Irish mob.”
Rebel looks up at me, shock clear on his face. “It wasn’t him. It was her.”
I nod. There’s no denying it, because I can’t. I made an assumption. It was wrong. I was wrong. The silence hangs heavily in the room. I don’t feel guilty for going after Bragan, but even after digging into his organisation all these years, I never found out about Sinéad. She was nothing more than an ex-wife I figured escaped his clutches.
“She ordered the hit on yer ma?” Sully asks as he stares at me.
“Aye,” I finally respond when I can look at them. “I fucked this up.”
“You didn’t,” Racer throws back. “The Irish mob were behind the killing. It doesn’t matter who pulled the trigger, or who ordered the hit.” His tone is confident, his words adamant.
“I was too focused on Bragan and not on the organisation,” I tell them. “I wanted revenge.”
“And we will get it. We will get her,” Blaze, my Sergeant-at-Arms, says with confidence. “You can’t blame yourself for the focus you had. If I were in yer shoes, I woulda been the same,” he admits. “This,” he murmurs, waving the page with the information in the air, “is enough for us to refocus.”
“There’s somethin’ else,” I tell them. “When I found Donahue’s body, I called O’Malley, and he said there was no sign of Bragan leaving Ireland. Not even to head down to Dublin. Which means he’s still close.”
Racer asks, “We can go into the city and talk to some of the men?”
“We should also head north. Two of you take Antrim, while two of you ask around Belfast city. Someone must know something.” I wasn’t sure about it at first, but when I sat down to consider the reasonin’, somethin’ has been nigglin’ at me. “Also, I have a feelin’ Sinéad is comin’ home.”
“Do you really think she’ll come home when she knows Patrick wants her dead?” Rebel looks at me, his brows furrowed in confusion. At first, I didn’t think so, but I my gut tells me there’s more to this than meets the eye. Walkin’ out on soldiers who can protect her doesn’t make sense.Why run?
Nodding, I sit back. “I think so,” I tell him honestly. “I’m convinced she won’t just leave her organisation in the hands of Patrick.”
“And if Bragan is still alive,” Rebel says, “we’ll get him and his wife.”
“You’re talkin’ about takin’ down the whole feckin’ Irish mob,” I respond. My surprise must be clear on my face when he chuckles.
“Aye,” he says. “What of it?”
The nonchalant shrug of his shoulders has us all staring at him. He’s always been the one who asks questions after the fact. I’ve tried to steer him right, to teach him that a plan should be in place before executing any action. But Rebel has scars from his past that nobody knows about. It’s not my place to tell them. So, instead of fighting with him, I’ve let him have his way. To an extent.
“What I don’t want is any one of my brothers dead,” I tell him, then proceed to focus on each and every man at the table. “If those feckers come near us, they won’t think twice about pullin’ a trigger.”
“Then we pull ours first.” Rebel is on his feet. His hands on the table with his eyes locked on mine. “Do ye think I’d walk away from this?”
“No, I don’t think so. Feckin’ hell, Rebel, ye got a death wish?” He doesn’t move when I pin him with a glare. I don’t like arguin’ with my men, but he’s pissin’ me off. “Sit down.” The order is clear, and for a moment, I’m certain he’s goin’ ta fight me on it. But then Rebel seats himself. “Now,” I start, looking at my brothers are seated around the table which takes up most of the room. “We need to play this carefully. There’s more to Bragan and Sinéad than we thought. If she’s runnin’ things from the States, and he’s here carryin’ out orders, we need a plan. One that’s not goin’ ta get us killed.”
“Then we get a plan in place.” Sully nods as he looks at the page of intel. “First thing I think we should be doing is stockin’ up on guns. If these feckers think they can walk in here and take us down, they got anotha think coming.”
“We can head down to the pier, talk to a few contacts, and see if they’ve seen any feckers hangin’ around askin’ questions,” Rebel suggests, his tone less stressed than it was earlier. I don’t want him getting hurt, and I’m thankful he’s calmed the feck down.
“Take Sully and Racer with you,” I tell him. “Tye, I need you to get flight plans, travel arrangements, anythin’ you can on any of the mob moving around. Especially Sinéad. If we can find her, we’ll be able to get things rollin’. I want to bring her in alive.”
“Torture?” Blaze asks.
“Aye.” I nod. “She needs to be questioned. I doubt she’ll talk at first, so we’ll need to keep her in the basement. The warehouse can be accessed by the mob if they want to get in. If we have her on-site, we can keep an eye on her.”
“What about the girl?”
I realise now that I haven’t told the brothers about what Miren and I found. Donahue is gone. I haven’t even sat down to process the information. There’s been too much to focus on all at once. We’ve been so concerned about finding Bragan’s wife, that we didn’t talk about Donahue being dead.
“There’s something else,” I say slowly. Most of the lads here grew up in Donahue’s church. They attended mass, did their confirmations, and went to Sunday school where he would have his deacons teach us about the Bible. This was well before we stepped into the roles we have now.
“What is it?”