Chapter 8 - The Price of a Name
Inside the small apartment, the only sound was the whistling wind against the loose window frames and the sputtering hiss of the old steam radiator in the corner.
Norah stepped back, her face flushed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with the back of her sleeve. “You’re bleeding,” she whispered, looking at the dark patch of red spreading across the white linen of his torn shirt.
“It’s a graze,” Declan said dismissively, though his voice was rough with fatigue. “Cruz’s men are finished. The police will be here in twenty minutes for the cars in the alley. We don’t have much time.”
From the doorway of the tiny bathroom, a small head peeked out.
Katie stood there, swaddled in Declan’s oversized tuxedo jacket, her little hands clutching Sean’s silver pocket watch against her chest like a talisman. Her red curls were wild around her face, but when she saw Declan, a small, tentative smile broke across her lips.
“You came back, Big Brother,” she said in that clear, quiet voice.
Declan walked over to her, knelt down on the worn carpet, and looked into her bright green eyes. For thirty-four years, Declan Gallagher had believed that power was measured in the number of men who feared your name, the number of politicians in your pocket, and the territory you held with iron fists.
Looking at this eight-year-old girl—his sister, the only innocent thing his father had ever left behind—he realized how completely hollow his life had been.
“I told you I would,” Declan said gently. He reached out and tapped the watch in her hands. “And you kept the watch safe, just like we agreed.”
“It ticks loud,” Katie said, holding it up to his ear. “Like a heart.”
Declan swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. He gently took the watch, turned it over, and looked at the initials S.G. engraved into the silver.
“It belongs to you now, Katie,” Declan said, closing her small fingers back over the case. “Forever.”
He looked up at Norah, who was watching them from the kitchen counter, her arms folded across her chest, her dark eyes filled with a mixture of relief and deep, lingering sorrow.
“Martin is in federal custody,” Declan told her, standing up. “The coroner turned state’s evidence thirty minutes ago. The wire fraud, the aconite poison, the murder of your mother—it’s all documented. The Gallagher name in Chicago is dead by morning. Every newspaper from here to New York will have Martin’s face on the front page.”
Norah looked out the window into the falling snow. “And you? What happens to you when the feds finish tearing through your father’s books?”
Declan walked over to the kitchen table, pulled the grandfather clock ledger from his coat, and set it down next to the sink.
“I made a deal with Agent Reynolds,” Declan said quietly.
Norah spun around, her eyes widening. “You what?”
“I handed over the private keys to the port terminals,” Declan said, his voice completely calm. “I surrendered the family’s real estate holdings, the shipping contracts, and every offshore account tied to my father’s syndicate. The Gallagher crime family ceases to exist tonight. In exchange, the United States Attorney’s office agreed to two non-negotiable conditions.”
He stepped closer to Norah, his gaze holding hers with unyielding gravity.
“First: full immunity and federal protection for you and Katie. Every penny of the eighty million dollars Sean left in Katie’s legal trust will be transferred into a private, clean, government-monitored escrow account that cannot be touched by any court, any creditor, or any surviving syndicate boss. When she turns twenty-one, she will have the resources to build whatever life she chooses, completely free of our father’s blood.”
Norah stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “And the second condition?”
Declan took a slow breath.
“A clean record for Eileen Jenkins. Tomorrow morning, the Chicago Police Department will officially issue a formal retraction of their findings regarding your mother’s death. They will declare her murder an assassination carried out by organized crime, and her name will be cleared of all charges of embezzlement. She will be buried in St. Jude’s cemetery with full honors, right beside my mother.”
A sob broke from Norah’s throat—not of grief, but of the crushing weight of seven years of shame suddenly lifting from her shoulders. Her mother had died branded as a thief and a suicide. To have her dignity restored in the light of day was a gift Norah had never dared to dream of.
“And you, Declan?” Norah whispered, tears spilling freely down her cheeks now. “What happens to you? Did you trade your life for ours?”
Declan looked down at his scarred hands.
“Reynolds gave me seventy-two hours to disappear before the grand jury unseals the indictments on the secondary family companies. I have no name, Norah. I have no empire. No house, no soldiers, no money. Everything I owned was burned in that study tonight.”
He looked toward the door, preparing to turn and walk out into the cold night once more, alone as he had always been.
“You two need to pack your things. Reynolds will have an escort here at dawn to take you to a safe house in Vermont.”
Declan turned toward the hallway.
A small, warm hand slipped into his.
Declan stopped.
He looked down. Katie had walked across the room, her little hand wrapped around his fingers, tugging gently.
“Where are you going, Big Brother?” Katie asked, her green eyes looking up at him with utter, unquestioning trust.
Declan’s throat tightened so hard he couldn't speak. “I have to go away, Katie. Somewhere far. Somewhere safe.”
Katie shook her head firmly. She took Declan’s tuxedo jacket, which was dragging on the floor, and pulled it around him.
“Daddy said brothers don't leave their sisters,” Katie said, her small voice ringing with absolute certainty. “He said when the storm comes, the family stays in the house.”
Declan looked back at Norah.
May you like
Norah had walked over to the small kitchen counter and picked up three winter coats from the hooks by the door. She held out Declan’s heavy leather coat—the one he had left in the car—and looked at him with an expression that held no fear of the future.
“We don’t need the Gallagher empire, Declan,” Norah said softly, a brave, beautiful smile touching the corners of her mouth. “And Vermont is very cold this time of year. We’re going to need someone who knows how to keep the fire burning.”
