The Final Hour (Dublin Nights Book 5)

by Brittney Sahin

  “How are you holding up?” Roman asked quietly.

  I dragged my hands through my hair, then sat on the bed where Emilia and I had made love countless times between when she’d turned thirty-one and when she’d shown up at the ball in that red silk dress. “I’m not holding up. Not at all.”

  Roman set his back to the wall by the open door and propped a black-booted foot to the wall. We hadn’t addressed the fact Emilia had discussed her plan with him instead of me. It would only stir up feelings of jealousy, which was not the emotion I wanted to be dealing with right now. Not when Emilia was in danger.

  “We got word that Atlas announced his desire to marry Bridgette now that Peter is gone.”

  “Did anyone invoke The Final Hour?”

  “Yes, as expected. And the leaders are opting not to travel here with it being short notice. They’ll be streaming the event. The only leader aside from Atlas that’ll be there is—”

  “The Christian Bale lookalike?”

  He nodded. “And we’ll handle him directly.”

  “So, when the rest of the leaders join the call to watch the fighting take place, you really don’t think Harper will have a problem hacking their servers?”

  “No, but she’s got an assist on standby Stateside if needed.” Roman glanced at her through the open doorway again. “We’ll make sure to get enough evidence to take them down.”

  “Well, we have teams in a few locations keeping an eye on the most dangerous of the leaders.”

  “Wait until those bastards see all of their dirty secrets being broadcast all over the internet. On every social media site in the world. There’ll be nowhere for them to hide.” The sound of a Southern drawl similar to Anna’s caught my attention.

  Roman’s teammate, A.J., stood in the doorway wearing a black ball cap with dark cargo trousers, boots, and a black long-sleeved tee.

  “A world of warriors fighting for us by dispersing the truth,” A.J. went on, his arms across his chest as he casually leaned into the interior doorframe.

  I stroked my jaw in thought. “Guess that’s one way to look at it. And Atlas? Penelope? Did you talk to your government about a solution for them?”

  “We’ll do our best to honor the favor Emilia requested, but it depends on their sins.” Roman nodded and dropped his boot to the floor.

  “Any updates before we head out?” I asked.

  “Wyatt is on overwatch,” A.J. answered. “He’s one of the best snipers in the world, and he’s got eyes on the estate where Emilia’s at. And Chris is with him as a spotter.”

  Chris’s fiancée, Rory, was how I’d first met Roman and the others back in October. A.J.’s friend, Rory, met and fell in love with his teammate, Chris, which led them all to meeting Emilia and myself when Rory got into trouble taking down a trafficker. Roman had called Emilia for an assist, and that was when her mansion became the site of a Die Hard movie.

  A.J. motioned for me to follow him, so I stood, and we all went into the living room.

  Sebastian was talking to Harper and their other teammate, Finn. Cole and Alessia must’ve been getting ready in their room, and I assumed Cole was pleading with Alessia to stay behind with Harper.

  I peeked at the hotel phone on an end table next to the couch, hoping Atlas would call and prove to be a better man than I thought he might be, but we were running short on time.

  “Based on our eyes in the sky, there are ten armed guards outside the perimeter of the estate, and we’ve got thermal imaging picking up six heat signatures inside the home,” Harper said upon noticing we’d joined her and Sebastian.

  Unlike A.J. and the others, Sebastian was in a suit. The thought of him decked out in the same getup as the SEALs almost made me laugh.

  “We’ve prepped a breach strategy whether Atlas calls or not. But we have confirmation Atlas left the hotel with Bridgette five minutes ago,” Roman said, standing off to the side of Harper’s chair.

  I had to assume Atlas wouldn’t be calling, then.

  “You still on your killing diet?” Roman asked as he directed the question to Sebastian.

  If Emilia weren’t in trouble, I’d grin right about now.

  “Emilia’s being held inside that estate,” Sebastian said through gritted teeth, “so, yeah, anyone who tries to stop us gets a bullet.”

  I thought back to Holly’s words to me that night at the club, which now felt like decades ago, that she’d planned to give her husband the “gift of killing” for Christmas. Good thing, too, or he’d be sleeping at the hotel again.

  We exchanged a few more words, discussing strategy, and then I went back to my room to change.

  Suit or SEAL? I opted for neither. Loose-fitting black sweats and a long-sleeved dark shirt in case I needed to use my fists.

  “Hey,” I said to Roman twenty minutes later when we were all gathered in the living room, my eyes moving back to the hotel phone that’d yet to ring. “What would you do if the woman you loved was in danger?”

  Roman swallowed, and his eyes flicked to Harper, her back to us as she worked on her laptop. I wasn’t sure if she heard me, but she’d stopped typing.

  “I’d cut down anyone that stood in my way to get to her. No lines I wouldn’t cross,” he answered without hesitation.

  And I believed that, but . . . “If push comes to shove, and you can let the guy who hurt her live—would you?”

  Now it was Sebastian studying me, and my fingers curled inward at my sides as I thought about what might happen when I came face to face with Luca again.

  When I focused back on Roman, there was a dark look in his eyes, and he said, “I think you know the answer to that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Emilia

  Forty-Five Minutes Later

  Luca’s calloused palm scraped along my cheek, a testament to the fact he’d been fighting. Training for this moment. He remained crouched in front of where I was bound and gagged to a chair. “In another life, maybe we would have ruled together, mon amour.”

  Yeah, the one time we had sex a lifetime ago would still go down as my greatest drunken mistake.

  I kept still, my chin tilted defiantly. I wouldn’t give this bastard the luxury of watching me squirm or resist the zip ties locking my hands at the back of the chair. Nor did I try to free my ankles from the ropes tied to the chair legs, either. The khaki trousers and long-sleeved shirt provided by the jail kept the ropes from burning into my skin, at least.

  But it wasn’t time to make a move yet.

  Obedience wasn’t my MO, but in this case, allowing Luca to feel as though he had the upper hand was exactly what I was after.

  His lips curled into a smirk. “Who will rule Italy now that you’re gone?” he asked, slowly dragging his hand down my neck as if we were lovers. His touch made me cringe, and if I weren’t already gagged, I would, well, gag. His fingers skated across the wound on the back of my shoulder where he’d carved out the tracker. He pushed his thumb into raw flesh, his body far too close as he leaned in to inflict pain, trying to get me to cry out.

  I bit down on the gag in my mouth, but I wouldn’t give the bastard what he wanted.

  His shoulders fell, feigning disappointment, but I knew better than to believe his act. He pulled his hand back and stood. “I like keeping that wicked tongue of yours in check.”

  They hadn’t blindfolded me or covered my head when the police car was “ambushed” and they brought me to my current location. The two officers in the squad car hadn’t put up a fight at all, and the men who came for me only roughed them up a bit. Luca must’ve paid the officers a premium price for faking my escape.

  But the fact the men didn’t bother to shield my vision from the location meant they were confident I’d never leave. I’d recognized the owner of the home as Arnaud Dupont, Alliance leader of Monaco. He was a horrible human being from what I knew about him, and I could only hope I’d be the one to take him down when this was over. When I had arrived, Luca actually intervened to stop the
man from making me his “plaything” while we waited for The Final Hour to begin.

  Luca hadn’t stopped Arnaud for my benefit, though. He’d warned Arnaud not to be fooled by my looks and assured him I’d find a way to kill him, regardless of restraints if he touched me.

  “Be a good girl and look sad, or maybe I’ll let Arnaud have his way with you.” Luca’s sinister voice dropped a few octaves.

  Despite Luca distracting me with his bullshit, I kept my wits about me, cataloging every detail in the room as well as the men who came and went and what I could understand from their comments. I’d just overheard one of them say Atlas had arrived and the fight would be starting soon.

  We were beneath the first floor, in a large unfinished space. Maybe it was Arnaud’s torture chamber because the stains on the concrete under my feet appeared to be dried blood, and there was a faint, metallic smell in the air.

  A makeshift cage stood in the center of the room with a spotlight overhead, and one of Luca’s men, or maybe Arnaud’s, had just positioned a wide-lens camera on the room and set up some sort of display projector to mirror his laptop. Multiple screens appeared on one of the white-painted concrete walls.

  Luca set his hands into the pockets of his crisp black trousers. Was he attending a board meeting or a fight to the death?

  “I’ve been preparing for this night for a long time, mon amour.” His eyes were so vacant and void of emotion. Had he always been so dead on the inside? Such a monster?

  If you can stop calling me your love, that’d be great. Dark thoughts of how I would kill this prick and the asshole Arnaud circled my mind like a carousel, each option more vivid than the last.

  “Did you know I arranged for Simon and Milos’s plane to go down?” he whispered so the other man in the room didn’t overhear. “The affair between Bridgette and Atlas was my idea, too.”

  I knew Luca wouldn’t be able to resist sharing what he considered clever triumphs. Keep talking, asshole.

  “Bridgette fell in love with me, though. I can’t wait to see the look on Atlas’s face when he learns the truth. You’re all a bunch of fools. Playing into my hands.” His devious grin grew wider. “I have another dirty little secret, which I’m betting you already know since I heard The League got my little package.”

  The video footage.

  “Those videos have provided me so much pleasure. I particularly like the ones of you after a shower, walking around naked and carefree, bending every which way to get dressed. But the ones of you fucking McGregor while you’re on top . . .” He lifted a hand from his pocket and adjusted his crotch.

  I clenched my jaw, trying to maintain a steady sense of control, knowing he was doing his best to rile me up.

  “You know, Emilia, I’m rather disappointed in you.” Luca slowly shook his head as if he were dealing with a naughty child. “I thought you were much smarter than you’ve shown me lately. First, you completely missed my video cameras in your room”—he smirked and began pacing in front of me—“and then you killed Peter. I should have left you in prison and killed your lover and his buddies.” Luca brushed his hands together like he was removing dirt. “But that wouldn’t have been much fun.” He turned his back to me and looked at the fighting ring for a few quiet moments. The man really loved to hear himself talk, didn’t he? Always so insecure and needing to flaunt his power.

  Luca swung back around to face me. “You knew how badly I wanted to kill you myself, so you figured I’d use my powerful influence and get you released, bring you here. And then your buddies would show up for a surprise attack. Really, Emilia, you think I’d do that without checking for a tracker first? Shame on you.” He shifted the bulge in his trousers again, clearly loving every second of this. “Ah, chérie, but The League has banished you. The only friends you have are the Irish,” he gloated. “Oh, I would have loved to have seen your face when you learned why Sara was really in your life.” He snickered. “Did she confess her sins to you before or after you heard from my uncle?”

  He must’ve tried to have Sara killed last week only to discover she was being guarded, and therefore we knew her involvement in his scheme. At least Luca received the intel we wanted him to hear, that The League turned on me. Refused to come to Monaco and help us. He had no idea of the deal I made with his uncle.

  “I’d love to take the gag out and hear what you have to say, but—”

  “Luca, what are you doing?” I looked around Luca to see Atlas coming down the spiral stairs.

  “Just talking to my pet,” Luca smugly stated.

  Atlas strode our direction, crossing the room in only a fitted pair of shorts, the kind UFC fighters wore in the cage.

  “You ready for this? Ready to be more powerful than any leader in history?” Luca smiled.

  “I’m ready. Bridgette is speaking with Arnaud. They’ll be down soon to watch.” Atlas stood beside Luca, observing me with a frown on his face.

  There was a softness to his eyes I hadn’t expected. Pity? Or had the plan worked? Had Sebastian and Sean convinced him to help tonight?

  “Take out her gag,” Atlas instructed.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Luca held a hand up. “The leaders are all joining soon. We don’t need her running her mouth.” He lifted his wrist and checked his watch. “Five minutes until the feed goes live, and we’ll be broadcasting to every Alliance leader in the world. The fighters just arrived.”

  “Fighters?” Atlas scoffed. “More like assassins.” He squatted in front of me, head tipped to the side. “You look like her.” His dark eyes narrowed. “Like both of them.”

  Chanel and Penelope?

  “Who?” Luca asked.

  “She’s not to be harmed until the end.” Atlas ignored Luca’s question and rose to his feet. “I sent word to my men ten minutes ago to collect her lover and friends. We’ll be taking them down tonight instead of tomorrow.”

  My pulse fluttered at his words. I wanted to be hopeful, but I couldn’t be certain if that statement meant he was on our side or that he’d twisted the plan to benefit himself, knowing our intentions.

  “That wasn’t our agreement and for good reason. Do you have any idea what they’re capable of? You can’t bring them into this house.” Luca began pacing off to my side, his forehead tight, eyes downcast.

  “Call your men and tell them to hold off. Trust me when I say you don’t want them here, subdued or not, and especially not Sebastian.” Luca came to a halt and stabbed a finger toward Atlas.

  “What’s done is done.” Atlas nodded. “And you’re not a leader. You don’t call the shots, Moreau.” He leaned in closer to his face in a challenge, his muscular body dominating Luca’s leaner frame.

  “This was my damn plan,” Luca hissed. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”

  Well, these two turning on each other wasn’t what I’d expected.

  “If your men can capture Sebastian and the others, it’s because they want to be caught. They want to be brought to Emilia.” His voice grew louder during his rant, the veins in his neck on display. He squatted before me and circled a hand around my throat. “You little bitch.”

  “Let. Her. Go.” Atlas grabbed Luca’s shoulder and yanked him back, but Luca only gripped tighter.

  I kept my eyes open, refusing to surrender to him, but his grip was cutting off my air, and my vision was growing hazy. But before I knew it, Luca’s hand was gone from my neck. My eyes watered, and I saw that he was now lying on his back on the cement floor.

  “You’ve made a mistake,” Luca warned, pushing up off the ground and wiping his hands along the sides of his trousers.

  “You challenging me is the only mistake I see.” Atlas turned toward the stairs and yelled something in Greek, which was followed a few seconds later by two men hurrying down the steps. Atlas jerked his head and motioned for his men to take Luca away. “I want him out of my sight.”

  “You’ll regret this, Laurent. You’ll fucking regret this.” Luca loo
ked at me, rage burning in his eyes before the two men escorted him out. “She killed Peter so I’d bring her here. They’re scheming. I can assure you of that,” Luca tossed out at the last second before he disappeared.

  Atlas turned and squatted in front of me. “Emilia,” he said softly.

  “Sir, we’re going live now,” the man who’d been working the projector announced, interrupting whatever Atlas was about to say.

  He bowed his head for a brief second, then released a breath and rose.

  I carried my focus to the wall where the faces of at least fifty men were now displayed as if the wall was one giant split-screen TV.

  Arnaud, The Asshole of Monaco, came down the stairs a moment later, Bridgette trailing behind him in a flashy gold dress with stilettos.

  “It’s time,” Arnaud said when Atlas had yet to leave my side.

  Atlas peered at Bridgette, then back at me, and his shoulders sloped as if he were unsure of what to do or who to choose. He turned and crossed the room to greet Bridgette and Arnaud, both now settled alongside the other guard who’d set up the screens.

  Bridgette smiled and took the hand Atlas offered. She linked her fingers with his, and they stood before the wall of leaders.

  “As you have heard,” Atlas began, his voice full of confidence, “I would like to step in for Peter Krause and marry Bridgette.” He raised their clasped palms. “Unite our families and our countries.” He looked back over his shoulder at Arnaud. “Arnaud Dupont invoked The Final Hour, and since we were still in Monte Carlo, it made sense to move forward sooner rather than later with this ritual.”

  Ah, of course. Arnaud was working with Luca, and he’d made sure he’d be the one to invoke the challenge.