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“No,” I say, my voice cold.“You’re treating me like I’m a child.But I’m not.And I don’t have to answer to you.You’re my brother, not my father.

Bridget steps forward, placing a calming hand on Ruairi’s arm.“Ri, just let it go,” she says softly.

He shrugs her off, his eyes locked on mine.“I’m not letting it go.She’s hiding something.I know it.”

I cross my arms, matching his stare.“You’re right.I am.Because you don’t get access to every part of me just because we share blood.”

Ruairi’s expression hardens, his tone biting.“You think you can handle this world on your own?You have no idea what you’re walking into, Evie.”

“Enough,” Bridget cuts in, her voice firm but calm as she steps between us.She places a hand on Ruairi’s chest and looks at me, her expression exasperated.“Both of you.Stop arguing in front of Saoirse.”

I glance at the baby, who’s still sitting in her high chair, her big green eyes darting between us with a hint of confusion.Guilt prickles at the edges of my anger, but I refuse to back down completely.

Ruairi rakes a hand through his hair as he steps back.“We’re not done with this,” he mutters, his tone simmering with frustration.

Bridget turns to me, her voice softer now.“Aoife, maybe we can all take a breath and talk about this later.Without an audience.”

Ruairi exhales sharply before storming out of the room.Bridget lingers for a moment, her gaze shifting between me and the baby.

“Do you mind staying with Saoirse for a bit?”she asks, her tone careful, almost apologetic.“I should go check on him.”

I nod, managing a tight smile.“Of course.”

She hesitates, her hand brushing Saoirse’s head gently before she leaves.

Saoirse begins babbling happily.I pick her up, holding her close, her tiny hands clutching at my necklace.

“You’ve got it easy, you know that?”I murmur, pressing a kiss to her soft curls.“No overbearing brothers telling you what to do.”

She gurgles in response, and despite myself, I smile.

But as I hold her, my mind churns.Bridget’s words echo faintly about my brother wanting what’s best for me and about patience.

How much longer am I supposed to wait?How many more dinners like this, where my choices and my future are discussed like I’m not even in the room, am I expected to endure?

As Saoirse rests her head on my shoulder, the soft weight of her trust and innocence settles over me.For her sake, I’ll let it go tonight.

But this isn’t over.Not by a long shot.

Eamon

The restaurant isquiet at this hour, tucked just off one of Dublin’s busier streets.Neutral ground—but public enough to make a point.The soft murmur of conversation from the few remaining diners barely touches the private corner where I sit.Across from me, Liam O’Connor shifts in his seat, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the edge of the table.

I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light as I let the silence stretch.He hates silence.It makes him nervous.Makes him talk.I’ve always used that to my advantage.

“Liam,” I say finally, my tone calm but cutting through the tension like a blade.“Do you know why I called you here tonight?”

He forces a smile, though it falters at the edges.“I have an idea,” he says, his voice tight.

I set my glass down, the sound of it hitting the table louder than it should be.“Enlighten me.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, glancing around the room as if looking for support.There’s none to be found.My men are scattered throughout the restaurant, subtle but present.He knows that.

“Eamon, if this is about the Docklands?—”

“It’s about you trying to take something that doesn’t belong to you.”I cut him off, my voice dropping lower.“It’s about you thinking you could steal from me and get away with it.”

“It wasn’t stealing,” he blurts out, leaning forward in his chair.“It was a business opportunity.I saw a gap and?—”