Page 57

It’s not hard to guess who’s behind it.This is Eamon O’Sullivan’s response to the warning I sent him.It’s a declaration of war.

Losing the shipment is going to cause all kinds of problems for my Syndicate with my contact in the north.The deal we had would provide their faction with enough weapons to solidify their position and tip the balance of power in their favor.Now, with nothing to show for it, not only have I lost their trust, but I’ve also handed them a reason to question my leadership.

But it’s not the loss of the shipment that twists my stomach into knots.It’s Aoife.The thought of her getting caught in the crossfire of this escalating violence turns my blood cold.

I straighten, shoving the fear aside.“We’ll hit back harder,” I say, though my voice lacks its usual authority.“But first, I need to make sure Aoife isn’t anywhere near this madness.”

It’s just past midday when I arrive at Cian O’Leary’s office.The hallway leading to it hasn’t changed much over the years.There are the same framed photographs and the same muted carpet that muffles every step.I know this space well.I used to trail behind my Da as a boy, legs half the length of his, watching the back of his coat sway as he led meetings I was too young to understand.

Back then, Cian’s office had felt impossibly big.I remember sitting on the edge of a leather chair, back straight, feet barely brushing the floor, doing everything I could to look like I belonged among the men speaking in clipped, measured tones.I wouldn’t fidget.Wouldn’t speak unless spoken to.I was there to observe.To prove I was watching, learning, becoming.

And Cian saw that.

He never talked down to me.Never laughed when I tried to mirror the gravity of my father or asked questions meant for a man twice my age.He’d offer a nod, a quiet “Good question,” or pass me a sweet from the dish on his desk like it was a shared secret between us, one that said,I see you trying, lad.Keep going.

That respect, however quiet, stayed with me.

Now, as I step into his office as a man no longer trying to belong but already entrenched in this world.I find the room just as I remember, precise, still, and expectant.

“Ruairi,” he greets, standing and extending a hand.“This is unexpected.”

“We need to talk,” I say, ignoring the pleasantries.

Cian’s brows knit together as he waves me to sit.“What’s going on?”

“Aoife,” I say, cutting straight to the point.“She’s working at The Emerald Briar.”

Cian’s expression shifts as recognition flashes in his eyes.“O’Sullivan’s place?”

I nod, watching his reaction closely.

“What the hell is she doing there?”Cian asks.

“She’s trying to prove a point,” I reply carefully.“Aoife wants me to let her work in our Syndicate.She thinks this is how she’ll make me see her as capable.”

Cian leans back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.“Your father always said she was stubborn.”

“She needs someone to pull her back from this mess,” I say, fixing him with a pointed look.

His smile fades, replaced by a more serious expression.“You’re asking me to go to Dublin?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.“You’re smart, steady.She needs that right now.Convince her that you’re the better choice and get her to come home.”

Cian’s eyes narrow, the lines around them deepening as he studies me.He doesn’t answer right away.Instead, he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers like a man carefully weighing risk against reward.

“She’s young,” he says finally.“There’s a significant age gap between us.People might talk.”A note of dry amusement threads his voice, though his expression stays unreadable.“And not kindly.”

I don’t flinch.“Let them.”

“Even if I were willing, what makes you so sure Aoife would go along with it?”he asks.“She didn’t seem so receptive that night at dinner.”

“She doesn’t have to want it.Not yet,” I say, voice steady.“She just needs to be seen with you.That’s how it starts.The idea gets planted, and over time, she’ll come around.She’s smart—she’ll see what you have to offer.She’ll realize you’re the best choice.”

Cian drums his fingers against the armrest once then stills.His gaze sharpens, thoughtful.“I’m not sure how I feel about manipulating the girl,” he says slowly.“She’s your sister, Ruairi, not just a piece to move around on a board.”

“This isn’t manipulation,” I say evenly.“It’s influence.A nudge in the right direction.Aoife will make the decision herself.I’m just helping her see the right one.”

A beat passes.Then Cian gives a slow, deliberate nod.“All right,” he says.“I’ll do it.”