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“Suit yourself.” With a casual shrug, he takes another quick swig of his beer, pushing methisclose to walking out. Finally, he says, “Simply put—you need to know that I can’t, and won’t, allow you to go through with your plan.”

At first, I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Arthur,” he clarifies. “I know you’re planning something, and I’m telling you right now, I will not let it happen.”

“Is that it?” I say, confused by his need to announce this. I always assumed he’d try to stand in my way.

He nods. “Pretty much, yes.”

I scoff. “You do know you could’ve just put that in a text—saved us both from having to do this?”

“But then I wouldn’t get to see you,” he says.

That’s it. I’m sick of him thinking he can talk to me like this—like I’m no different from Maisie, or anyone else he can easily manipulate.

“I’m out,” I say, patience frayed to its very last thread.

“And if I’m not finished talking?” he challenges.

“I’m not sure I care,” I snap.

“I’m sure you don’t,” he says. “But that’s only because you don’t know what I’m about to propose.”

“Still not sure I care,” I say, and yet, I’m pretty sure he can see the way my resolve falters just enough for him to continue.

“Imagine,” he leans in, lowering his voice, “if there was a way to have the best of both worlds.”

“Meaning?” I ask, struggling to keep my curiosity from seeping into my voice.

“What would you say”—he pauses for effect —“if I told you I’ve figured out a way to undo what happened to your dad?”

28

I’m speechless.

Stunned.

It was pretty much the last thing I expected to hear. Especially coming from him. The shock of his words pins me in place.

Narrowing my gaze on Killian, I say, “You mean whatyoudid to my dad?”

Killian’s response is soft, almost remorseful. “Yes, what I did, Shiv,” he says, and for once, his face is an open book. No sign of his usual tells, no swipe of his hair, no pressing of lips. And the fake accent is notably gone. “I want you to know I’ve never forgiven myself,” he continues, and though his admission strikes a chord, it’s not nearly enough to douse the anger burning brightly inside me.

“Oh really?” I say, my skepticism palpable, voice laced with bitterness. “Have you forgotten that I watched the whole scene unfold? That I saw how you casually flicked your cigarette ash onto his face, while you gloated over…” My voice fades, my anger cresting to such great heights that words temporarily escape me. “Gloated over all the vile and disgusting things that you’d one day do to me.” I practically spit.

“And have you forgotten that I was only fourteen at the time? That I was young, and stupid, and full of reckless, unearned bravado? Look, I admit, I was a little piece of shit. I was naive, thought I was invincible—a complete and total asshole. But did it ever occur to you that I’m no longer that guy?”

Tossing my head back, I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Are you joking? Killian, you are exactly that guy,” I say, my gaze like a blade. “In fact, you’re the scorpion, right? Isn’t that what you told me, when you recited your little scorpion and frog story back in Renaissance Italy?”

I watch as he drops his head into his hands, acting the part of a man caught in a flood of emotional distress. But I’m not buying it, not for a second. When it comes to Killian, my skepticism remains completely unshakable.

“You know, there’s a quote by Maya Angelou,” I say. “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

Raising his head, Killian locks eyes with me, and I know he’s searching for an inroad, a crack in my resolve that doesn’t exist.

“Well, unfortunately,” I continue, “I didn’t believe you the first time. But I do believe the last face you showed me, when you held a knife to Braxton’s throat, forcing me to choose between his life and the Moon.”

He sits with that for a moment, staring into his beer. “And clever girl that you are,” he says, his voice so quiet I can just barely make out the words, “you found a way around that predicament, didn’t you?” His expression falls flat, the spark in his eyes nearly doused, his usually full lips reduced to a thin, grim line. A weighted silence falls between us, and I’m thinking it’s time to bid him goodbye, when he adds, “Perhaps I’m unaccustomed to not having my desires met.”