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"What?" she asked, keeping her eyes on his face.

"We’ve got a visitor,” he answered.

“Who?”

“Your uncle.”

A chill sliced down Keira’s spine, cold and fast. Her blood turned to ice. She hadn’t seen Cathal in years, and yet his name still triggered every survival instinct she had.

Of course Cathal had appeared out of the blue—because the devil always knew the worst time to knock.

CHAPTER 6

FINN

Finn watched the color drain from Keira’s face. Her spine didn’t bow, didn’t bend—but he knew the signs.

She’d gone still—the way prey does when it senses a predator nearby. Not fear, exactly—Keira didn’t frighten easily—but a razor-edged alertness. He’d seen that look before, in a few of Con’s best men right before a hit. And he imagined she must have looked that way years ago, just before she disappeared without a word, leaving him at the altar, bleeding in front of everyone they’d ever known.

Cathal Lynch had that effect on people.

“I’ll handle it,” Finn said, voice low.

Her expression shuttered, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. But after a beat, she gave a single nod—small, stiff, like the weight of it cost her something. That was trust, whether she liked it or not. The kind that lived buried under bruises and betrayal, raw and reluctant but real.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Finn pulled it out, saw Con’s name, and exhaled through his nose.

"I have to take this," he told Keira, already turning for the stairs. He left her in the basement control room and took the call from Con upstairs in his office. He needed the separation—not just for the security of the conversation, but because seeing her unravel and not reaching for her was already costing him more than it should.

The moment the door clicked shut, Finn leaned back against it, every muscle in his body tense. The line connected with a soft chime. Con’s face filled the screen, rain soaked and windswept from his country estate on a private island off the coast of Ireland.

“Finn,” Con greeted, glass of whiskey already in hand.

Noting the whiskey, Finn asked, "That bad?"

Con grinned. “It’s well past midday here in Ireland. You look like absolute shite, by the way.”

“You should see the other guy,” Finn muttered. “What’s going on?”

Con’s smile vanished. “Riordan’s not the only one sniffing around Boston. One of the gobshites from the Dubai job’s made his way across the Atlantic. Whether he’s flying solo or someone’s pulling his strings, it’s no accident. Word is he’s already touched base with a few of the dodgier lads skulking about your city.”

“Names?”

“Still working on it, but you’d best get your house in order, Finn. If word gets out that Keira’s under your roof...”

“I know.”

Con studied him through the screen. “You look wrecked, lad. Getting any kip at all?”

“Define sleeping.”

The O’Neill chuckled without humor. “Mind your flank, lad. Cathal might be the devil she knows, but even the feckin’ devil’s got his pets.”

“Yeah,” Finn said, jaw tight. “He’s knocking on my damn door.”

“Then it’s time to remind him whose bloody castle he’s banging on.”