Page 17

"Already done. Donal will send him away and make sure he understands that it is the O'Neills who hold Boston."

"Damn straight. Good lad."

The call ended. Finn stood there a moment longer, fists clenched, the echo of Con’s voice still hanging in the room like smoke. Con didn’t give warnings unless the storm was already on the horizon—and this one was close enough to taste. Finn paced once, twice, then planted both palms on the desk, grounding himself. Keira’s face flashed behind his eyes. If the bastards from Dubai were in Boston, they’d already be hunting. And she was the prize they’d kill to collect.

Back downstairs, Keira was still at the terminal, her fingers flying over the keys like her nerves might riot if she stopped. Her shoulders were tight, hunched with tension, but her hands moved with clean, precise efficiency. She didn’t look up, didn’t break stride in the code she was building, but her voice cut through the hum of equipment—sharp, on edge, and coiled like a spring ready to snap.

“So?” she asked.

“Cathal’s leaving. I made sure of it.”

“Pity. I didn’t get to tell him to go to hell first.”

His lips twitched. There she was.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Oh, let me guess—this is the part where I clutch my pearls, collapse in a dramatic swoon, and beg you to save me from the big bad?”

Finn chuckled. “You always were good with metaphors.”

She spun the chair toward him, eyes narrowed. “What now?”

Finn felt the flicker of a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. She wasn’t backing down—never had, not when it mattered. That fire, the defiance in her gaze, did something sharp and reckless to him. It was maddening. Addictive. And familiar enough to remind him exactly why losing her had left such a crater in his life.

“You need to learn control.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

He extended a hand. “Come upstairs.”

The top floor of the brownstone was locked behind a steel-core door with a biometric scanner. He hadn’t taken anyone up there in years—not since he moved into the place after Galway, when the ashes of their almost-wedding were still warm in his chest.

Not since everything fell apart. When the door slid open, Keira stepped into the space and stopped cold.

The dungeon spread out before her like a shrine to restraint and power.

Keira took one step inside and faltered. Her eyes swept over the gleaming wood and brushed steel, over cuffs that gleamed like jewelry under recessed lighting, and heavy chains that hung like quiet threats. Her breath caught. Not in fear—never fear—but in that gut-deep awareness of exactly what this place represented. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, as if she could shield herself from memory.

He caught the way her breath hitched, just for a second. Her pulse stuttered—he could feel it even from across the room, or maybe he was just that in tune with her. Polished wood gleamed under soft overhead lights. Stainless steel rigs and dual-purpose training gear were arrayed with the kind of precision only obsession could build. Padded mats absorbed sound, while mirrored walls stretched the room into something endless. Itwas a space designed for control—and every inch of it reminded him of her.

“I see you’ve kept busy,” she said, voice dry.

“It’s not just for play,” he said. “A lot of this doubles as a gym. Strength. Balance. Control.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And you brought me here to... what, relive the glory days?”

He stepped onto the mat and turned to face her. “I brought you here to see if you remember how to fight.”

“I didn’t come here to spar with you, Finn.”

“No, but if you want to survive, you'll do as I say. Con says one of the bastards from Dubai is here in Boston. Your survival just got more complicated.”

Her eyes flashed. “I’m not helpless.”

“Prove it.”

“Fine. But if I break your nose, I’m not apologizing.”