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"You haven't had much peace in your life, have you?"

"No, but then neither have you..."

Keira shook her head. "I had more than you or my sister. When my parents separated, they made a deal, my sister Siobhan would stay with my father, and I would go with my mother. For the most part she kept me isolated from the mafia stuff. I was pretty naive about what was going on in Galway until my uncle chose to enlighten me on our wedding day."

"Bastard," Finn growled.

"You don't get to lay the blame totally on him. You should have told me, Finn."

"Aye. I probably should have, but I had a plan to walk away... to get us out. I didn't want it to touch you."

"Have you ever thought that if maybe you'd told me, we could have done it together? That we would have been stronger if we were united?"

Finn took a deep breath. "Every damn day since you left, but once you knew, you could have come to me."

“Not bloody likely,” Keira said with a dry laugh. “Uncle Cathal made sure I knew—right before he went down to wait for me, ready to walk me down the aisle. In that moment, running felt like the only choice I had left… so I ran. But that doesn’t mean there weren’t weak moments when I wondered—what if.”

Looking at her, for the first time he realized neither of them had escaped the experience unscathed.

They didn’t talk much after that. The air between them hummed with things still left unsaid. The miles blurred. The sky went from steel gray to something softer. Out the passenger window, Keira watched the land stretch out, low and windswept. Salt marshes. Cranberry bogs. Abandoned farm stands shuttered for winter. Everything quiet. Waiting.

Finn glanced at her. The way her face softened just slightly when she wasn’t trying to fight him. How the stress melted from her shoulders when she wasn’t locked in battle with her past or her need to stay five steps ahead. This drive, this silence—it was the first time he’d seen her like this in years.

It did something to him. Opened a crack in that armor he kept around his heart—a hairline fracture that pulsed with the ache of old hopes and raw, lingering want. It wasn’t just the sound of her voice softened by distance, or the way her expression had eased. It was her presence, calm and unguardedfor once, and it hit him in the ribs like a sucker punch. He wasn’t prepared for it. Didn’t know if he wanted to be.

"We’ll be there soon," he said softly.

She didn’t answer. Just leaned her head against the window, eyes closed, the wind from the cracked window lifting strands of her hair. Her lips parted slightly, a soft breath fogging the glass as if her dreams had just barely begun to spill free. For a moment, the sharp edges of her fell away, revealing the girl she must have been before the world hardened her—before blood and betrayal stole her softness. Finn kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight, heart too full. He didn’t dare speak. Didn’t dare ruin it.

He let the road carry them the rest of the way. The estate sat nestled between a thick swath of pine forest and the craggy, secluded edge of the Atlantic. The house was a warm sprawl of old money and deep wood. As the tires crunched up the long gravel drive, Keira leaned forward, taking it in—the sweeping veranda, the weathered stonework, the towering pines that whispered overhead like a hush meant only for them.

"It looks like the kind of place someone would write a mafia romance in," she muttered.

Finn chuckled. "Not a bad idea. I've often thought about writing a novel."

Keira laughed. "A PR firm would have a field day with that—they could tout how authentic it is because you were once a mafia made man." Finn snorted. "No think about it. It would be so on the nose. Brooding crime boss, hidden retreat by the sea, mysterious past, emotionally scarred heroine? All we’re missing is a storm and a secret baby."

He chuckled as he shut off the engine, and two black SUVs rolled up behind them. It was all he could do not to wince, when he saw her body tense. "Give it a day," he whispered taking her hand. "I'll try to keep them as unobtrusive as possible, but I need them here to ensure your safety."

She nodded, but said nothing.

Finn got out of the Range Rover and came around to open her door and help her out. He led her up the stone steps and through the massive double-doored entry.

He didn’t say anything as she stepped inside, letting her take it in. She stood just past the threshold, eyes scanning the foyer, the warm glow of antique sconces brushing soft light over deep walnut floors and the polished banister of the sweeping staircase. Her gaze caught on the carved crown molding, the art hanging above the mantle, the way the deep burgundy runner quieted their steps.

She didn’t say a word, but her lips parted just slightly.

Finn’s heart gave a slow, stupid knock in his chest.

He’d always thought of the brownstone as a showpiece. A façade. The place he brought business associates and enemies alike to show he had control, power, means. But this estate? This was his. The only place he’d ever let his guard slip for more than a breath. He wasn’t sure if it unnerved him or comforted him that she was standing here now—seeing it.

She tilted her head, stepped toward the living room, and ran a hand along the edge of the old Irish sideboard he’d hauled across the ocean himself. Her fingers brushed the worn edge of the wood, the corner where the finish had gone soft from years of hands.

“You always were an old soul,” she murmured.

Finn swallowed, then followed her in.

Once the staff had unpacked their bags, Finn showed her to her suite and gave her a tour of the lower floor.