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"Business," she says with a shrug. "Nothing personal."

Rage burns through me. "He's six years old."

"And a Donovan." Her eyes narrow. "That's all that matters."

Declan moves closer to her chair. "Why, Siobhan? Why Conor? Why not come after me directly?"

She laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. "Oh, I did. The bullet in your shoulder, remember? But you're harder to break than most men." Her gaze returns to me. "Your weak spot is obvious."

"You're a monster," I tell her.

"I'm a Donovan." She tilts her head. "We’re all monsters. Just like your son will be."

Declan grabs the arm of her chair, leaning into her space. "Enough games. Petrov said you know something about Cormac. Something he doesn't want me to know."

Interest flickers in Siobhan's eyes. "Andrei talked before you killed him. Fucking weakling."

"What is Cormac hiding?"

"Why do you care? You abandoned this family years ago."

"I left to protect the woman I love. From our father. From the life he wanted for me."

"Such nobility." She scoffs. "And yet here you are, back in the fold, blood on your hands again."

"Not by choice."

"We always have choices, brother dear." She leans forward. "I chose to take what was rightfully mine. Cormac chose to stop me. You chose to come back to Dublin. And now, you'll choose what to do with what I tell you."

Declan straightens. "So, talk."

Siobhan's eyes dart to the window, where one of Cormac's men stands guard outside. "Not here. Not with his dogs listening."

I step forward. "This is bullshit. She's fucking with us."

Siobhan ignores me, focusing on Declan. "The basement. No windows, no ears."

Declan hesitates, then nods. "Show me."

"Declan—" I start to object.

"It's okay," he says. "Wait here."

"Like hell I will."

Siobhan smiles, amused by our exchange. "The nurse can come too. She should hear this."

She leads us to a door off the kitchen, opening to a narrow staircase. The basement is small but finished, with a card table and chairs in the center. A single bulb hangs overhead, casting harsh light.

Siobhan sits at the table, gesturing for us to join her. "Fucking cozy, right?"

"Talk," Declan says, taking a seat across from her. I remain standing, too wired to sit.

"Our father's death wasn't natural," Siobhan says without preamble. "Cormac helped him along."

Declan's face betrays nothing. "You're saying Cormac killed him."

"Not with his own hands, no. That's not our brother's style. But the heart medication Dad took? Cormac had it replaced with something else. Made it look like a stroke."