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The next morning,I help Declan pack a small bag for the day trip.

"I'll be back tonight," he says, zipping the bag closed.

"You better be." I grab his shirt and pull him in for one last kiss. "I mean it."

He grins. "Yes, ma'am."

I watch from our balcony as his taxi pulls away. My stomach twists with dread as he disappears around the corner. I drop Conor with Maria downstairs, then pace our villa, unable to focus on anything. I check my phone every few minutes, though I know he won't call until he's heading home.

I pick up Conor after lunch, trying to distract myself with normal things—making dinner, bath time, reading stories. But my eyes keep drifting to the clock, counting minutes.

"Where's Dad?" Conor asks as I tuck him into bed.

"Meeting an old friend. He'll be back soon."

"Uncle Cormac?"

I stop and stare at him. "How do you know that name?"

He shrugs. "I heard you and Dad talking. Is he really my uncle?"

I kneel to his level. "Yes. But remember, we don't use those names here."

"I know. We're the Murphys now." He kicks at his blanket. "But I miss being Conor. Sean sounds weird."

I hug him tight. "I know. I miss being Maeve too."

Seven o'clock passes. Then eight. I put Conor to bed with promises that Dad will be here when he wakes up.

Nine o'clock. I pace the living room, phone in hand. No calls. No texts.

Ten o'clock. I try Declan's number. Straight to voicemail.

By midnight I'm frantic. I check the gun in our bedroom safe and plant myself by the window, watching the dark road.

At one in the morning, headlights appear. A taxi pulls up. I grip the gun tighter.

The back door opens. Declan steps out, pays the driver, and turns toward our villa.

Relief floods through me. I run outside.

"Where the fuck have you been?" I demand, throwing myself at him.

He holds me tight, burying his face in my neck. "Cormac's flight got delayed, then he wanted to talk for hours. I couldn't get away."

I pull back to look at him. "What happened? What did he say?"

"Let's go inside first."

In the living room, he drops onto the couch, exhaustion etched in his face. I sit beside him, waiting.

"Siobhan really is dead," he says. "The Russians took her out."

"And?"

"The new boss wants peace. There is too much heat from Siobhan's games. Cops, Interpol." He takes my hand. "Cormac made a deal. The Donovan’s stay out of Russian business, they stay out of ours."

"You believe him?"