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"He trusts you."

I jump, and turn to find Eamon at my elbow, his posture casual but eyes glare daggers at me.

"I worked hard to earn his trust," I reply.

"That's not what I mean." He drinks. "Cillian doesn't bring women to family functions. Ever. Not once in my life has he had a plus-one to anything public."

I hold his gaze. "I appreciate the invitation even more then."

"I bet you do." Eamon moves closer. "You know a lot about Irish music for someone with your background."

"My grandmother?—"

"Yeah, I heard that line." He cuts me off. "Here's the thing about my brother. He sees the best in people. I see what they hide. The ugly bits they think are concealed."

Before I can respond, Cillian returns, noting the confrontation. "Everything okay?"

"Just getting to know Orla better," Eamon says, walking away. “She can dance with your two left feet, that’s a talent.” He mocks his brother and then he’s gone.

Cillian frowns. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing important." I touch his arm. "He asked about my dancing and taste in music. It's warm in here. Mind if we get some air?"

The balcony has a priceless view of Boston Harbor, boats and buildings reflected on dark water. A cold breeze carries the salt scent of the ocean. I shiver despite the fact I was sweating moments ago.

"I apologize if Eamon offended you," Cillian says. "He is protective, but his manners need work."

"It's fine. Family are like that."

"Yes." He pauses, gazing at the harbor. “Family, a blessing and a curse.”

“at least you have family.” I inject my own loss into this moment. I wish I had a sibling with no manners to look after me now.

"I want to build something that lasts.” Cillian says looking off into the dark, “Something my children could inherit without..." He stops. "Without the legacy my father will leave us."

Children. Future. Words that make my blood boil for revenge—the things he robbed me of. I will destroy this man's dreams. Put his family in prison, tear them apart and leave him with no legacy at all. It's justice—but standing here, it feels cruel.

"What about you?" he asks. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

Five years. Will he be in prison? Will I live in witness protection? Am I even going to live that long?

"I haven't thought that far ahead," I admit.

"I have." Cillian turns to me. "You've become special to me, Orla." It’s an odd thing to say, he has been distant since New York, treated me like I am an outsider again. Now he’s calling me special, dancing with me—showing me off to his family. Dragging me deep into his world.

He leans in, and I meet his kiss. I don’t even hesitate. His hand wraps around my throat, and aphrodisiac and a threat all laced in seduction. When we part breathless, I see something dangerous in his eyes—not the cold, deadly Kavanagh businessman, but a man falling in love.

It is truth bomb that could blow both our lives apart. I care for him too, beyond the vengeance. This kiss was two betrayals—his coming betrayal by me, and my betrayal of my father's memory by feeling this way for him.

"We should go back inside," I whisper, needing to escape these tangled emotions.

Cillian nods, taking my hand as we rejoin to the celebrations inside. The music plays, but now it echoes a funeral march to my ears. The guests are all jolly from too many drinks, and theroom is hot with body heat and the reality of this entire night is suffocating me.

How do I reconcile this? The Kavanaghs ordered my father's death. I came here for justice. For him. Now with each day, each touch, justice and vengeance blur into nothing compared to the pull he has on me.

The ruby choker Niamh loaned me for tonight throttles me, a sign that she has accepted me. As family—as Cillian’s woman.

A family I'm going to destroy.