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"Meaning?"

"Meaning we're both targets now."

A chill runs down my spine. "What do you want to do?"

"End this. Tonight." His eyes meet mine. "Collins is dead. Eamon faces justice. But the Donovans still threaten everything we've built."

"We?"

He stops pacing. "You're part of this now, Orla. Like it or not."

My gun sits forgotten on the table. The evidence files mock me with their promises of simple justice. Nothing about this feels simple anymore.

"And after? When the Donovans are handled?"

"After, you decide what happens with Eamon." Cillian moves closer. "And what happens with us."

The weight of choice settles on my shoulders. Revenge. Justice. Love. All tangled together in ways I never anticipated.

"Where's the safe house?" I ask.

"Twenty minutes north. Isolated." He watches my face. "You want to see him?"

"Yes." I stand, grabbing my jacket. "But I'm keeping my gun."

"I'd expect nothing less."

As we leave my apartment together, I realize I'm walking deeper into Kavanagh territory with each step. No longer hunting them from outside.

Now I'm part of their world, whether I chose it or not.

The question is: what kind of justice will I demand?

CHAPTER 22

CILLIAN

The safe house is twenty minutes north of Boston, hidden among thick woods. I park beside Eamon's black BMW, noting the two guards flanking the entrance. My brother waits for justice. Orla will deliver it.

"Ready?" I ask as we approach the door.

Orla checks her gun one final time. "Yes."

The guards nod as we enter. Inside, the main room holds sparse furniture—couch, table, chairs. Functional, not comfortable. Eamon sits by the window, staring at nothing.

He looks up when we enter. His face shows exhaustion, guilt, acceptance. This is a man preparing to die.

"Orla." He stands, hands visible. "Thank you for coming."

She studies him like a predator evaluating prey. "You killed my father."

"Yes." No denial. No excuses. "Vincent Collins told me your father planned to expose our entire operation to federal authorities. Said he threatened the family."

"And you believed him."

"I was twenty-two. Stupid. Desperate to prove myself." Eamon's voice carries seven years of regret. "I didn't question orders from my father's right hand."

Orla moves closer. "Tell me how it happened."