Page 132 of Unrequited

He turns to me. “This is Zoya McCarthy now. She’s mine.”

Then, like nothing just happened, he walks to the head of the table and pulls out a chair for me. I sit, every nerve still screaming, but steady.

He takes the seat beside me.

“Now,” he says, folding his hands. “Where were we?”

Chapter 23

SEAMUS

To Zoya’s credit,she doesn’t even flinch when I pull the trigger.

I knew it was only a matter of time. Sooner or later, I’d have to deal with the rot. There’ve been whispers and rumors circling like vultures among my men, and I never believed for a second that I’d cleaned house entirely back at the bar in Russia.

And when I spoke to Da, he didn’t need to say much, just enough to confirm what I already knew in my gut. There were whispers I’d made a mistake. That marrying Zoya was a weakness. The only men who thought that? Branson’s loyalists. The old guard who’d rather see the past reign than step into the future. I suspected he assured their loyalty with empty promises or threats against their families.

Our feud, Branson’s and mine, isn’t something I’ve taken lightly. I haven’t shared the details with anyone. No one butDa. And up until now, even he’s leaned toward Branson’s side.

That’ll change. In a few days, once the truth surfaces, it will change.

So when I made every man in that room stand, when I watched their eyes slide over to Zoya, the woman I’ve crowned my queen, I knew. I knew exactly who’d betrayed me.

I didn’t hesitate. I pulled the trigger with the ease of someone who’s done it before. Who knows when justice must be swift.

Another woman might’ve screamed, might’ve run from the room in horror.

But not my lass.

No, not my beautiful, brave lass. She stayed standing beside me, spine straight as an arrow, eyes sharp and calculating. She’s kind, yes. Gentle, sometimes. But beneath that soft veneer is a core of steel.

It's what I love about her.

Back to the task at hand. Ah. Introductions.

I gesture to my left. “You’ve met Ashland, love,” I say. “My first cousin.”

Next to Ashland sits Lorcan, Nolan’s lad. He’s got the same dirty-blond hair and piercing blue eyes as his cousin. The same lean build and restless energy, always scanning, always calculating.

“And Cavin, my brother. Would’ve been at dinner tonight if he hadn’t had business to handle.” Thick with muscle, he has my father’s build and my mother’s eyes. He’s got that quiet power, the kind that doesn’t need to posture. “Cavin runs guns out of Belfast. Loyal as hell to our family.”

He might see Zoya as a threat to the Irish legacy. That’ll change too.

“Daire,” I say, nodding my head to the youngest at the table. Twenty-five. Reckless. Scarred knuckles. Bitter mouth. Eyes that have looked up to me since he could walk. He’d do anything I asked.

“Now,” I say coldly, “why the fuck did you pull me out of my bed in the middle of the goddamn night?”

I’ve walked into the warehouse mid-meeting, summoned by Ashland.

I jerk my head at the cooling body on the floor. “Lorcan. Clean it up. Fast.”

I don’t like killing. But I hate my wife being disrespected even more.

This meeting wasn’t mine. They called it. They tested me. It wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t smart. Orchestrated by Da and Branson’s old guard, no doubt. They wanted to see if I’d gone soft. If marriage, if love, had weakened me. They wanted to prod the heir and see if he’d bite.

Well, I did.

And the blood’s still fresh.