Page 140 of Unrequited

He’s baiting me, and he’s good at it—gets away with saying shite I wouldn’t tolerate from anyone else. My pulse kicks hard, but I don’t take the bait. Not yet.

He leans forward, grinning like the devil.

“Rafail Kopolov’s sister,” he says. “You’ve been fucking her.”

My jaw tightens. Still, I say nothing.

“You think we didn’t see you?” he continues, talking like this is casual. “Think I didn’t know you were holed up at that little bar in Moscow? You think my eyes don’t stretch that far?”

He tosses something across the table. Photos, grainy but clear enough. Zoya and me, her head against my shoulder, her smile soft and real. Us in my car. Us outside my flat.

Fuck.

My father sits still, frowning, his eyes flitting from me to Branson, then back to the pictures on the table.

I don’t look away.

“I married her for a good reason,” I say, steady. “We’ve had enough bloodshed.”

“You should’ve told me, son.”

“No,” I shoot back, holding his stare. “Because you haven’t believed a damn thing I’ve said, have you?”

He flinches. Doesn’t speak.

“Seamus,” he says hoarsely, “you’re my firstborn son.”

“But blood isn’t thicker than water,” Branson cuts in, his voice oily. “I’ve got evidence. He’s been betraying us for years, Keenan. And then he brings her into our home?” He scoffs. “What’s next? Invite the Russians in? Give them a seat at our table? Brought that little Russian girl in so she could relay everything to her family? I’d bet my fucking eye teeth that’s what he’s planning.”

“I’m loyal to this family.” I slam my fist on the desk. “She’s kept quiet.”

Branson snarls. “For how long? You think she’ll keep her mouth shut when we bleed someone in front of her? We’re not in the business of sentiment, McCarthy. She’s a problem. And you,”—he jabs a finger at me—“you’re mine. You’reThe Undertaker. You don’t get to play house with the fucking enemy.”

“She’s not a threat,” I snap.

“She’s a liability,” he spits back. “And if you’re vulnerable, you’re useless to me.”

“To you?” I turn to my father. “Do you hear him? He doesn’t care about you. Or this family. It’s about him. His legacy.”

I breathe in through my nose, long and steady. Controlled.

“You lied to me,” my father says bitterly.

Fuck it.

“I did,” I admit. “Because when I told you the truth, you shut me down.”

Branson leans back, smiling like he’s already won.

My father gets to his feet and stalks to the door. “We’re done here, Seamus. Do what he says.”

The door slams with finality behind him. I’ve lost all credibility.

Fuck.

“You want to prove you’re still loyal?” he says calmly. Deadly. “There’s only one way.”

I know what’s coming. I still shake my head as if that will somehow ward him off.