Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
RONAN
The McCarthy estate is a fucking mess.
The rusted gate, barely hanging on to its hinges, should have been the first sign, but the further I go down the drive, the clearer it gets the place has completely gone to shit.
The main house is wrapped in ivy, and most of the window frames are starting to rot. The bones of a once-grand mansion are here, but they’ve been left to decay, just like the McCarthy name.
Kieran gives me a sidelong glance from the passenger seat. “Are you sure about this?”
“Not even a little.”
I’ve met with Callum before, but it’s always been on somewhat neutral ground. But today, I wanted something different. I wanted to see for myself where he rots.
I park my BMW beside an old Mercedes that’s missing both side mirrors. As we step out, I quickly glance around and note the cameras on the side of the house, but I doubt they even work. No burglar will come within a hundred feet of this place.
The wooden front door is warped from age, and the paint is peeling off in strips. There’s even a handful of half-burnt cigarettes scattered on the doorstep, the old brick steps reduced to nothing but an ashtray.
I go to wrap my knuckles on the door, but Kieran pushes past me and just opens it.
“Really?”
“It was fucking unlocked.”
The stench of stale smoke and mold hits us first, and I wrinkle my nose as I take in the dim hallway and the threadbare rug underfoot. There’s a dusty chandelier overhead that looks like it hasn’t lit up in years, and there’s a piano tucked away under the stairs, covered in an inch of dust.
“Go ahead and let yourselves in, why don’t you?” Callum’s voice filters down the hall to our right, followed by the sound of his footsteps.
I haven’t seen him since he was tied to a chair and begging for his life, and from the look in his eyes as he takes in the sight of me in his hallway, he realizes it too.
I look around at nowhere specific. “Nice place.”
Callum shrugs, not rising to the bait. His dark slacks and pale blue shirt, for once, are ironed, and his hair is neatly styled. But his clean-cut appearance isn’t enough to hide the haunted look in his eyes.
“She’s got character.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he glances between Kieran and me.
“She’s got black mold,” Kieran mutters beside me, and I have to cough to disguise my laughter.
Callum’s eyes darken. “Not everyone can have a palace on the hill.”
Some of us built our palaces from fire and blood and made damn sure it didn’t fall into ruin, but I don’t say that thought out loud. Instead, I look around again, taking in the water stains on the ceiling and the peeling wallpaper.
This place, this family, is already dying, but Callum is just too proud to admit it.
My eyes land on him again. “Are you going to offer us a drink or what?”
Callum scowls but leads us down the hall, and Kieran and I follow silently behind him until we reach the lounge.
A faded floral wallpaper clings desperately to the plaster, and the heavy velvet curtains are half-drawn, allowing pale daylight to filter through the window, casting long shadows across the room.
The fireplace dominates one wall, its once-polished marble surround now cracked and chipped, and the hearth blackened with old soot that hasn’t been cleaned in ages.
The floorboards creak beneath my feet as I walk over to the couch, the smell of cigarette smoke and stale whiskey clinging to the air.
Kieran and I are silent as Callum goes over to the lackluster drinks cabinet and pours each of us a drink.
I shoot Kieran a look over my shoulder, silently reminding him to behave, and he rolls his eyes.
When we’ve each been handed our drinks, Callum takes a seat in one of the armchairs opposite me, but Kieran remains standing with his arms folded across his chest, as if he can’t bear to even touch anything in this room.
To be honest, I don’t blame him.
I brace my hands on my knees. “Let’s get to it. You want a place at the table, and we want peace. So, I’m offering you both.”
Callum raises an eyebrow as he looks at Kieran and then back at me. “Peace, huh?”
“No more games. You let go of whatever fantasy you’re still clinging to about destroying my family and my marriage, and I give you something real in return.”
“You want me to work for you?”
I shrug. “Essentially, yes. You’ll answer to me, but you’ll eat like the rest of us.”
Callum swirls the liquor around in his glass. “And you think this marriage means our families are fused forever?”
“That’s what family means. Like it or not.”
He chuckles, the sound low and laced with bitterness. “It’s cute, this idea that you and my sister are forever.”
And there it is. The insult is thinly veiled, but it’s there, nonetheless.
I lean forward slowly, setting my glass down on the table before clasping my hands together. “I don’t give a shit what you think is cute. If you’re not interested in a truce, then we’re done here.”
I go to stand up when Callum holds up a hand.
“All right. I’m in. Just… tell me what you want me to do.”
I pause. “Just like that?”
“I might be many things, Sullivan, but I’m not stupid. A man knows when to make peace.”
Bullshit.
Callum knows when he’s out of options. His empire is nothing but cracked drywall and debt, and he needs us more than he cares to admit. But I’ll let him have his moment.
“Good choice. Kieran will be in touch with your orders.”
I don’t miss the way Callum’s face pales as his eyes flick to my brother, and I don’t need to look at Kieran to know he’s smiling.
I get to my feet, my glass of whiskey forgotten on the table, and turn to leave.
Callum gets up too. “How’s Ciara?”
“You haven’t heard from her?” I glance back at him over my shoulder.
Callum shakes his head, the hurt written clear as day on his face.
“Not since Mila’s brother died. I thought maybe she would come home.”
Is he being serious right now?
I clench my teeth. “She’s fine.”
That flicker in his eyes, something like pain, lasts half a second and then it’s gone, and I feel it again. That certainty that she’s choosing me.
Every day she stays, every word she doesn’t send to her brother, is proof of that.
Whatever storm we’re in, she’s not jumping ship, and maybe that shouldn’t carry as much weight as it does, but I can’t deny that it feels good.
It means I’m right in knowing that I can trust her.
Back in the car, Kieran is silent for a few minutes as I turn it around and head back down the weed-covered drive.
“You believe him?”
I shake my head. “No. But I believe he’s desperate.”
Kieran nods as he drums his fingers on the armrest.
“Desperate people are dangerous.”
Before I can respond, an incoming call from Cormac flashes on the center screen, and I quickly click answer on the steering wheel.
“Talk to me.”
“We’ve got a problem. Walsh’s warehouse was hit this afternoon.”
Kieran looks at me. “Walsh? As in…”
“Declan Walsh,” Cormac confirms.
I frown. “What’s that got to do with us?”
Declan Walsh is head of a rival mob family and a constant thorn in my side, so hearing news that one of his warehouses was hit shouldn’t be a problem. If anything, it should be the opposite.
Cormac hesitates, and I brace myself for whatever is about to come out of his mouth.
“Because whoever did it… made it look like us.”
“Say that again.” My voice is ice cold.
“It was a masked crew in an SUV, the same model as the ones we use. They spoke just enough to give the right accent to match our guys. Walsh thinks we’re starting something.”
My heartbeat rings in my ears.
This hit is strategic. Someone is playing a very dangerous game of chess, and they’re trying to make my family the fucking pawns.
“Find out who set it up. Now. I want everything from footage to names. Someone’s trying to pull us into a war.”
“I’m already digging. But it’s clear they knew what they were doing.”
They sure as hell knew, and now the game has shifted, and I’m forced to play defense.
The sky is dark by the time I drop Kieran back in the city and make it back to the house. I expect to find Ciara in the lounge or even in the kitchen, but she’s not downstairs, and the place is eerily silent.
I take the stairs two at a time, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut as I head up to the bedroom.
“Ciara?” I push open the door.
She’s nestled under the covers, watching a film on her laptop. When she sees me, she glances up and tries to smile, but I can see the exhaustion in her eyes.
“Did you call the doctor?” I sit on the bed and press my hand to her forehead.
She’s not warm, which is good, but her skin lacks its usual pink undertone.
“No. I’m just tired.”
“Have you at least tried to eat something?” I glance at her nightstand and see an empty mug of tea but nothing else.
When I look back at Ciara, she nods but doesn’t meet my eyes.
Liar.
“You need food. I’ll make you toast.”
For once, she doesn’t argue, which I take as a good sign.
When I return a few minutes later with a plate of buttered toast, Ciara’s already asleep.
I let out a sigh as I set the food down on the nightstand.
Her film is still playing, but I switch off the laptop so it doesn’t wake her.
For a moment, I stand beside the bed, watching her sleep.
Even when she’s pale and sick, she’s still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Her fiery nature drew me in, and I’ve been at her mercy ever since. But now, as she sleeps peacefully, the fire has burned out, leaving a youthful innocence in its wake.
I can’t believe that this woman is mine, yet something gnaws at me as I watch her.
There’s something she’s not telling me. I’ve felt it building for days, and I suspect it’s not just about her being sick.
I slip out of the room and almost run into Stephen, who is stepping out of the upstairs study converted into a surveillance room.
He straightens when he sees me, his face looking like it’s been carved from stone. “It’s all quiet, sir.”
“Good.”
I think of Ciara sleeping soundly just a few feet away, and that gnawing feeling returns when I look back at Stephen.
“How has she been today?” I step away from the bedroom door so as not to wake Ciara.
“Tired.”
“Is that all?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“If you know something, Stephen, you will tell me.”
It’s not a question.
“That’s part of my job.”
“Being around my wife all day is also part of your job.”
This time, Stephen blinks, and something like guilt flickers in his eyes. “I don’t follow.”
I let him see the warning in my eyes as I step closer to him. “Just so we’re clear, if you ever fuck me over, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do.”
“Ronan… I would never do that to you, or to her.”
I dip my chin. “Good answer.”
Then I leave him.
I may not like playing defense, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to strike when the time comes.