27. Ronan
Chapter Twenty-Seven
RONAN
The elevator dings on the top floor of Sullivan Investments, and before the doors even slide open, I’m already bracing for impact.
Ever since I took over from my father, there’s been a particular tension in the air every time I step foot in the building. It’s as if everyone is collectively holding their breath as they wait for me to mess up.
Half a dozen employees are scattered near the reception, and the moment I step out, their heads turn in my direction. I nod stiffly and keep walking, not in the mood for polite small talk.
The break room is just ahead, and for some reason, I veer toward it even though I’m due in the boardroom in ten minutes.
Once again, the conversation dies the second I enter, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes as all three staff members freeze like they’ve been caught doing something illegal.
One girl fumbles to close the fridge, and another mutters something about a client call before bolting out of the room, the others trailing behind and leaving me alone to face the silence.
I let out a long breath.
It’s going to be a hell of a long day, but at least there’s a fresh pot of coffee.
I pour myself a cup and lean back against the counter, taking a sip. It’s bitter and nothing like what I have at home, but it will do.
The room still smells like someone microwaved leftover noodles, and there’s a half-empty box of donuts on the table. I suddenly find myself wondering who bought them. They’re all pink and covered in sprinkles, the kind Ciara would no doubt have chosen, and the thought brings a smile to my lips.
Maybe I should bring her here once in a while so I can show her off.
I stare out the window at the city skyline. While that hasn’t changed, everything else has.
This place used to be different. Sullivan Investments started with people who knew my family’s reputation and didn’t care.
There was no tiptoeing around whenever my father stepped foot in the building.
Our employees had the confidence to challenge us, to speak up with new ideas because they felt secure enough to do so. We had each other's backs.
But now everyone looks at me like I’m the devil in a tailored suit.
And maybe I am.
I drain half the cup of coffee, set the mug in the sink, and head back toward the boardroom where I’m to spend the next few hours.
Kieran still hasn’t called with any updates on our plan to flush out the mole, which makes me uneasy.
It’s been two days since we planted the fake seeds of information, and it’s been nothing but silence ever since.
I had been certain that the bait would have caught something by now.
Maybe not a name, but at least a lead I could cling to, to make me feel like I still have some control over this game we're all playing.
I adjust the cuff of my shirt as I stride past the assistant's desk on my way to the boardroom. One of the girls, who barely looks old enough to be out of college, glances up at me and then quickly down again, as if looking me directly in the eye might get her fired. Or worse.
The conference room is already full by the time I arrive, so I take my usual seat at the head of the long back table, surrounded by men in suits who care more about quarterly projections than loyalty or blood.
They’re the clean face of the empire—nothing but hedge fund partners, CFOs, and lawyers rather than gangsters.
I would bet good money that not a single one of them knows how to shoot a gun, but then again, that’s not what I pay them for.
On the wall, the screens are lit with charts, graphs, and color-coded breakdowns of the business's performance so far this quarter. We’re outperforming projections, and everything looks solid, but my body is still on high alert.
I don’t trust anyone in this room.
These men smile too easily when they catch my eye and talk too smoothly for me to believe a word that comes out of their mouths. With the mole tightening the noose around our necks, I can’t help but wonder which of them would sell me out for the right price.
As I lean back in my chair, trying my best to look vaguely interested in the PowerPoint on the screen, my phone vibrates in my pocket with an incoming call from Kieran.
About time.
I wave a hand as I get to my feet. “Keep going without me. I need to take this.” I step out into the hallway, closing the glass door behind me. “Tell me something good.”
“It worked,” Kieran doesn’t even bother saying hello. “Information was leaked less than two hours after we planted it, and we traced the leak to the drop points we seeded in weapons distribution.”
“You’re sure?”
“As sure as we can be without a signed confession.”
I run a hand through my hair as I breathe out a sigh of relief.
Kieran goes on. “The only people with access to that version were the ten-man weapons team, plus Lorcan.”
“Start digging into each of them. Don’t leave any stone unturned.”
“I already looped Angus in. He’s putting together GPS data, phone logs, bank statements—the lot.”
“Good. Keep it tight, Kieran. No one outside of the family and Angus knows about this. If the mole catches wind of our plan, we lose everything.”
He exhales. “I know, I got it.”
I leave Sullivan Investments in the early afternoon after canceling the rest of my meetings. My mind is too full of potential bad outcomes with this mole situation for me to fully concentrate. Plus, I hate being away from Ciara.
She might be safe and protected at the house, but that’s not why I rush back home.
I need to hold her, to breathe in the sweet scent of her shampoo, to feel her skin against mine.
I need to be reminded of why I’m doing this.
The second I walk through the front door, however, I can feel something is off.
It’s the same feeling I had when I stepped off the elevator at Sullivan Investments, and the moment I walk into the living room and see the look on Ciara’s face, I know I’m right from the way her shoulders are squared and her lips are pressed together like she’s trying to stop herself from exploding.
I frown. "Hey. You okay?"
She gets to her feet. "We need to talk.”
Fuck.
What the hell has happened between now and this morning? This is a far cry from the Ciara I left sitting at the kitchen island only a few hours ago.
"What do you want to talk abou—"
"Did you attack Max the night he died?"
Everything in me stills.
How the hell does she know?
"Did. You. Attack. Him?”
We both know my silence is confirmation of my guilt.
"Yes, I did."
Ciara looks like I slapped her across the face.
I hold my hands out as I take a step toward her, and she flinches.
My wife actually flinches.
"But he was alive when I left him." Panic sets in as Ciara slips further out of reach. "Sure, he was banged up and bruised, but he was breathing.”
Ciara laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Only bitterness. "He was lying on the ground, unconscious! He didn’t come to for five minutes, and when he did, he was still too out of it to defend himself against the guys who killed him. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
I’ve known what it’s like to have Ciara pissed at me, but this is something else. There’s a cold hatred in her eyes as she looks at me, as if being in my presence makes her physically ill.
“Ciara…” I hold out my hands once again, though I make no move to close the distance between us despite the fact my body is screaming at me to go to her. “Max was shot in the head, and that hit was always only going to end one way."
Her eyes well with tears as she glares at me.
"You made damn sure of it.”
I grind my teeth. “I didn’t kill him.”
“No, but you might as well have.” She storms past me out of the room.
I let her go.
But two seconds after she leaves the room, I freeze.
Wait.
No one else knows about what happened, not even my brothers. So, how the hell did she know I was the one who beat Max up?
My heart races.
"Ciara!"
She doesn't answer, so I sprint out of the room as her door slams shut upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time as my heartbeat pounds in my ears.
“Ciara!” I bang my fist on the door.
She doesn’t answer, so I try the handle, but of course, it’s locked.
“If you don’t open this fucking door, I’ll break it down!”
A second later, the lock clicks, and the door flies open, revealing a wild-eyed Ciara.
“I didn’t realize I’d married such a neanderthal!”
“How did you know?” I brace my hand on the door so she can’t slam it in my face.
Ciara says nothing, just folds her arms across her chest.
“Tell me, or so help me, Ciara, I’ll—”
She throws her arms out. “You’ll what? You’ll what, Ronan? Beat me like you beat Max?”
I stagger backward, and for a moment, we just stare at each other, both of our breathing ragged.
“Do you really think I would hurt you?” There is a sickening ache in my chest.
Ciara bites her lip as she fights back tears, but then she bows her head. “No. But you hurt Max, and that hurt me.”
I flinch at her words. “Ciara…”
I want nothing more than to get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness, but I also need to know how the hell she learned about the attack. “I need to know how you know.”
Ciara looks up at me under her lashes, which are damp with tears and stuck together in clumps.
“There was a camera.”
“Impossible. My guys swept the place…”
Ciara shakes her head. “Max hid one in a place he knew no one would look.”
Fuck.
“How long have you had the footage?”
“I didn’t know it existed until today. Mila found Max’s laptop in a hidden compartment in his wardrobe, which accessed the hidden security feed. I didn’t even know what we were looking for until…” Her voice falters. “Until we saw it.”
“You and Mila watched it together?”
She nods, and I ball my hands into fists.
This is not how I planned for Ciara to find out about the part I played in Max’s death. In truth, if I had it my way, she never would have found out at all.
“What else was on there? Does it show the hit?”
“Yes. All of it, from beginning to end.”
This video could bury me, or it could be the answer I’ve been working so hard to find.
“I need to see that video, now.”
For once, Ciara doesn’t push back. She turns and hurries into the closet before returning with a laptop. Settling on the bed beside her, I wait with bated breath as she opens it up and loads the camera footage.
“This was Mila’s idea.” Ciara’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Max was paranoid, always watching his back. She thought he would have set up hidden cameras that would have been missed by your guys, and she was right.”
I don’t want to watch this, but I have to. I owe that to Max and to Ciara.
The air is so thick with tension that it feels suffocating.
Ciara presses play, and the grainy footage flickers on the screen.
I watch as my fists hit Max’s face and ribs. Each blow hits me harder than the last, but I can’t look away from the brutal reality of my anger. When I finally walk away, Max is left broken and bleeding on the floor, his chest barely rising and falling.
The silence stretches on, and it claws at my gut as Ciara sits motionless beside me.
I can’t bear to look at her and see the hurt in her eyes. There’s nothing I could say right now that could even begin to heal the damage I’ve done, so I stay quiet and watch as minutes later, Max starts to come around.
A while later, while he is talking on the phone, three figures clad in black with balaclavas come into view, and my body stiffens.
Ciara stiffens. “That’s them. I don’t recognize any of them because of the balaclavas…”
I’m barely listening, my attention on the distinctive Celtic knot tattoo on the back of the hand slamming against Max’s face.
“I have to go.”
Ciara’s eyes burn into my back as I make to leave. “What is it? Do you know him?”
I don’t offer her an answer. Not when I can barely comprehend that not only do I know Max’s killer, but he’s also a guy I thought was dead.
Until now.