57. Aoife
Aoife
The phone rings and I brace myself.
Bridget’s voice comes through, unsteady, raw. "Aoife, please tell me you’ve found something."
I close my eyes for a second, gripping the edge of the counter. "We’re doing everything we can."
She exhales shakily. "No one knows anything. No one’s seen him. He can’t have disappeared. Ronan’s losing his mind, and I?—"
"Eamon has his men looking for him, too." The lie slips from my lips effortlessly, even as guilt gnaws at my insides. "We’ll find him, Bridget."
"Eamon?" she snaps, skepticism thick in her voice. "They’re at war, Aoife. Why would he lift a damn finger to help?"
My pulse kicks up. "Because I asked him to," I say smoothly. "He knows how much this matters to me."
Bridget makes a sound of frustration. "And you believe him?"
“I know you don’t trust him, but I do. And I swear to you, he’s doing everything he can."
“I don’t know what to think anymore." A long pause lingers between us, thick and suffocating. Then, her voice drops, quieter, almost broken. "It’s been weeks with no news. I need him back," she whispers. "I need to know I’m not going to be alone in this."
"You’re not alone," I promise.
“You don’t understand, Aoife. I’m pregnant.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
"I haven’t told him yet," she continues in a whisper. "I was waiting for the right time. And then he disappeared. What if he never comes back? What if?—"
"Stop," I cut in. "I swear to you, he’s coming back. Eamon and I are doing everything in our power to find him."
Silence stretches between us. Then, finally, she whispers, "Okay."
"I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything," I promise.
"Please," she murmurs, her voice still shaking. "Please find him."
“I will,” I whisper, the guilt of my deception crushing me.
As soon as we hang up, I drop the phone onto the counter and press the heels of my hands against my eyes.
I hate this. I hate lying to Bridget. I hate knowing I’m the reason she’s crying. I hate knowing that right now, Ruairi’s sitting in a cold, dark pit, being worn down by my choices.
But I can’t stop it. Not yet.
A quiet movement behind me makes me stiffen. I turn to see Eamon standing in the doorway. "What happened?" he asks, his voice low.
"Bridget called." I swallow, willing the emotions away. "She’s pregnant."
His brows lift slightly. "Fuck."
I nod, pressing my lips together. "She begged me to find him."
Eamon watches me for a long moment before stepping closer. "What do you want to do?"
"What do you mean?"
"If you want to let him go, I’ll order my men to release him right now," he says simply. "It’s your call."
A part of me wants to say yes. To end this. To stop lying, stop twisting myself deeper into an unwinnable game.
For a moment, the words teeter on the edge of my tongue, trembling there like a secret I don’t dare speak aloud.
But then I see Ruairi, in my mind’s eye, staring at me with that same stubborn, unyielding glare he’s worn since we were children.
Not the boy who once stood between me and the monsters.
The man who would walk blindly into their jaws now if I let him.
But I can’t. Not yet.
Mercy is a luxury I can't afford. Not when the walls are already closing in, not when every decision I've made has been another stone in the tomb I'm building around us all.
The game isn't over yet.
And until it is, I have to be the one holding the blade.
"No." I meet Eamon’s gaze. "I’m not letting him out until he gives in."
"Then he stays where he is. You have my full support. And that of my men."
"Thank you." I press onto my toes, brushing my lips against his in silent gratitude.
He deepens the kiss, his fingers skimming along my waist, grounding me, but I pull back before I let myself fall too far into him.
"I need to get to work," I murmur. “My boss doesn’t take kindly to employees who are late for their shifts.”
Eamon smirks, his hands still resting on my hips. "Sounds like a real hard-ass."
"The worst," I tease.
Amusement flickers in his eyes. "Maybe you should quit. Find a boss who treats you better."
I hum, pretending to consider it. "Tempting. But I think I’ll keep this one. He has his perks."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
I lean in, letting my breath graze his lips before I pull back at the last second. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"
Before he can catch me, I slip from his grasp and disappear through the door, leaving him wanting.
Downstairs, I duck into the back office before starting my shift and pull out my phone. I need answers, and there’s only one person I can get them from.
I dial Cian.
He answers after two rings. "Aoife. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon."
"I wanted to check in," I say smoothly. "Have you gotten any updates on my brother?"
"There’s been no sign of him. No one’s seen or heard a thing.”
“And you checked with your contacts in Dublin?” I ask, probing deeper.
“I did. They weren’t even aware he was in the city,” he confirms.
I keep my voice carefully controlled. "I see.”
"I suspect your boss had something to do with it,” he says, letting the accusation hang between us.
"Eamon? You really think he’d do something to Ruairi?" I ask, letting just the right amount of shock seep into my tone.
"Come on, lass," Cian says, amusement laced in his voice. "You know what kind of man O’Sullivan is. He’s ruthless. Strategic. You think it’s a coincidence that your brother walked into his city and suddenly vanished?"
I let the silence stretch, like I’m considering his words. "I don’t know," I murmur. "I can’t believe Mr. O’Sullivan would hurt him. Not with me here."
"That’s exactly why he would," Cian says. "To prove a point. To show both you and Ruairi who really has control."
“I mean, I have heard things." I keep my voice low as if I’m wary of saying too much. "The staff whispers about him when they think no one’s listening. They say he’s been disappearing a lot lately. Taking secret meetings. Avoiding questions."
Cian hums in approval, like he’s satisfied I’m starting to see things his way. "See? It all adds up.”
"What do you think we should do?"
"I already have a plan in motion,” he says smoothly.
"What plan?" I ask, alarmed.
"It’s not something I want to discuss over the phone," he says. "I’m coming to Dublin tomorrow. We’ll talk then."
I hesitate, then let out another breath. "Okay. Tomorrow."
"That’s my good lass," he murmurs.
The line clicks dead before I can respond.
My stomach twists, a knot pulling tighter with every breath.
Cian believes I’m his.
Ruairi’s exactly where I need him—shackled in the dark, blinded by trust he should have never given me.
The walls tighten with every breath, the air thick with the stench of inevitability.
I can feel it pressing closer — the slow, grinding crush of my own making.
This was never a game.
It was always a death march.
And I chose it.
One wrong step and the ground will open beneath me, dragging everything I love into the grave I've been digging with my own two hands.
But I won't flinch.
I won't falter.
There’s already blood soaked into the stone.
Before this ends, there will be more.
The only question is whose.