Chapter 30 Sean
SEAN
I've been to the Council’s official building dozens of times over the years, reporting on jobs, receiving assignments, standing before the five men who control the Irish underworld and decide who lives and who dies.
Today feels different.
There’s something tight in my chest today, a feeling of dread that has nothing to do with a kill or an assignment. Maeve is back at the apartment, safe and alive. I left her there sleeping in our bed, and the thought of her waiting for me makes everything feel different.
I’ll go back to her when this is done. And I’ll make it all right, somehow.
The door opens before I can knock. Liam Fitzgerald stands there, Connor McBride's right-hand man.
"Sean," he says, stepping aside to let me in.
"They're waiting for you." His expression is pinched. I know he’s been hoping I’d fail. That Connor would have a reason to get rid of me. But I’m not going anywhere that easily.
Connor McBride sits at the end of the long table, his eyes cold. Brendan Kearney is sitting to his left, looking like he owns the place. His smile makes my skin crawl, as always.
"Sean." Connor gestures to the chair at the end of the table. "Sit."
I sit. Liam takes his seat to the right.
"I understand you have news about Cormac Brennan," Connor says.
"He's dead," I say. "I killed him this morning."
Brendan leans forward, that oily smile spreading across his face. "Did you now? How convenient, after your spectacular failure to do so the first time."
I don't rise to the bait. I just look at Connor and continue. "He kidnapped my wife. Held her in a warehouse, tried to use her as leverage against me. When I came for her, he threatened to kill her. So I killed him instead."
"Your wife," Brendan says the word like it's funny. "The girl we forced you to marry as punishment for your failure. Tell me, Sean, how does it feel to have your leash yanked?"
"Brendan." Connor's voice is quiet, but Brendan shuts up immediately. Connor turns his attention back to me. "Tell us what happened. All of it."
I tell them most of it. They don’t need to know about our fight, what I said to Maeve, or what’s passed between us in the days since we’ve been in Dublin.
I tell them that Maeve went out for a walk without my knowledge and that Brennan caught her, about tracking her to the warehouse, about Brennan's men and the fight, and finding her tied to a chair with blood on her face.
I tell them about Brennan's threats, his attempt to manipulate her, his plan to use her against me.
I don’t tell them how seeing any of that made me feel. That’s none of their business, as far as I’m concerned. What they need to know is that the job is done.
"And Brennan?" Liam asks.
“I broke his neck. Left his body in the warehouse. It might still be there."
Connor nods slowly, his fingers steepled under his chin. "The warehouse was clean?"
"Clean enough. Nothing that traces back to the Council or to me specifically. Just another dead politician who got involved with the wrong people. Brennan had plenty of enemies. Could have been anyone."
Brendan snorts. "Convenient."
Connor is quiet for a long moment, studying me with those cold eyes. I hold his gaze, waiting. This is the moment where he decides whether I've redeemed myself or whether I'm still a liability.
"You understand," Connor finally says, "that Brennan was a problem we'd been trying to solve for some time."
I nod. "I know."
"Your failure to eliminate him the first time was... disappointing. It raised questions about your reliability, your effectiveness. Questions we don't like having to ask about our best enforcer."
I say nothing. I know he doesn’t care about my reasons or my personal morality. We’ve had this conversation before, and I know my input is not needed. He’s warming up to something, and I just have to wait for it.
"But this…" Connor gestures vaguely. "This resolves those questions. Brennan is dead, and the circumstances of his death make it clear what happens to people who threaten what's ours."
Brendan leans back in his chair, that smirk still on his face. "So the failed assassin redeems himself by playing the devoted husband to the wife we gave him. How touching."
I look at him, and something in my expression makes his smirk falter. "She's my wife," I say quietly. "He took her. He hurt her. What did you think I was going to do?"
"Easy, Sean." Connor's voice has a hint of amusement in it. "Brendan's just jealous. His own wife can't stand him."
Brendan's face flushes, but he doesn't respond.
Connor stands, which means the meeting is over. "You're back in our good graces, Sean. The matter of your failure is forgotten. Continue as you were. Take Maeve home, and focus on the estate. We’ll let you know when we need you again."
This is it. This is the moment. I'm back in their favor, which means I have leverage again. I could ask for the divorce now. They'd probably grant it. The marriage was a punishment, and now that I've redeemed myself, there’s a good chance they’d let me out of it. Find someone else to keep Maeve’s property in their control, someone more suited to the task.
All I have to do is ask.
The words stick in my throat.
"Was there something else?" Connor asks, watching me.
I think about Maeve sleeping in my—our—bed where I left her, her hair spread across the pillow. I think about the way she looked at me the last time she was in my arms, the sound of my name on her lips.
I think about going home to an empty apartment, to a life without her in it. Never seeing her again, holding her again. Giving her away to someone else, someone who might not care for her at all.
I don’t know that I won’t fuck this up. But I do know what I feel for her, at last.
"No," I hear myself say. "Nothing else."
Connor nods. "Then we're done here. Liam will see you out."
I follow Liam back down the stairs, through the entrance hall, to the front door. He pauses before opening it, studying me with those sharp eyes.
“I thought you might ask for a divorce.” His tone is flat; it’s impossible to tell if he’s baiting me or if he’s actually just expressing a curious thought.
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "No. I didn’t."
"Why not?" Now he does seem genuinely curious. I pause, wondering if I should be honest.
I finally decide that I might as well. "Because I don't want one," I say.
Liam smirks. “I wonder what changed your mind,” he says after a moment. “I was never fooled, Flannery. I know you didn’t fuck her on your wedding night.”
I pause. This is certainly not a moment where honesty is the best policy. And that’s a lie I’m willing to keep up forever, to protect both myself and Maeve.
“Of course I did,” I say finally.
Liam looks at me. “Of course you did,” he finally agrees, and opens the door.
I step out into the gray Dublin morning, and the door closes behind me.
—
On the way back to the apartment, I keep thinking about what Liam said, about not asking for a divorce. The expectation he’d had that I would. That I’d want to be rid of her if I had any leverage at all to do so.
I've already fucked it up. I know I have. The things I said to her, the way I pushed her away, the way I made her feel like she was a burden, a punishment, something I had to endure. The way I hurt her over and over again because I was too much of a coward to admit what I was feeling. If I had to guess, I’ll probably keep fucking up, again and again, and I’ll have to ask for her forgiveness more than once in the future.
She deserves better than me. She's always deserved better than me.
But I'm a selfish bastard, and I want her anyway.
I stand in front of the apartment door for a long moment before I walk in. I don't know what I'm going to say to her. I don't know how to tell her that I want her to stay, that I want to try to be the husband she deserves, that I want a chance to make this marriage real.
I don't know how to tell her I love her when I'm not even sure I know what love is.
The apartment is quiet when I let myself in. For a moment, I think maybe she's still sleeping, and I feel a rush of relief at the thought of more time to figure out what to say.
Then I hear movement from the bedroom. I walk down the hall to the cracked-open door, and my heart stops.
Maeve is packing.
She's got her suitcase open on the bed, and she's carefully folding clothes and placing them inside. I can’t see her face at first; she’s too focused on her task.
She looks up a moment later, and her expression is carefully neutral. "You're back."
I can't speak. I can't move. I just stand there watching her pack her things. She’s preparing to leave me. She could be packing under the assumption that now that it’s over, we’re both going back to Boston, but some instinct tells me that’s not what this is.
My chest feels like it’s about to crack open.
What else did I expect? This is what I told her to do.
This is what I said I wanted. I pushed her away, told her this marriage was a mistake, made it clear I didn't want her.
Even after everything changed, after she must have known that not wanting her was always a lie, I still told her that she was a punishment.
That the Council forced me to marry her.
Now she's leaving, and I can't fucking breathe.
"How did it go?" she asks, turning back to her packing. "With the Council?"
I force myself to speak. "Fine. I reported Brennan's death. They're satisfied."
"Good." She folds another shirt and places it in the suitcase. "That's good."
I should tell her she doesn't have to leave. I should tell her to stop packing, to stay, to give me a chance. I should ask her if we’re both going back to Boston or if she’s planning to fly back alone.
But if this is what she wants, if she's finally had enough of me and my bullshit, then I won't stop her.
I won't trap her here when she wants to go.
Even if it kills me to let her leave.