CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Aoife
THE SILK BLOUSE is a size too small.
I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror, tugging at the hem where it pulls across my hips.
Cream colored, with mother-of-pearl buttons that catch the morning light.
The trousers fit better, high-waisted black wool that someone paired with a thin leather belt.
Expensive pieces. Tasteful. The kind of clothes I would have chosen for myself if I'd had access to my own wardrobe.
I haven't. Not since the safe house. Not since we came here.
My hair is still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends the way it does when I don't blow it straight. I don't have a dryer. Don't have much of anything except borrowed clothes and borrowed time in a house that belongs to someone else.
I smooth the blouse one more time and think about last night.
The dining room table.
Heat crawls up my throat at the memory. William's hands on my hips. The cold wood against my back. The way he looked at me after, when we were both trying to catch our breath, and neither of us knew what to say.
The same table where Frank sat when William shot him.
I should be horrified by that. Should feel something dark and twisted at the thought of what we did in that room, on that furniture, with the scrubbed-clean wall three feet away. Instead, all I feel is a strange sense of arousal.
I leave the bathroom before I can think about it too much.
The corridor is bright with late morning sun. I've slept longer than I meant to, my body finally giving in after days of restless half-sleep. Through the tall windows, I can see Aidan's gardens, the hedges trimmed sharp, roses climbing a stone wall that looks centuries old.
It's beautiful here. Peaceful in a way that feels almost obscene given everything that's happened.
I make my way downstairs, following the smell of coffee and something baking. The kitchen is warm when I reach it, sunlight pooling across the stone floor, and the woman standing at the counter turns when she hears me enter.
Dark hair falling past her shoulders. Blue eyes that hold something careful underneath the warmth. She's wearing leggings and an oversized cardigan, her feet bare on the tiles.
Aidan's fiancée. Raven.
I look at her build. The narrow shoulders. The delicate wrists. About my height, maybe slightly shorter.
"Thank you for the loan." I gesture at myself. "The clothes."
She smiles, and it reaches her eyes. "You're welcome. I thought we might be close enough in size." Her gaze travels over the blouse. "Though that one runs small. I should have warned you."
"It's fine." I cross to the kettle, grateful for something to do with my hands. "Better than what I arrived in."
I fill the kettle and set it to boil. Raven moves to the cupboard and retrieves a second mug without being asked, setting it beside mine.
"How are you settling in?" she asks.
It's such a normal question. The kind of thing you'd ask a houseguest, not someone who's been hiding from a Bratva hit while her father recovers from a bullet wound and her brother schemes in the next wing.
"I'm managing." I watch the kettle rather than look at her. "It's strange. Being in someone else's space."
"I know what you mean." She leans against the counter, arms folded loosely across her chest. "When I first came here, I didn't know which rooms I was allowed to enter. Which cupboards I could open. It took months before it started feeling like somewhere I belonged."
"And now?"
"Now it's home." She says it simply. Like it's an obvious thing. "Aidan made sure of that."
The kettle clicks off. I pour water over tea leaves and watch the color bloom.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
I turn to face her properly.
"What's it like?" I ask. "Loving someone in this world?"
Her expression shifts. Something flickers behind her eyes, there and gone.
"Complicated." She takes her time with the word. "Aidan is the most romantic man I've ever known. He plays guitar. Collects vinyl records." A small smile. "He's also capable of things that would terrify most people."
"I watched William kill his uncle."
"I know." No shock. No horror. Just acknowledgment. "Aidan told me."
"I was terrified." The admission comes out before I can stop it. "When it happened. How cold he was. How his face didn't change."
Raven nods slowly.
"Frank hurt a lot of people," she says. "His son, Gilly, he—" She stops. Something tightens around her mouth. "Let's just say the world is safer with Frank gone. For all of us."
I want to ask what Gilly did. The way she said his name, the way her hands curled into fists at her sides. But some stories aren't mine to demand.
"I hope this ends soon." Her voice shifts. Something frustrated underneath. "I'm sick of being holed up in this house. I feel like I'm climbing the walls."
She catches herself. Glances at me.
"Sorry. That was insensitive. Your father was shot. Your brother—" She stops herself again.
I wave her off. "It's fine. Really. I feel the same way. Trapped."
"You're allowed to feel that." She reaches out and touches my arm briefly. "You're allowed to want this over."
Footsteps in the corridor. Heavy. Purposeful.
Raven tenses slightly.
"Something's happening," she says.
I set my tea down and move toward the door.
"Aoife." Raven's voice stops me. "Be careful."
I nod and step into the corridor.
I hear them before I see them.
William's voice first, low and controlled in that way that means he's barely holding something back. Then another voice. Deeper.
Aidan.
I quicken my pace. The corridor seems longer than it should. Each step takes too long.
When I reach the sitting room, the door is open.
Four men. William at the center, his back to me, every line of his body coiled tight. Aidan to his left, arms crossed. Matty near the window.
And Reilan.
My brother is standing near the fireplace. His face is gray. His hands hang loose at his sides.
"What the hell is going on?"
Everyone turns. William's expression when he sees me is complicated. Relief and frustration and something that might be regret.
"Aoife." My name in his mouth sounds like a warning. "You shouldn't be here."
"And yet here I am." I step into the room. My pulse is pounding, but I keep my voice level. "That's my brother you're surrounding. Someone want to tell me why?"
"This doesn't concern you."
"The hell it doesn't."
Silence. The kind that has weight.
Reilan's eyes meet mine. There's something in them I haven't seen before. Fear. Real fear.
"Tell her," William says. His voice is quiet. Calm. More dangerous than shouting would be. "Tell her what you did."
"William—" Aidan starts.
"No." William doesn't look away from Reilan. "She deserves to hear it. From him."
My brother's throat works.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Then let me explain." William moves for the first time, a slow pivot that puts him facing both Reilan and me. "Yesterday, I shared specific information with a small group. A meeting location. A date. Viktor Tarasov, warehouse outside Drogheda, Friday night."
I don't know any of this. No one told me about a meeting. About Viktor. About any plan.
"Matty found the intelligence," William continues. "I shared it with Aidan and Reilan."
"What kind of trap is this?" I ask.
"The kind that works." William's jaw tightens. "Viktor moved his meeting. Brought it forward two days. He found out we knew his location, so he changed everything. Ran."
The implication settles over me slowly.
"Someone told him."
"Yes."
"And you think—" I can't finish the sentence.
"Aidan was with me when the information came through," William says. "Matty found the intel in the first place." He looks at Reilan. "That leaves you."
"You're accusing me?" Reilan's voice is steady, but I can see the pulse jumping in his throat.
"I left a phone where you could find it." William's voice is flat. "Untraceable. Or so you thought. Every call, every message, tracked."
The room goes very quiet.
Reilan.
My brother. My blood. The person who held my hand at our mother's funeral.
"No." I shake my head. "There has to be another explanation."
"Aoife." Reilan's voice stops me. He sounds tired. Defeated. "Don't."
I stare at him.
"Don't what?"
"Don't defend me." His eyes meet mine, and I see it. The truth I've been refusing to acknowledge for days. "Not anymore."
"Reilan." My voice cracks. "What did you do?"
The silence stretches.
Then my brother starts to talk.
"I made a deal," he says. "With Viktor Tarasov. Before any of this started. Before the engagement, before the contract." He swallows. "I was trying to save you."
"Save me from what?"
"From this." His hand sweeps the room. The house. The men. "From ending up like Mam. From marrying into violence and watching it destroy you the way it destroyed her."
"So you made a deal with the Bratva?" My voice rises. "You fed them intelligence about the Murphys?"
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this." He's shaking now. I've never seen my brother shake. "The plan was simple. Viktor would eliminate William at the contract signing. Before you were married. Before you were tied to them. You'd be a widow before you were ever a wife. Free."
I think about the signing ceremony. The contract on the table. My father beaming.
The window shattering.
"The contract was signed." Reilan's voice drops to barely a whisper. "You were protected. William was supposed to die, Aoife. Not Da. Viktor's man was supposed to take one clean shot and end this."
"But Viktor didn't follow your plan." William's voice is ice.
My brother's face crumbles.
"He changed the target." The words scrape out of me. "Viktor's man was aiming for William, and Viktor changed it to Da."
"He said it would cause more chaos. More instability. He said—"
"He betrayed you." I cut him off. "You gave him everything he needed to destroy us, and he used it to hurt our family instead."
"I didn't know." Reilan's voice breaks. "Aoife, I swear I didn't know he would—"