Chapter 9 Zaria
ZARIA
Itake a breath so deep it rattles in my chest.
The truth sits on my tongue like a stone, heavy and impossible to swallow back down.
Callum waits, his green eyes locked on mine, and I realize there's no escaping this, not anymore. I'm done.
“Tell me,” he says after too much time passes.
So I try.
“My grandfather…” The words scrape out of me. I close my eyes and push again. “My grandfather was promised Boston by the Big Three of Ireland. Long before you and I were born. Long before your father was even old enough to hold a gun.”
“They came over when Cormac was very little. My grandfather and grandmother. Some of the uncles. The ones who believed old blood rules all. The ones who thought the land would listen to them the same way it listened in Ireland.”
My voice sounds far away, like it belongs to someone else. Someone who wasn't there for the stories Cormac told over and over until they became doctrine.
“Your grandfather didn’t like that,” I continue as I watch Callum's face for a reaction, but he gives me nothing.
Just that terrible stillness, like he's carved from marble. “But he went along with it despite not being happy about another family stepping onto his soil. But back then, the Donoghues had been granted the territory and blessings. People forget that Boston used to be sacred in ways it isn’t anymore.”
My headache pulses behind my eyes under the pressure of everything.
“Over the years, their relationship soured. Your grandfather didn’t want to share power. Didn’t want someone else to have a voice in the ports or the politics.”
Callum's jaw muscles flex as he watches me like a predator choosing which part of the truth to eat first.
“So one night, your grandfather orchestrated a hit to wipe out the Donoghue family and take control,” I say, remembering to breathe. “His men took down the trade routes first and cut down every ally. Then the guards, the security, the servants. Anyone who might warn them. And then…”
I pause, my throat tight. Even though I harbor a growing resentment toward my father, it's still difficult to imagine.
“With the family locked inside, your grandfather lit the Donoghue family compound on fire.”
The words hang in the air between us. Callum doesn't move, doesn't even blink.
“Cormac survived,” I say softly, “but he witnessed his entire family burn to death. His parents. His brothers. His sisters. Everyone.”
My hands tremble against my bindings. I can almost smell the smoke, hear the screams, even though I was never there. Cormac made sure I saw it through his eyes, through his rage, through every ritual and every midnight sermon.
I swallow hard.
“In those flames, he met the Morrígan.”
Callum’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“He said she spoke to him,” I continue. “Promised him vengeance. Promised him she’d make him strong. Promised she’d help him take back everything stolen from him.”
“There were people there to protect him. A few loyal men ended up arriving and pulling Cormac out,” I say, shaking my head. “He tried to crawl into the fire after his family. They had to drag him back.”
I sigh.
“He talked about the Morrígan so much they thought he went crazy and that he could be protected in a hospital, so they committed him to a psychiatric ward. He stayed there until he was eighteen, and when he was released, that was the day the Morrígan Order was born.”
The silence that follows is suffocating, and I can feel Callum's stare, the way he's processing every word, testing it against whatever intelligence he's already gathered.
Then he shifts in his chair slowly. “So he holds me and my siblings accountable for this?” Callum asks finally.
I nod slowly.
“Yes,” I say. “He was too young and unprepared to go after your grandfather directly, so it became about your father, and then you three. He won't stop unless he's stopped. But I'm sure you already know that.”
Callum's eyes narrow and I know he's analyzing everything, looking for holes, but I don't care. It's the truth as I know it. Part of me feels relieved to have spoken it out loud to someone other than another brother or sister.
Callum leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.
“And Shadowharbor? Where do they fit in?”
I exhale shakily.
“I guess Cormac's father had money stashed, a lot of it. Cormac got access to it when he turned twenty-one. All kinds of offshore accounts, investments, properties. He sold everything and started Shadowharbor.”
I stop and clear my throat, it feeling raw from so much talking.
“That company was created with one true purpose.
The same purpose as the Order. To take Boston from the inside out.
To burn your family the way his was burned.
Not just in blood. But legacy, reputation, influence and power.
He wants to erase your name and everything it's built in this city,” I pause and look at him, “Make it like you never existed.”
Callum's expression darkens and his fingers curl into fists on his thighs. It's the most he's given me since I started talking.
“And the people in this cult or order? What about them?”
“Most,” I say, “are people who have been affected by your family in one way or another. And others are…” I trail off and look away. “Are like me.”
Callum straightens.
“Like you?” Callum asks, his tone sharp.
I shake my head quickly, panic flaring in my chest.
“It doesn't matter. I'm not disillusioned anymore.”
My chest tightens. My throat closes.
I hang my head. I don’t want to look at him for the next part. I don’t want to see his pity or disgust or anger or understanding. I don’t want to see anything at all.
I drop my gaze to the ground, tears dripping off my chin.
“I’m worthless now,” I say. “I know that. A traitor. A failure. A runaway. My own father will kill me if he finds me. You probably should too.”
My breath trembles.
“I’m not asking you to, but if you did, we'd both be better off for it.”
My voice trails off into silence.
This is it. I've told him everything. Now I'll wait for the barrel of his gun to return. For the cold metal. For the end.
For him to put me out of my misery, because living or dying doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore.