Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
ALEXANDER MOORE
The dining room felt like an oddly civil battlefield.
The crystal chandelier illuminated the silverware while casting shadows that seemed to absorb the tension crackling between the three of us seated around the mahogany table.
I watched Ronan's impassive face and couldn’t wait to get this over with.
Across from me, Aoife sat with perfect posture, quietly elegant despite wearing borrowed clothes. Her auburn hair glistened caught the light as she toyed with her wine glass. She appeared quite at ease, yet I didn’t miss the subtle tension in her shoulders.
Ronan hadn't said much since we'd sat down, but I could hear the wheels of his thoughts turning.
The irony wasn't lost on me that I was sitting between the two most important people in my life, hoping this wouldn’t lead to some tragic disaster.
"The lamb is excellent," Cressida said softly, finally filling the uncomfortable silence. No doubt Ronan had filled her in before dinner about what was happening. "Alex, wow, I had no idea you were such a great chef." She beamed.
"Thank you," I replied, noting how Ronan's eyebrow lifted slightly at the admission. "The staff has been given time off while we ... handle business."
"Your lamb is always perfect," Aoife said, her voice warm with genuine appreciation. "Though I still say your pasta carbonara was a star dish."
The casual familiarity in her tone—the acknowledgment of shared meals, domestic moments—wasn’t lost on Ronan. Something akin to approval flashed in his eyes, punctuated by more than a tinge of caution.
Ronan cleared his throat deliberately. "Aoife," he said in a deceptively casual tone. "Alex gave me the rundown of what transpired in the last few days..."
While I was preparing the meal, I’d asked Ronan to keep me company and gave him the entire story about Beatrice, Patrick, and the ordeal Aoife and I had been through.
I couldn’t say he’d taken it well at first, yet in the end, his sense of guilt and genuine concern for me won.
After all, he’d been the one to devise the idea of the hunt.
If that had never occurred, the horror of the last few days wouldn’t have been reality either.
Now here we were, with Ronan’s heart hopefully a tad softened where Aoife was concerned.
Aoife’s fork paused halfway to her lips, but her expression remained steady. She put her fork down and inhaled, releasing the breath slowly. "I’m just glad we’re safe."
Ronan tapped the table. "So am I, even though you’re not off the hook about leaving me in the dark.” His gaze touched mine fleetingly. “Now Aoife.” He redirected his attention to her. “What are your plans going forward? What do you hope to gain from a cooperation with the Flanagans?"
Aoife met Ronan's gaze without flinching.
"Survival," she said simply. "My father's gone.
My brothers—well, you know about them." She paused, jaw tightening.
"Part of me wants to burn everything Flanagan to the ground for what you took from us.
The other part knows that path only leads to more graves.
" Her voice dropped. "I'm still deciding which part wins. "
She closed her eyes for a mere moment, then her gaze found Cressida, then continued, “I wonder if there’s been enough pain… My father had convinced me I should succeed him… Maybe I should first make sure my people are taken care of.”
"And you, too."
"And me, too." She took a sip of wine. "I may carry my father's name, Mr. Flanagan, but I'm not him. I don't share his ... appetites for meaningless violence."
Was that a glimmer of respect I saw in Ronan’s eyes. "I will say that Connor O'Malley was many things, but meaningless violence wasn't typically one of them. He was methodical, strategic. Every action served a purpose."
Aoife's composure cracked slightly, anger flashing in her green eyes before she controlled it. "His purpose was control. Power for its own sake. He destroyed lives, families, futures—all to feed his own ego."
"And yet he trained you to pick up where he left off."
The accusation hung in the air like smoke. I watched Aoife process it, lips pursed.
"I will admit that he took care of me, yes, but it took his death for me to see the full extent of the devastation he’d caused. He trained me because my brothers proved inadequate," she said, bitterness colouring her tone. "Regrettably, I was his only option."
"So you learned the business."
"I learned what I had to." Her eyes found mine briefly before returning to Ronan. "That is it."
Ronan leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Alexander mentioned you've been using your resources to help families displaced by our operations against your father."
"Not what you did, but what he started. He didn’t care as long as he got what he wanted.
He spoke about loyalty. Even gave me a special knife engraved with our family motto …
but in reality, while I took it to heart, he didn’t always practice what he preached.
So when you attacked, it just deepened the problem.
Former employees. Elderly relatives who depended on his support.
People caught in crossfire they didn't create.
" She met his gaze directly. "They didn't deserve to suffer for his choices. "
"Charitable of you."
"Practical, too," she corrected. "Suffering breeds resentment. Resentment breeds a thirst for revenge. Better to diffuse potential threats through kindness than violence."
I wanted to reach out and touch her then. She’d hinted at these things but never really went all out with pouring her emotions like this. Maybe she trusted Ronan because I’d made it clear how I felt for him. He was my brother, and that would never change.
Aoife was brilliant, but try hard as she might to come across as tough, she had a heart as big as the ocean, too.
"Alex," Ronan said suddenly, his attention shifting to me. "The Beatrice situation—how thoroughly has Aoife here been briefed?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Aoife's fork clinked against her plate as she set it down, and I saw Cressida's face pale at the mention of her sister's name.
"She knows the relevant details," I said carefully. "The reason why she became obsessed with me and made an attempt on her life.” Of course, The... aftermath of giving her back to Patrick."
"Aftermath," Aoife repeated, her voice flat. "That's one way to describe it because it’s not over yet."
Ronan's eyes sharpened. "You disapprove of Alexander's handling of the situation?"
The question was a trap, and we all knew it. Aoife’s answer would determine whether Ronan would see her as an ally or a threat.
"I didn’t say that. Beatrice O'Brien tried to murder me in my sleep," Aoife said, her voice gaining strength. "She was unhinged, dangerous, beyond reasoning. Alexander protected me—protected everyone—from further threat."
"Even though she was Cressida's sister."
Aoife's gaze flicked to Cressida, and I saw genuine sympathy there.
"Sometimes protecting the people we love requires making difficult choices.
I'm sorry for your loss, Cressida, I am, but I won't apologize for being grateful to be alive. I’m still concerned about how Patrick O’Brien will contain her. "
Cressida nodded slightly, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. "Beatrice ... she wasn't herself anymore. Hadn't been for a long time. What she became..." She reached for Ronan's hand. "My husband was instrumental in arranging her marriage to Patrick. She … she…”
“She hurt you,” Ronan interjected, squeezing her hand. “Perhaps I went too far but I made sure she’d never do that again.”
“Alex did what was necessary to protect you and himself," she added, smiling at Aoife.
The moment stretched, heavy with unspoken grief and the weight of decisions that couldn't be undone. Finally, Ronan broke the silence.
"And what are your intentions now, Aoife? Long-term? Apart from survival, of course."
The question I'd been dreading. Because the truth was, I didn't know what Aoife's long-term intentions were. We'd been living in the moment, caught up in the intensity of desire and danger. But eventually, the real world would intrude, demanding choices about loyalty and future.
"I don't know," Aoife admitted, and the honesty in her voice was like a blade between my ribs. "A couple of weeks ago, I would have said rebuilding what my father lost, through fate or his own actions. I did consider revenge, as an O’Malley would, but I won’t be pressured by family demands. There’s hardly any family left anyhow. But now..."
She looked at me, and something passed between us that felt like a promise and a question all at once.
"Now I'm not sure what I want," she finished. "Beyond surviving long enough to figure it out."
Ronan's expression revealed nothing, but I knew him well enough to recognise that the neutral facade was just a cover. He was carefully processing every word she said, and most of all, the way in which she spoke, this was falling in love with.
Had fallen in love with.
"Blood aside, Alex is, for all intents and purposes, my brother," he said suddenly, his voice deep, full of conviction. "The only family that matters. I've watched him build something from nothing, earn respect simply by being who he is."
Aoife nodded, eyes focused on him.
"If you betray that loyalty," Ronan continued, "if you use his feelings to damage what we've built, if you hurt him in any way ... there is nowhere on this earth you could hide from me. Do you understand?"
The threat was delivered with calm precision, but the menace beneath it was unmistakable. Aoife met his gaze without flinching, though I saw her throat work as she swallowed.
"I do," she said quietly. "And I hope you also understand that hurting Alexander would hurt me, too. More than I ever thought. More than you could imagine…"
Ronan’s lips curved in a faint smile. He glanced at Cressida, then at his watch.