32. Aoife
Aoife
The weight of what I’ve caused keeps me tangled in a mix of guilt and defiance.
The whispers of unease are always there, growing louder with every escalation in Ruairi and Eamon’s war.
What started as calculated maneuvers, quiet power plays behind the scenes, has spiraled into outright hostility.
The cracks are impossible to ignore now.
Attacks on supply lines, ambushes in the dead of night, and casualties that neither side will openly admit, but both are quietly counting.
I didn’t want this war. I didn’t want blood spilled, lives lost, or alliances shattered. But I also can’t bring myself to stop it. Not yet. For most of my life, Da kept my identity a secret. He looked at me like I was a fragile doll to be kept on a shelf, away from the world.
I’d hoped Ruairi would be different. That he’d see me for what I’ve become.
That he’d give me the chance to show him everything I’ve learned while I was away.
The languages I picked up. The connections I made.
The way I watched, listened, and studied.
Proving every step of the way that I could be more than a name. More than a sister.
But he didn’t. So now I’ll show him another way that I’ve earned my rightful place in the Syndicate.
If forcing his hand means standing by while he and Eamon tear each other apart, then so be it. I refuse to back down, even if the guilt gnaws at me. Because so does the fire of my defiance. I won’t sit quietly on the sidelines, waiting for permission to act. That time has passed.
This war will end, but it will end on my terms.
My day takes a darker turn when Cian O’Leary walks through the hotel doors. He claims he’s here for a family wedding. A convenient excuse, too convenient. I don’t buy it, not for a second.
As soon as he disappears in the elevator, I pull out my phone.
Aoife: Cian’s at Eamon’s hotel. He says it’s for a wedding. What the hell is he really doing here?
The reply is almost immediate.
Ruairi: I don’t know. Why don’t you ask the man you’re sleeping with?
I grit my teeth, fingers flying across the screen.
Aoife: You think this is a joke? He’s on your payroll. I have no doubt he’s here doing your bidding.
Ruairi: Then handle it. You’re the one in the thick of it. Or is this too much for you, Evie?
The nickname twists in my chest, a reminder of when things were simpler between us before our lives splintered into this mess. But now, it feels like a taunt, a jab meant to remind me of how he sees me—little Evie, his helpless twin sister, playing at being something more.
Aoife: You really think you’re so clever, don’t you? Sitting up there on your throne, pulling strings like a puppeteer, while I clean up your messes.
Ruairi: My messes? Last I checked, you’re the one who crawled into bed with my enemy. If anything, I’m cleaning up after you .
Aoife: Don’t you dare put this on me. If you hadn’t shut me out, none of this would be happening. You started this war the second you decided I wasn’t good enough to stand beside you.
Ruairi: And you’re proving me right every step of the way. This isn’t a game. You’re out of your depth, and you’re going to get people killed.
Aoife: No, you’re going to get people killed because you refuse to see the bigger picture.
Ruairi: And what’s that, Evie? That you’re some kind of mastermind now? Spare me.
Aoife: Your arrogance is going to destroy us all.
Ruairi: Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you.
The screen blurs under the weight of my fury.
My fingers clamp tighter around the phone, rage coiled and simmering just beneath the surface.
The urge to throw it across the room and hear its satisfying crack as it hits the wall nearly wins.
It takes all my self-control to not get in the car, drive straight back to Belfast, and force him to look me in the eye.
Force him to see me not as his sister, not the obedient girl he thinks he can control, but as the woman I’ve become.
But I know better. Ruairi won’t hear me until he’s ready. And right now, he’s too blinded by control, by legacy, by fear of what I might become if he lets go.
So I swallow the fury and let it settle in my bones.
Because when I come for my place, he won’t be able to ignore me anymore.
Aoife: Keep underestimating me, Ruairi. I dare you.
I hit send and slide my cell back into my pocket, my hands trembling with a mix of rage and frustration. Ruairi doesn’t reply. We’re at a stalemate, as always. Even still, something about his silence feels like a victory, however small.
After my shift, I return to the penthouse and find Eamon in his office on the phone.
He doesn’t see me right away, giving me a rare opportunity to observe him.
He’s leaning against his desk, one hand gripping the edge while the other holds his phone to his ear.
His white button-down is wrinkled and untucked.
The top few buttons are undone, revealing a hint of his chest. His tie hangs loose around his neck like he gave up on maintaining appearances hours ago.
He looks tired. Stressed. The weight of this war with Ruairi is etched into the tension in his shoulders. His usual controlled demeanor is fraying at the edges. For a moment, I don’t see the unshakable leader but the man beneath who’s carrying more than he lets anyone know.
As if sensing my presence, he turns his head and looks up. The transformation is instant. His body visibly relaxes, and he lets out a breath as if my presence has eased some of the pressure weighing him down. Without hesitation, he raises his hand and motions for me to come in.
The knowledge that Cian is in Eamon’s hotel and that Ruairi is likely involved twists my stomach in knots. I’m not sure how much to tell him or how much he already suspects. But this is Eamon. He’ll see right through me before I even say a word.
As I step into the room, his focus shifts entirely to me, his intense gaze narrows as I approach.
Without missing a beat, his voice remains calm yet firm as he speaks into the phone.
“I’ll handle it tomorrow. I need to go.” He doesn’t wait for a response before ending the call and setting the phone down on the desk, his full attention now fixed on me.
“What’s wrong? You’re tense.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, but the words sound unconvincing even to me.
“Don’t lie to me, Aoife,” he murmurs, his voice soft but commanding. “What’s going on?”
I hesitate, my teeth worrying my bottom lip as I weigh my words. “One of my brother’s men checked in earlier,” I finally admit. “He says he’s here for a wedding.”
His expression hardens instantly, his jaw tightening as he processes the information. “And you think that’s bullshit?”
“I know it is,” I say, my voice more sure. “He not only works for Ruairi, he’s the man my brother tried to set me up with. Now he just happens to show up here?”
“It’s definitely not a coincidence. If he’s here, he wants something.” Eamon takes a deep breath, his hand sliding up to rest at the small of my back, grounding me. “Did he say anything else?”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “He stuck to his story. But it doesn’t sit right.”
He watches me closely, something dark tightening behind his eyes. “What’s his name?”
“Cian O’Leary,” I reply.
His jaw clenches, and he pulls me a fraction closer, his grip possessive but steady. “If he’s here for Ruairi, I’ll deal with him,” he says, voice low and laced with quiet determination. “But if he’s here for you…”
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to.
The threat hangs between us, a promise cloaked in silence.
I shiver, not from fear, but from the intensity of his protectiveness. The way his body tenses when he hears Cian’s name. The way his eyes darken like he’s already thinking five steps ahead.
“I’ll handle it,” I say firmly. “Cian doesn’t know I’m on to him, and I can use that. I’ll find out what he’s really doing here.”
Eamon’s gaze lingers on mine for a beat, and then he nods, slow and deliberate. “Then you make him less careful.”
He moves to his laptop and pulls up the security feed, his fingers moving with practiced precision. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for.
“He’s at the bar now,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Perfectly settled. Comfortable. That’s when men make mistakes.”
He turns the screen toward me, and I see Cian sitting casually, with a drink in hand and a relaxed posture.
“You want to find out what he’s really after?” Eamon continues. “Let him think he’s still in control. Let him underestimate you. Let him talk. The more you pretend to play his game, the closer you get to taking him off the board.”
“This is how we get to Ruairi,” he says, softer now but no less lethal. “Cian doesn’t even realize he’s the first crack in your brother’s foundation. Let him think he’s winning. Then we start pulling everything out from under him piece by piece until there’s nothing left.”
I swallow hard, adrenaline buzzing beneath my skin. For a brief moment, doubt crosses my mind, but I bury it quickly. This is what I signed up for, what I’ve fought for.
“If Cian’s here to stir up trouble, I’ll find out exactly what he’s planning.” My voice is steadier than before. I meet Eamon’s gaze without flinching. “I won’t just play the game. I’ll win it.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, pride threading through the quiet rasp of his voice. But there’s heat behind it, too.
He steps closer, his gaze locked on mine. “Just remember, winning comes at a cost. Don’t let him get close enough to make you bleed.” His fingers brush my jaw, deceptively gentle. “But the second he crosses a line, I end it. No hesitation.”
I nod, though I know I won’t let that happen. “Understood.”
“Good,” he says, his voice softening slightly as his hand moves to cup my cheek. “I’ll never allow any harm to come to you.”
For a moment, the tension between us shifts, replaced by something far more vulnerable. I lean into his touch, letting his warmth steady me before I turn to get changed.
Once I’m in our bedroom, my uniform is the first thing to come off, discarded in a heap on the floor without a second thought.
Stepping into the closet, I choose a sleek black dress that clings to my curves.
The fabric glides over my skin, the hemline teasing just above my knees, while the neckline dips low enough to demand attention without giving too much away.
I pair it with stiletto heels that make my legs look impossibly long and complete the look with a touch of red lipstick.
When I step back into Eamon’s office, his attention snaps to me immediately. His gaze rakes over me, slow and deliberate. He doesn’t bother hiding his approval.
“You’re killing me,” he says, his voice a deep rumble.
Feigning innocence, I reply, “It’s not for you.” My tone is light but teasing.
He leans back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “That dress says otherwise,” he counters, his eyes lingering on me in a way that sends a rush of heat through me.
I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head as I step closer. “You’re impossible.”
“Can you blame me? You’re stunning,” he says, pushing away from his desk and closing the distance between us.
His hand glides over the curve of my breast, slow and deliberate, his touch a whisper through the thin fabric.
My nipples tighten beneath it, a sharp ache blooming in response.
“You look lethal,” he murmurs like he wants to worship and destroy me in the same breath.
“Good,” I reply, my voice even though every nerve beneath his touch comes alive, aching for more.
“Don’t forget who you are, Aoife. You’re not just a pretty face at a bar. You’re the woman who could burn this whole place down if you wanted to.”
His words hang heavy in the air, sinking into my skin and settling in the pit of my stomach.
The woman who could burn this whole place down.
There’s a strange power in hearing him say it.
In the way he sees me. To Eamon, I’m not someone he needs to protect or control.
He recognizes I’m a woman capable of chaos and destruction.
I lift my chin slightly, meeting his intensity with my own. “Don’t worry,” I say quietly, the hint of a smile tugging at my lips. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“So, what’s your plan?” Eamon asks, the playfulness gone from his voice, replaced with something harder.
“To make him underestimate me,” I reply, meeting his gaze without flinching. “He already sees me as na?ve. I’ll let him keep believing that while I get close enough to find out what he’s really doing here.”
His jaw ticks, a flash of something dark crossing his expression. “And how close is close?”
“As close as I need to be,” I say evenly. “He won’t see it coming. I’ll use exactly what he expects from me—sweet, compliant, harmless. And when he lets his guard down, I’ll be ready.”
Eamon doesn’t speak at first. Just studies me with that stormy quiet I’ve learned to recognize as anything but calm.
“If he so much as lays a finger on you,” he growls, eyes dark, “I’ll bury him myself.”
“I’m not letting him do anything,” I reply. “I’m controlling the narrative.”
He steps closer, not touching me, not yet, but close enough that I feel the heat of his restraint. “Just remember who you belong to when this game ends.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I say, though my voice softens around the edges. “But I’ll always choose you.”
For a moment, silence hangs between us, heavy with unspoken words. Eamon’s hand brushes my arm before trailing down to take my hand. “You’re not in this alone,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with meaning, “You have me and my Syndicate behind you.”
“I know.” With that, I slip out of his grasp and head for the door, feeling his gaze on me the entire way. The air feels heavier with every step, but I don’t stop. If Cian’s here to stir trouble, I’ll find out, and I’ll make damn sure he regrets it.