66. Aoife
Aoife
The second I turn, I feel the anger rolling off Seamus in waves. Controlled but undeniable. He stands just inside the doorway, arms crossed. But his eyes—they burn.
I don’t let him sense even an ounce of intimidation. "Something on your mind, Seamus?"
"That depends," he says, voice tight. "What the hell were you just talking about?"
I meet his gaze without flinching. "You’re going to have to be more specific."
His jaw flexes. He doesn’t take the bait. Doesn’t reveal how much he heard or if he saw me on my phone. So, I go with the safest option. "I was going over plans for tonight. Speaking out loud."
"What plans?" Seamus demands, his voice tight.
"Didn’t Eamon tell you?" I ask, letting the question hang between us.
"Tell me what?" he presses, suspicion sharpening every word.
I let out a small, deliberate breath as if it’s nothing more than an afterthought. "I’m going to kill my brother tonight."
For a moment, something flickers across Seamus’s face, shock, maybe even disbelief, but he masks it almost immediately. "You’re serious," he says, his voice low.
I lift a shoulder in a careless shrug. "Why wouldn’t I be?"
His expression hardens. "Eamon mentioned it," he bites out. "But he’s too busy dealing with another attack—one that’s conveniently tied to you."
The words hit me like a cold slap. "What?"
"Someone killed six of our best men and left a message for you at the scene. Same kind of shit that used to show up from Ruairi."
My blood ignites. Another attack? A threat meant for me?
My fists tighten at my sides. "Who the fuck is behind this?"
Seamus studies me like he’s waiting to see if I’m holding something back. "That’s what I’d like to know. Any ideas?"
I take a steady breath. There’s only one name that comes to mind. Perhaps he sees through my plans. I pull out my phone and dial, making sure Seamus sees. When Cian picks up, I hit speaker.
"Twice in one day, lass," he muses, amusement lacing his tone. "What a pleasure."
I don’t indulge him. "Did you hit Eamon’s shipment?"
A pause. Not long, but enough.
"What?" His voice loses its usual smoothness. "No. Why the fuck would I?"
"Then you need to find out who did. If there’s a traitor in the Syndicate, someone trying to take advantage of Ruairi being gone, we need to know."
Silence stretches for half a second before he replies, "I’m already working on it. And I’m doing everything in my power to bring your brother home."
Seamus and I exchange a quick glance. Cian’s a smooth liar. Even I’m not sure if he’s behind the hit or not, but I will damn sure get to the bottom of it.
Still, I’m thankful he seemed to know better than to push back. To question why I was calling him like this and to give Seamus even the slightest reason to doubt me.
"I appreciate it, Cian,” I say, not waiting for a response before I hang up.
For a long moment, neither Seamus nor I say anything. Finally, I turn to him. "What do you think?"
“He sounded genuinely surprised,” he says. “I don’t trust the bastard, but this time, I think he’s telling the truth.”
So do I. Which is a problem because if it wasn’t Cian, who was it? I push the thought aside. Focus. Turning back to Seamus, I ask, "Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be with Eamon?"
His lips twitch slightly, but there’s no real amusement behind it. "Eamon put me on you."
I expect irritation to rise, but instead, what slips out is "Thank you."
It surprises me just as much as it does him. Something shifts in his expression, just for a second. Then his voice lowers, steady as steel.
"No one’s going to get to you, Aoife." His eyes are sharp, unwavering. "Eamon and I will see to it."
I inhale slowly, taking a moment to sit with the gravity of everything that’s happening. "I’m going to need your help tonight."
Suspicion flashes across his face. "Help with what?" His tone is edged with skepticism. "What the hell are you planning now?"
"I can’t go into the details right now," I say, keeping my voice steady.
His expression darkens. "Not good enough, Aoife."
I lift a shoulder, playing at nonchalance. "It’s all happening tonight, one way or another. You can either help me or stay out of my way."
For a long moment, he studies me. Then he exhales, shaking his head like he already knows he’s going to regret this. "Christ." He rubs a hand over his face. "Fine. But if this blows up, I’m not the one cleaning up the mess."
"Noted."
I turn away before he can pry further, but I feel his eyes on me, still searching, still waiting for an answer I’m not ready to give.