Chapter 28
Nuala
Inod, swallowing the urge to say sorry again. Old habits die hard when you’ve spent your life apologizing for existing.
“Second rule,” Connor continues, his eyes never leaving mine. “Trust that we know what we’re doing. Logan’s been in this family his whole life, even when he was pretending to serve a different master.”
Logan’s jaw tightens at the dig, but he doesn’t respond. I reach under the table and squeeze his thigh, offering what comfort I can.
“Third rule,” Connor says, leaning back in his chair. “When you’re part of this family, you fight for it. You’ve already proven you can do that.”
“Part of this family?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Connor’s smile is sharp as a blade. “You think Logan would bring just anyone here? You think I’d let just anyone sit at my table?” He gestures around the opulent dining room. “You’re here because you matter to him. And what matters to him matters to me.”
My chest tightens. I’ve never belonged to anything before, never been part of something bigger than my own desperate scramble for survival. The idea terrifies and thrills me.
“What does that mean exactly?” I ask.
“It means you’re protected,” Logan says, his voice firm. “It means you have resources. It means you’re not alone anymore.”
“It also means you have responsibilities,” Connor adds. “To this family. To Logan. To yourself.” His gaze intensifies. “That notebook isn’t just about Lisa anymore. It’s about power. About who controls what in this city. And now you’re holding a piece of that control.”
I stare at him, trying to process what he’s telling me. Three days ago, I was counting coins to see if I could afford milk. Now I’m apparently part of an Irish crime family, holding leverage over half of Dublin’s underworld.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper.
“None of us asked for the lives we got,” Connor says, his voice softer now. “But we make the best of what we’re given.”
I nod, not really having the words.
“I’ll go and arrange for the scanner and IT,” he says, and leaves Logan and me alone.
“He doesn’t hate me.”
“No, he doesn’t hate you,” Logan says, his hand covering mine on the table. “He respects you. That’s rarer than you think.”
“I feel like I’m drowning,” I admit, staring down at our joined hands. “Everything’s happening so fast.”
“I know, but life is a mystery.”
I look up at him, searching his face. “Is it? It feels like I just signed my soul away.”
“Do you?” His blue eyes are serious, intense. “Because if that’s how you feel, we can walk away right now. I’ll get you out of the country, set you up somewhere safe.”
The word “away” hits like a slap. My lungs shrink, my throat closes, and I press my palm flat against my sternum where something twists beneath my ribs—something that wasn’t there three days ago when I could have walked away from anything. “And leave you here to deal with Lisa alone?”
“I can handle Lisa.”
“What about the Brennans? What about whoever else is in that notebook?” I shake my head. “I won’t run and leave you to clean up my mess.”
“It’s not your mess, Nuala.”
“Isn’t it? You got dragged into this because of me.”
“I was dragged into it by Connor,” he says dryly. “You just happened to be there and caught my attention.”
I shake my head. “No, Logan. You were dragged into it by me. You could’ve left me at the bar and walked away.”
“Could I?” He places his hand on the back of my neck. “Because it doesn’t feel like I had a choice. From the moment I saw you, something in me just snapped into place.”
I study his face, the sharp angles softened by something vulnerable in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve been sleepwalking through life for months. Going through the motions, existing but not really living. Then you happened, and suddenly I had something worth protecting again.” His voice drops to that register that makes my stomach flutter. “Something worth killing for.”
My breath catches. His words—something worth killing for—hang in the air between us, and I wait for the chill of fear that should follow.
It doesn’t come. Instead, my skin flushes hot, my heartbeat quickens, and something deep in my chest unfurls like a flower turning toward unexpected sunlight after years in shadow.
“So, what now?” I ask.
“Now we wait for the scanner, copy the notebook, and then we figure out what’s on that USB that Lisa was willing to walk into that bar for. And we end this thing once and for all.” His grip on my hand tightens. “Together.”
“Together,” I repeat, testing the word. It feels foreign on my tongue, like speaking a language I’m still learning.
“Let’s be ready then,” I say, standing up. He follows and leads me out of the dining room.
We head back upstairs to our room. I need a moment to process everything Connor just told me. Part of a family. Protected. Responsibilities. The words swirl in my head like leaves in a storm.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Logan says, closing the door behind us. “I can practically hear the gears grinding.”
“Sorry. It’s a lot. Where is the notebook?”
“Here,” he says. He pulls the notebook from the waistband of his jeans. It looks pathetic.
“It looks like nothing,” I whisper, taking it from him.
“Wars start over less,” Logan replies. He stands close, his body heat radiating against my arm.
I flip it open. Rows of names. Numbers. Codes. It’s gibberish to me, but deadly to everyone else. My finger traces a line of blue ink. This specific line probably cost someone their kneecaps. Or their life.
Logan crowds my space, forcing me backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. I sit down abruptly. He steps between my spread legs, his large hands gripping my thighs. “Don’t think about it. We copy it. We give it back. We watch the criminal underworld hunt her down,” he says.
“And if they don’t?”
“Then I finish it.” His eyes lock on mine. “I meant what I said earlier. You’re family now. That means your enemies are my enemies.”
The heavy promise settles in my gut. It terrifies me almost as much as it thrills me. I grab his belt loops and yank him closer.
“Can’t we just kill her when we hand the notebook back?” My words shock me. What am I saying? Why am I thinking like this?
“By then, it will be too late. We arrange for the drop, but Connor will have handed the notebook off to the heads of families long before we go to a drop.”
“So she might not even be alive to show up.”
“Guess we’ll find out.”
“How do we arrange to meet her?”
“She will have a way to contact us. We have what she wants.”
I nod, hoping he’s right.