5. Connor
Chapter 5
Connor
I find Ma in the solarium, her favorite room in the house. The late afternoon sun streams through the tall windows, glinting off the crystal whiskey tumbler in her hand.
She’s sitting on one of those fancy white chairs she insists are “just for decoration” but always uses anyway, her legs crossed elegantly like she’s still center stage. Even in her casual clothes, she carries herself like she’s about to perform Swan Lake for royalty.
With the figure of a prima ballerina, green eyes, and blonde hair down to her waist, my mother has always been the most beautiful woman to me. But the mouth on her could make a sailor blush.
“Come to kiss your ma goodbye before you bugger off on whatever shite your da’s cooked up this time?” she says without looking up, her Irish lilt as sharp as the gleam in her eye.
I grin despite myself, stepping inside. “Somethin’ like that.”
“Hmm.” She hums and takes a sip of her whiskey, finally lifting her head to meet my gaze. Her eyes narrow slightly. “You’re leavin’.”
It’s not a question. It never is with her. She just knows.
I nod. “Germany.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and she sets the tumbler on the side table with a little more force than necessary.
“Germany,” she repeats, her tone flat. “And I suppose your da told you not to tell me what for, hmm?”
I hesitate. It’s not like we make a habit of lying to her, but Da’s orders were clear—keep it quiet until the job’s done. Ma, however, doesn’t do quiet. “Ma, I can’t—”
“You know why, dont’cha?” she says, arching a brow. “Don’t bother lyin’, Connor. You’ve always been shite at it.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “It’s Catriona and Marina. We know where they are.”
Her face goes still, her knuckles whitening as her hand grips the arm of the chair. “You’re bringin’ her back?”
“Of course,” I say, stepping closer. “Ma, I swear to you, I’ll bring her home.”
Her gaze sharpens, and she’s on her feet before I can say another word. “You swear, do you?” she mutters, pacing the length of the room. For a moment, the grace she carries vanishes, replaced by the raw energy of a mother on the edge. “My baby girl, locked away in God-knows-where because some arsehole thinks he can use her as leverage.”
“We’ve got a plan,” I tell her, keeping my voice steady. “We’re leavin’ tonight. Nikolai and Konstantin are goin’ with me.”
At that, she stops in her tracks, whirling on me. “Nikolai? That little Russian gobshite?”
The laugh escapes before I can stop it. “You never liked him much, did you?”
She scowls. “He’s a cocky prick, and now he’s got my Cat tied to him with that baby. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
“Neither have I,” I admit, my smile fading. “But he’s here to help.”
“Oh, he’s here to help,” she says, throwing her hands up. “Well, isn’t that grand? Let’s just roll out the bloody welcome mat.”
“Ma,” I say, stepping forward. “It’s not about him. It’s about Cat. You know that.”
Her shoulders sag slightly, the fight draining out of her. “I know,” she mutters. “ I know . I just… I can’t stand the thought of her bein’ hurt, Connor. Or worse.”
“She’s got your fire, Ma,” I say softly. “She’s not goin’ down without a fight.”
Her lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through. “You always did know how to talk your way out of trouble.”
“Must’ve got it from you,” I tease.
She snorts, grabbing her tumbler again and taking a long sip. “Don’t think flattery’s goin’ to stop me from worryin’. I’m your mother. It’s my bloody job.”
“I know,” I say, moving to stand beside her. “And I wouldn’t change it.”
We stand there for a moment, staring out the window at the garden. “You’re not just going for her, though,” she says suddenly, her voice quieter now.
I glance at her. “What do you mean?”
She turns to face me, her eyes searching mine as she puts down her tumbler again. “You’ve got that look in your eye. Same one your da gets when he’s got somethin’ to prove. You’re not just bringin’ her back—you’re trying to make up for somethin’.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the words don’t come. She’s right, of course. Deirdre Cunningham always is.
“I let her down,” I admit finally. “I should’ve seen it comin’ and protected her better.”
Her hands come up, surprising me as she cups my face in them. “You listen to me, Connor James Cunningham. This isn’t your fault. None of it. You’ve been a good brother and a bloody good son.”
“Not good enough,” I mutter, looking away.
“Stop it,” she says firmly, giving my face a little shake. “You’ve done everythin’ you could. More than most. Now you’re doing the one thing that matters—bringin’ her home.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I won’t fail.”
“I know you won’t,” she says, dropping her hand. “Because you’re my son, and we don’t fail. We fight. We win. And then we have a pint.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, the tension easing just a little. “You’ve got a way with words, Ma.”
“Damn right, I do,” she says, picking up her tumbler again. “Now, go. Your da’s probably pacin’ trenches in the carpet waitin’ for ya.”
I hesitate, glancing at her one last time. “I’ll bring her back. I swear it.”
She nods, her expression softening. “I know you will, love. Now get out of here before I start cryin’ and embarrass us both.”
With a small smile, I turn and head for the door, her voice calling after me as I go. “And Connor?”
“Yeah?” I pause, looking back.
“Tell that Russian gobshite if he so much as breathes wrong, I’ll gut him myself.”
I grin. “I’ll pass it along.”
As I walk away, the weight on my chest feels just a little lighter. Ma’s got that effect, even when she’s threatening to kill people. It’s what keeps this family together. Keeps me together.
And God help me, I’ll bring Cat home if it’s the last thing I do.