48. Connor
Chapter 48
Connor
I know I’m a fucking idiot.
There’s a tightness in my throat, a gnawing feeling that I fucked up so badly that there might not be a way back from this for us. I knew he’d be pissed.
I knew I should have come to him sooner, explained, and told him why I was running around handling shit instead of spending time with him, but fuck—I didn’t even realize how much time had passed.
One day blurred into the next. Meetings, plans, fucking missions stacking up until I barely knew what the hell I was doing unless it was written down in front of me. I told myself there’d be time to see Malachi later, that he’d understand, that it would be fine.
But it’s not. It’s not fucking fine.
I saw it in his face when I told him I was leaving. I saw the way he shut down, the way he pulled away. And then when I tried to kiss him—when he turned his fucking head—I knew.
I lost him. Maybe not fully, maybe not forever, but fuck, I lost something! Something I don’t know how to get back. I’ve been shot before. Broken ribs, knife wounds, concussions. But that? That felt worse.
Now, I’m standing in my father’s office, barely holding my shit together as he debriefs us before we leave.
Mihai, Nikolai, Giovanni, Konstantin, and I all stand in a line as Da paces in front of us, giving us our final orders. My mind should be on the mission, on what’s coming, on what we have to do. But all I can fucking think about is him.
Malachi curled up in that bed, refusing to look at me, refusing to say goodbye. I clench my fists at my sides, trying to focus, trying to listen, but every word feels distant, like I’m hearing them through water.
Da finally stops pacing, his sharp green eyes landing on each of us before settling on me. “You all know your roles,” he says, voice firm. “You know what’s at stake. Be silent. Covert. Make one mistake, let your guard down for even a second, and you might not make it back.”
Everyone nods.
“Good,” he continues. “Then get the fuck out of my sight.” The others turn to leave, but I don’t move. I already know Da has seen everything written on my face.
“Connor,” he says, voice calm but commanding. “Stay a moment.”
The door closes behind the others, leaving just the two of us. The silence is thick, the tension pressing down on my ribs. Da studies me for a second before walking to the bar in the corner and pouring himself a drink. He doesn’t offer me one. Not that I’d take it. My stomach is too fucked to handle whiskey right now.
“You look like shite,” he mutters, taking a slow sip.
I scoff, crossing my arms. “Appreciate that, Da.”
He exhales, setting his glass down before turning to face me fully. “Malachi.”
Just his name makes my whole body tense. “What about him?”
Da leans back against the desk, tilting his head slightly. “You tell me.”
I keep my expression blank, keep my body still. “What do you want me to say?”
My father studies me like he’s waiting for me to crack, waiting for me to admit what he already knows. But I won’t. Not now. Not when the ache in my chest is still fresh and fucking raw.
“I know you, Connor,” he finally says. “I know that right now, yer barely holdin’ yourself together.”
I force out a laugh, shaking my head. “I’m fine.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and he takes another sip of his drink. “Aye? So you don’t care what happens to him while you’re gone?”
I swallow hard. My throat feels tight, my stomach churning, but I force myself to keep my voice steady. “I can’t care right now, Da.”
He nods slowly, tapping his fingers against the glass. “That so?”
“Aye,” I say, shrugging like it means nothing. Like Malachi means nothing.
The words taste like fucking poison.
Da doesn’t move or react. He just watches me with those sharp green eyes, like he’s peeling back every layer of bullshit I’m trying to throw up. “You really expect me to believe that?”
I lift a shoulder. “Believe whatever you want.”
He sets his glass down with a soft clink, pushing off the desk and walking toward me. When he stops, he’s so close I can smell the whiskey on his breath, the faintest hint of smoke clinging to his clothes.
“Look me in the eyes,” he says quietly and I do. “Say it again.”
I hold his gaze, keeping my shoulders squared and my expression blank. “I don’t ca—” I hesitate, swallowing deeply. I look away briefly, breathe out a sigh and look back at him. “I don’t care.”
Da’s face doesn’t change, but his eyes—fuck, they flay me alive. He sighs, shaking his head like I’m a fucking disappointment. “You’re a shite liar, Connor.”
My stomach twists and I suck in another steadying breath, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “Doesn’t matter,” I mutter, looking away. “I have a job to do.”
He is quiet for a moment. Then, “Aye. You do.”
“Then we’re done here.” I turn toward the door, reaching for the handle, but before I can open it, my father speaks again.
“He’ll be taken care of,” he says simply.
I freeze and my hand tightens around the doorknob, my chest caving in, my whole body screaming at me to turn back—to ask him what he means, to make sure Malachi is safe. But I can’t.
I can’t do this, not when I have to walk out of here and not look back.
So I just nod without looking at him. “Whatever.”
“Connor.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Aye?”
There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something I can’t quite place. Then, finally, he just says, “Be careful.”
I nod once, then walk out of the room without another word. But the second I’m out of that office, the second the door closes behind me, I feel that ache, that fucking weight in my chest because I just lied to my father.
And worse, I just lied to myself.
I don’t stop moving until I’m outside, not until the cold air hits my face and my lungs feel like they might actually start fucking working again.
Mihai and the others are waiting by the cars, talking quietly amongst themselves. When Mihai catches my eye, his brows furrow slightly, like he can see the damage, like he knows this is the closest I’ve ever come to breaking in front of my father.
I roll my shoulders, pushing it down, shoving it deep where it can’t fucking touch me.
I don’t feel anything at first.
Not as I get into the SUV, not as we make our way to the landing strip, not as I force my shoulders to stay squared, my breathing even as I check my weapons. Not until the jet ascends, taking me away from him.
And then it fucking hits.