Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Money doesn’t mean shite if I can’t use it to help the people I love.
I love you.
I love you.
I drive home with those thoughts circling through my mind. The city lights blur past my windows. Ciarán’s driving, and I barely register the route we’re taking while my brain replays everything. His confession. His tenderness with Bridget. The way he looked at me like I was the only solid thing in his collapsing world.
I send him a text because I’m curious.
What brought you to the hospital?
I can see he’s texting when the little dots appear, but they start and stop a few times. Finally, a brief message comes through.
Cavin
Let’s talk about that in person
Okay
I must have drifted off. Noises from downstairs wake me. When I reach the landing, he’s in the sitting room, standing by the window with a glass of whiskey in his hand, staring out at nothing. When I step through the doorway, he turns, and the raw vulnerability on his face makes my chest tighten.
He’s stripped to just a white tee that stretches across his back, but is still wearing the fitted trousers that hug his arse. Bridget wasn’t kidding. He is easy on the eyes.
“You woke up,” he says, voice rough.
He sets the glass down and runs both hands through his hair, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as his tell when he’s about to say something difficult. I love how it makes his hair stand up on end a bit, all boyish and disheveled. “We need to talk, love. Properly this time. No more keeping you in the dark.”
I settle onto the sofa, tucking one leg under me. “I’m listening.”
He paces for a moment, then stops, facing me fully. “Every month, on the nose, I’m tasked to pay a fuckin’ tribute. The money I’ve been hemorrhaging every month isn’t some business arrangement gone sideways. It’s extortion. Pure and simple.”
My stomach drops. “How long?”
“Since Malachy died.” His jaw works. “Five hundred thousand euros. Every month. Like clockwork.”
“Jaysus.” The numbers make my head spin. “That’s—”
“Millions. Aye.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Been draining us dry, bit by bit. I’ve had to make moves I never wanted to make, get into bed with people I shouldn’t have, just to keep the cash flowing.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Why? Who’s demanding it?”
“That’s the fuckin’ problem, Erin. I don’t bloody know.” He drops onto the sofa. I can’t help it—I crawl into his lap, facing him. “The instructions come through burner phones. Different numbers every time. Drop-off locations change. I’ve tried tracing the money—it gets laundered through so many accounts it’s impossible to track. Malachy wouldn’t tell me who, and I know it’s because he suspected that I’d refuse or get my brothers involved and cause a fuckin’ war.”
I reach for his hand, threading our fingers together. “So he just wanted you to keep paying a ridiculous sum of money to a stranger? You, one of the most powerful and feared men this side of Ireland? That’s gobshite.”
He holds my chin, tips my face toward his, and kisses me. “That’s my girl,” he says softly.
“Cavin, there has to be something. Some clue about who—”
“I know. And if I don’t pay it, my family pays. Bronwyn’s kidnapping was a warning.”
“My god,” I mutter. “That’s terrible.”
His grip on my hand tightens almost painfully. “I can’t… Erin, I can’t let anything happen to them. Christ. I don’t want someone innocent hurt.”
The anguish in his voice breaks something open in me. This dangerous, violent, complicated man would do anything for his family.
“I still don’t get why Malachy didn’t tell you who it was?” I ask. “He had to know.”
Cavin’s expression darkens. “That’s what’s been eating at me. He knew, Erin. I know he did. Right before he died, he told me about the tribute—said I had to pay it, no questions asked. Said I couldn’t tell anyone, couldn’t try to find out who was behind it. He made me swear.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Why would he—”
“I don’t know!” The frustration in his voice makes me flinch. He immediately gentles, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Sorry. It’s just… he was terrified. Whatever this was, whoever this is… He said if I tried to investigate, if I told anyone, they’d know.”
“So you’ve been dealing with this alone.”
“Aye. Couldn’t risk telling anyone. Every month, I make the drop and pray it’s enough to keep her safe. Family’s caught on some, but I’ve kept them in the dark. Malachy said if I told my brothers or cousins, they’d find out.”
I shake my head. “Then there’s someone on the inside.”
“Of course not,” he scoffs. “We’re all fucking loyal to the core.”
“Then why not tell them? Why not use the resources your family has to find out who this is?”
He sighs. “I can’t risk it. Malachy made that abundantly clear.”