I swallow hard. “It’s not what you think.”
“Isn’t it?” Her voice tightens. “Because it looks an awful lot like your family kept records on every job—every kill—includingher!”
I clench my jaw. “It’s old. From before—”
“Her name is there, Cillian,” she snaps. “Maeve Kelleher. My mother. Date, location, price.” She flips the book open and reads it like a death sentence. “You want to explain that?”
I walk toward her again. She holds out a hand.
“No! Don’t fucking move.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “Where did you find it?”
“Why does it matter?”
“I asked you a question,” she says, voice sharper now. “What the fuck is this? Why is my mother’s name in here? With a red slash through it like she was a goddamnasset? And why does it look like you were the one who fucking killed her?!”
My hands fist at my sides. “You don’t understand—”
“Then make me understand,” she snaps. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you had herkilled, Cillian!”
“I didn’t!”
“You didn’t?” she barks.
“Siobhán, for fuck’s sake, let meexplain—”
“Youlied.”
The words strike like gunfire. I move closer, slow and deliberate. “Please.A leanbh. Tá brón orm. Tá brón orm mar a rinne mé1—”
“Don’t youdarespeak Irish to me right now,” she hisses. “Don’t you dare use our fucking language to beg for mercy when you buried the truth like a fucking coward.”
I swallow hard. “I wasn’t the one who killed her, dove. I promise.”
Her silence is louder than any scream. She closes the ledger with a slow, deliberate snap—like a coffin lid—and turns for the stairs.
“Siobhán, don’t.”
She keeps walking. Something inside mesnaps.In two strides, I’m there—grabbing her wrist before she can reach the first step. The ledger slips from her other hand and hits the floor with a dull, final thud.
“Let go,” she says, voice trembling but fierce.
“Not until you tell me where you found that.”
“Why?” Her laugh is humorless, jagged. “So you can make it disappear again?”
“Christ, stop—” I drag a hand through my hair, chest heaving. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten into.”
“No! Because you won’t tell me a goddamn thing! My contact gave it to me. That’s all you need to know.”
The word hits me like a punch to the chest. Contact.No.No, no, no. My blood ices over, then boils.
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” I say, slow and deadly. “To avenge your mother’s death?”
She glares up at me. “Avenge? Jesus, I’m not a bloody murderer.” Her next words slice clean through me. “Like you.”
I flinch. It’s barely visible, but I feel it like she knifed me clean in the ribs. I step forward. “Who is your contact?”
