Darragh’s face drains of color.
I glance at her sharply. “Love—”
She squeezes my fingers once.Let me.“I found the booth you always insisted I meet you in,” she says. “The one you kept so private. And I remembered the first time you brought me there. That night you said would be my ‘rebirth.’ Twenty and stupid enough to think I mattered to you.” Her smile is cold. “I played my entire set. You applauded like you owned me. And afterward, someone slipped an envelope into my case. No name. Just an initial. M.”
Darragh’s nostrils flare. I feel fire climbing my throat. Siobhán looks between us. Then at the piano. Then at the memory only she can see.
“Inside were photographs,” she continues quietly. “My mother. On this floor. In this room. The curtains behind her. The crest carved into the piano. Her blood pooling under the bench where I used to sit while she taught me scales.”
Rouge mutters a curse. My pulse hits a war drum.
“Someone left a note,” she says. “‘Ask him why.’” She lifts her eyes to Darragh, voice like a knife dipped in honey. “But I asked the wrong man.”
Darragh snarls, “Do not accuse me of—”
“You killed her,” she says simply. “You killed my mother because she threatened to expose you. I did my own research, my own investigation. People talk, Darragh. You don't do a very good job cleaning up.”
His face twists. “She saw nothing.”
“She saweverything,” Siobhán fires back. “She watched you murder that poor old man, all because he said no to selling his shop to you. And she told you she’d go to the Gardaí. That she’d tell Dublin exactly what you are, its bloody Carrion Prince."
“Enough!” He slams his fist onto the piano again. The lid rattles.
But she keeps going. “She was going to let me stay with Cillian,” she whispers. “She told me the night before she died. She said she wasn’t afraid anymore. That she’d tell the truth.” Silence. Sharp as broken glass. Siobhán inhales. “And Malachi delivered the envelope.”
Darragh goes still—truly still—as if she just slit open the part of him he never wanted touched.
“Malachi,” she says, voice level. “Your right hand. Your shadow. Your little errand bitch. He was ‘M.’ He lured me to New York under the guise of helping me find answers. All under your orders.”
Rouge murmurs, “Christ.”
She steps closer to my father, fearless. “You didn’t just kill my mother,” she says. “You orchestrated my escape. My misery. My humiliation. You controlled every step I took—even when I thought I was running.”
Darragh’s eyes burn with hatred. “You stupid girl,” he hisses. “You think you’ve uncovered some grand conspiracy? You think you matter enough for me to—”
“She mattered tome,” I snap.
He rounds on me. “She ruined you!”
“She MADE me.”
“She cost you the Red Hand!”
“She’s worth more than the Red Hand!”
He sneers. “Romantic fool.”
I step forward, voice low, lethal. “You hurt the only two women I ever loved.”
His gaze meets mine. Dark. Dead. Cold. “Then you understand why you can’t keep her.”
I feel Siobhán’s fingers brush my back. My signal. My permission. I nod once. Time to end this.Darragh’s mouth twists into a smile I’ve seen my whole life, the smile right before he breaks something.Or someone.
“You have to understand son,” he murmurs. “You can’t keep her. You can’t lead with her at your side. She’ll be your downfall.”
“No,” I say quietly. “She’s the only thing that ever made me want to rise.”
He scoffs. “You don’t have the stomach for what leadership requires.”
