Even when I finally took a breath and the metallic smell of the blood hit my nose, I still didn’t scream. All I did was set his coffee down on the desk as if he was going to still drink it.
A female voice cuts through my memories. “It’s cheap stuff, but I think it will still do the trick.”
I blink out of my silent nightmare to find Mila crossing over to me, carrying two glasses of whiskey.
She hands one to me without saying another word, and I down half of it in one go. I barely taste it, barely feel the burn as it slides down my throat.
It’s as if my entire body is numb. But at some point, the reality of what happened tonight is going to hit me like a freight train.
“I don’t even know what to say.” Mila curls up on the couch beside me. “Are you okay?”
I nod, even though it’s a lie. I’m not okay, and I haven’t been for a long time. But thankfully, Mila doesn’t push for meto talk. Instead, she grabs the remote off the arm of the couch and turns on the news.
We sit in silence, drinking our whiskey and wearing our evening dresses, as the screen floods with footage of flashing ambulance lights and frantic bystanders.
BREAKING NEWS:NOTORIOUS MOB BOSS SEAMUS SULLIVAN SHOT AT PROMINENT MAFIA ENGAGEMENT PARTY.
My stomach turnsas I read the headline scrolling on loop across the bottom of the screen.
Mia hugs her legs. “Shit, this isn’t good.”
I can’t seem to peel my eyes away from the TV as live footage of the outside of the Vue is playing.
There are at least half a dozen police cars, and the street has been taped off and cleared.
“That depends on what happens to Seamus.”
His death will be nothing more than an invitation to start a war. It’s no secret that men like Seamus Sullivan have enemies, but he also has allies in every corner of the city. It’s not as simple as a one-and-done hit.
If Seamus Sullivan dies, it will set off a chain reaction that won’t end until the entire city is up in flames.
Mila’s eyes turn to me. “Do you think he’ll make it?”
My eyes remain glued to the TV as I sip on my whiskey. I don’t offer her an answer.
The Sullivans are the reason I have no father, and part of mewantsRonan Sullivan to know what it feels like to have the blood of someone you love stain your hands forever.
But when I think of how much it hurt, I can’t bringmyself to wish that upon him. He might have done it to me, but I’m not him. I’m not that person.
I lean back against the couch and stare up at the ceiling, sinking into a sense of exhaustion that comes from a lifetime of looking over my shoulder. No amount of sleep seems to offer me any reprieve, but that might be because my dreams are plagued by death.
Mila reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You should get some sleep.”
“Uh huh…” I don’t open my eyes.
“Do you want to bunk with me?”
“I’m good here.”
Mila gets up, and then a blanket is draped over me.
“I’ll mute the TV.” Her footsteps disappear through the sliding door that separates her bedroom from the rest of the apartment.
I peel open my eyes and stare at the muted TV for hours, watching the same footage of the scene outside the Vue loop over and over until the screen starts to blur and my eyelids grow heavy again.
But even when my eyes finally close, Ronan’s face doesn’t fade from my mind.
His smirk taunts me, daring me to come closer, which makes me hate him even more.
