She trails off, staring at something over my shoulder. Something I can't see.
I wait, but she doesn't finish the sentence.
She shakes her head, eyes watery, and looks at me.
"Are you going to kill me?" she asks.
I don't answer, because I don't know what the hell I'm going to do yet.
Every instinct says yes, because she’s connected to the man who murdered my father. Because she carries the mark that scarredmy sister, and she might be the key to everything or the trap that kills us.
And because the look in her eyes, the one that says please let it end, makes something in my chest twist in a way I don’t have language for.
But it's too soon, there are too many moving parts, so I give her nothing.
Her face crumples slightly, like she was hoping for a different response, or maybe hoping for confirmation. I can't tell.
“Do you know why Cormac is after my family?” I ask.
This is the test. My first one.
I need to see if her explanation lines up with what little I’ve pieced together, what Octavian pulled from his hacker European intel networks.
If she lies, I’ll know and be closer to making a decision about her fate.
“Yes,” she nods, without hesitation.
"Good," I say, leaning back in the chair. "Let’s start there.”
9
ZARIA
Itake a breath so deep it rattles in my chest.
The truth sits on my tongue like a stone, heavy and impossible to swallow back down.
Callum waits, his green eyes locked on mine, and I realize there's no escaping this, not anymore. I'm done.
“Tell me,” he says after too much time passes.
So I try.
“My grandfather…” The words scrape out of me. I close my eyes and push again. “My grandfather was promised Boston by the Big Three of Ireland. Long before you and I were born. Long before your father was even old enough to hold a gun.”
“They came over when Cormac was very little. My grandfather and grandmother. Some of the uncles. The ones who believed old blood rules all. The ones who thought the land would listen to them the same way it listened in Ireland.”
My voice sounds far away, like it belongs to someone else. Someone who wasn't there for the stories Cormac told over and over until they became doctrine.
“Your grandfather didn’t like that,” I continue as I watch Callum's face for a reaction, but he gives me nothing. Just that terrible stillness, like he's carved from marble. “But he went along with it despite not being happy about another family stepping onto his soil. But back then, the Donoghues had been granted the territory and blessings. People forget that Boston used to be sacred in ways it isn’t anymore.”
My headache pulses behind my eyes under the pressure of everything.
“Over the years, their relationship soured. Your grandfather didn’t want to share power. Didn’t want someone else to have a voice in the ports or the politics.”
Callum's jaw muscles flex as he watches me like a predator choosing which part of the truth to eat first.
“So one night, your grandfather orchestrated a hit to wipe out the Donoghue family and take control,” I say, remembering to breathe. “His men took down the trade routes first and cut down every ally. Then the guards, the security, the servants. Anyone who might warn them. And then…”
