Zaria sits on the edge of the bed, wiping at her face, trying to compose herself.
She looks small. Breakable.
I look away. I don't want to see this.
Going after the man who killed my father and tried to take out Keira and Declan is one thing. That's business. That's war. But seeing what Cormac does firsthand to his own daughter, his own fucking blood, is something else entirely.
It's twisted in a way I don't know if I'll ever understand.
I've done a lot of things. Ordered hits. Pulled the trigger myself. Watched men beg for their lives and ended them anyway because that's what this life demands.
But this is different.
Cormac didn't just hurt her. He molded her, shaped her into something he could use and discard. And the worst part is she still talks about him like he's got some kind of hold on her, even now.
I shift in the chair. I cannot shake my guard around her.
Every instinct I have is telling me I'm already too close to her, and I don't fucking like it.
I should have never let her out of the basement. Never should have kept her from my family. Never should have given her food, clothes, and a fucking room in my house.
But I'm clear past all that now.
I'm not acting like myself, and it's getting under my skin.
The more she talks, the more I understand, and the more I hate that I understand.
The big plus here, however, is that everything she's told me has been true, except for Shadowharbor pulling licenses and permits. That, I couldn't verify yet.
But Matei's men found the nurse, the one Brother George bribed and threatened, who swapped the IV bags. It was all exactly like she described.
There is no denying the fact that she hasn't lied yet.
But I need something else. Something more from her so I can put my mind at ease, trust her a bit more, stop thinking this is all part of Cormac's plan, because clearly the man will do whatever it takes, including forcing his own daughter to do unspeakable things.
Most importantly, I need to start looping in my family.
Declan is breathing down my neck, calling and texting what seems like every few hours. Keira is restless, and I'm sitting here playing twenty questions with the enemy's daughter while my mother prepares for my dad’s burial.
Sometimes a man needs a job to stay busy while he thinks.
My father's words.
He used to say that when I was younger, when I'd get too deep in my own head. He'd hand me a task, inventory, collections, a meeting with a contact, and tell me to work through it.
I need that now, maybe not for me but for Declan, so I can have time to figure out what to do with her.
I need something tangible. Something we can act on.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and meet her eyes.
"I need you to do something for me," I say. "Make things easier for me."
She nods quickly, her hands twisting together in her lap.
"Can you do that?"
"Sure," she says. "What do you have in mind?"
