He can’t meet the hurt look she sears him with. “You’re an asshole.”
Out of all the things I expected to happen—her punching him in the face or doing one of her pressure-point thingies that would make his body erupt in the most horrible pain imaginable—her walking away wasn’t one of them.
“Syn.”
I check him when he tries to go after her. “Give her space. She’ll kill you when she’s ready.” I rub my ungloved hands together. After standing around for ten minutes, waiting for them to arrive, I’m on the verge of frostbite. “It’s fucking Antarctica out here, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to take this inside.”
“I don’t get why everyone is mad at me for doing what needs to be done. And that opportunity is now gone. I could have ended this. Ended him. So fuck you very much for fucking up everything.”
I let him say what he needs to say. I know he’s upset. I would be too…until later, when I had a chance to think things over without the haze of hatred and revenge clouding my judgment.
I wait for Pyotr before closing the front door, then strip out of my fleece jacket because Cillian has the heat turned up to “welcome to hell” levels.
“Syn made almost the same argument when she went after Malin without telling us. If I recall, you had Pyotr knock her out before she could get to him.”
“Hey, don’t bring me into this. I’m on your side.”
“Seriously?” Aleksander gripes.
Unbothered, Pyotr looks around. “Nice place. Is it booby-trapped?”
I chuckle. “I wouldn’t put it past Cillian.”
I haven’t been back here since that morning after the shitshow that happened at the Knight estate. It’s surreal how somuch has changed between us. Enemies turned brothers. I hate the road we had to travel to get there. I could lay all the blame on our father for paving that road, but I know a lot of the blame lies squarely on me. Jealousy is a pernicious emotion that fills you with its poison and twists you into someone unrecognizable.
And I was jealous of Aleksander.
He was free from Francesco and the torture he inflicted on a daily basis.
And he was in love with the one girl I couldn’t live without.
Only Con knows that I almost ended it all. When I thought Aoife had died, I didn’t want to exist in this world anymore. I wanted to be with her and Dierdre. The pain and loss got to be too much, and the deep well of my grief took control. Con gave me a reason to keep going. The destruction of our fathers. Nothing burns brighter or hotter or sustains you more than the fire of vengeance.
“Where is the Jolly Green Giant?” Pyotr asks as I lead them into the front parlor where there’s a large snooker table.
“Right?” I reply with amusement. With his flame-red hair and beard and massive build, Cillian McCarthy looks like the Irish version of that iconic mascot of canned vegetables.
Pyotr makes himself at home on the couch facing the stone fireplace. Bright embers pop and crackle like exploding fireflies behind the spark guard, the burning wood filling the room with the warm scent of cedar. Syn once mentioned how the inside of Cillian’s place reminded her of the little house in Ireland where James hid her away.
“Syn wants to have Thanksgiving at the house this year.”
She’s so excited about the upcoming holiday. She wants to go all out for Fénix since it’ll be his first Thanksgiving.
“Am I invited?” Pyotr asks. “FYI, I won’t be able to come because my mom would flay me alive with a dull paring knife ifI skipped out on the family gathering, but my fragile ego would appreciate the invitation.”
I quickly came to the realization after first meeting him that Pyotr wasn’t what he seemed. He may act like the class clown, but that persona hides the ruthless killer hidden just underneath the surface. He’s a person you should never underestimate, and someone you want as an ally and not as an adversary.
Aleksander takes one of the red balls and rolls it along the felt of the snooker table. “Any advice on how to fix things with her?”
I consider his question, that jealous part that still exists inside me when it comes to her, poking its little green head up before I’m able to shove it back down.
“First, I’d highly suggest that you hop back on your helicopter and get your ass back to Darlington. A hefty amount of groveling would be good, too.”
“That’s not exactly helpful,” he replies, grabbing the white cue ball off the snooker table.
“Just talk to her and be honest. If there is one thing our girl can’t tolerate, it’s doing stupid shit while justifying it as good intentions.”
He releases the cue ball, and it slams against the side, rebounding in a zigzag across the table like a pinball machine. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”
