On my way back, I get a little turned around and end up right back outside the dining room. Low voices trail out into the hallway. I should walk past. Idowalk past, but as I do, I hear someone say my name.
My feet stop. The next words are very clear and unmistakable.
“Saoirse’s gotta go.” There is no doubt that’s my husband’s voice.
"You're sending your wife away?" Cillian questions. "You sure you want to do that?"
“I’m sure,” Declan responds with no inflection, no feeling. “I’ve held off as long as I could, but…I just can’t stand it anymore. It’s time. I’ve gotta get her out of here.”
The words are like a slap in the face. A loud noise fills my head—it’s like a train engine, a roaring that fills my ears when something I was stupid enough to hope for gets pulled out from under me. It’s been a long time since I allowed myself to be this stupid—stupid enough to let down my guard. Stupid enough to hope.
He's sending me away. He’s done with me. Of course he is. It’s how it always happens. No one ever wants me to stay permanently. Placements are always temporary.
I take one step back. Then another.
He’s getting rid of me because he’s done with me.
Temporary. I said it in my own head a hundred times. I just stopped believing it somewhere between the stray cat and the way he kept telling me,“You're mine.”
I walk back to the drawing room with my spine straight and my expression blank. Nora looks up questioningly when I sit, but I give her nothing.
"You okay?" she asks.
"Fine." The word comes out level, the way I've been saying it for years. “I’m fine.”
Chapter 12
Declan
The Sullivan situation is worse than I thought.
"They want our section of the docks," Cillian says. "They've always wanted the docks. The whole marriage alliance they tried to rope me into with Aoife was never about the business deal.” He taps the map with one finger. "It was about getting access to the docks."
Ronan crosses his arms. "They figured Cillian marrying Aoife would give them leverage. A foot in the door, then a foot in the operation. When that fell through?—"
"They decided to take what they wanted the old-fashioned way." Lorcan leans back in his chair. "Arson, hijacking, pressure. Make us bleed until we negotiate."
"We're not negotiating." Cillian's voice doesn't rise. It never does when he's serious. "We hit back. Hard, fast, and targeted. Ronan?—"
"Political angle's already in motion."
"Good. Lorcan, I need more bodies on the docks by tomorrow morning. Full rotation." Cillian's gaze moves to me. "And the women."
"I've already doubled Nora's detail," I say.
"Triple it." He meets my eyes. "Saoirse?”
I nod. “Saoirse’s gotta go.”
Everyone at the table stills.
"You're sending your wife away?" Cillian asks. "You sure you want to do that?"
"I'm sure." The words come out flat. Final. “I’ve held off as long as I could, but…I just can’t stand it anymore. It’s time. I’ve gotta get her out of here.”
All eyes are on me. Cillian’s expression is understanding, Lorcan’s is sympathetic. Ronan’s is questioning.
It’s mostly to Ronan I’m speaking when I say, “I don't want her anywhere near this clusterfuck. She's either going to one of the safe houses, or I’ll send her to Aunt Brigid in Galway. Either way, she's gone before the end of the week."
