Without a word, I wipe the blood from my lip and glance toward the back wall. O’Shea’s man gives me a nod. That’s something. Maybe not loyalty, but acknowledgment. Respect.
Raf catches up with me after, as I wipe sweat from my face and shrug into a sweatshirt.
“We got their attention tonight,” he says. “And I think Conroy’s starting to come around.”
“They’ll follow the Murrays,” I say. “Always have.”
“Maybe not for long,” Raf mutters. “Word from our contact is that the Murrays and Tanakas are having it out behind closed doors. Apparently, they’re still squabbling over the territory they think they were owed. If we play this right, we might be able to pull the Irish in once that fracture splits.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then we keep trying,” he says grimly. “Because if we don’t get allies soon, we’ll never rebuild the empire Father left us.”
He’s right. We can’t back down now. Not until the job is done. Not until our command goes without question and I can be sure my family is safe—Evi’s safe.
“We’ll need to move fast if Conroy really is turning. If the Murrays crack, I want him ready to rally whoever he can. But until then…” He glances toward me. “I need you to keep showing up. Keep fighting. The Irish respect blood more than words.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’ve noticed.”
When we finally make it back to the mansion, it’s well past midnight. And still, she’s waiting for me. Always waiting.
Her expression softens when she sees us both. “You’re back late.”
Raf pours himself a drink and sinks into the nearest chair in the freshly renovated sitting room. “Good reason for it too. We might have a lead on Conroy. He’s getting restless.”
“That’s good, right?” she asks.
“It’s a start.”
She nods, clearly trying to stay upbeat even as her eyes flick toward me, scanning for injuries. “You look worse than last night.”
I give her a faint grin. “You should see the other guy.”
That earns me a tiny glare before she sighs and disappears to get the first aid kit.
Raf chuckles, the sound rough and low. “She’s definitely gotten underneath your skin.”
I scoff, but the noise is unconvincing, even to my ears. And when Evi steps back into the room a moment later, my eyes find and follow her like a homing device.
“Well.” Raf says, tossing back the rest of his drink. “I’ll leave my brother in your capable hands, Evi. Try not to let him off the hook too easy tonight.”
Her cheeks pinken, but she doesn’t reply as Raf stalks from the room. She just tends to me again—dabbing antiseptic across my split knuckles, wrapping my hands, muttering something about how I’m going to ruin my joints before I’m thirty-five.
The house grows quiet as Evi finishes the last of my bandaging, and her eyes linger on my bruised knuckles before lifting to my face. “I hate that you have to fight.”
There’s something in her voice that makes me pause. The concern. The softness. Nobody’s looked at me that way before. Like it hurts her to see me damaged. And it makes my heart clench.
“It’s what I’m good at,” I tell her finally.
She shakes her head. “You’re good at so much more than this, Sandro. You just don’t see it.”
I huff out a laugh. “And you do?”
Her smile is small, but certain. “I do.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t. I just watch her as she leans forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. It’s meant to be gentle, comforting, but something in me shifts at the touch, at the way she carefully avoids my split lip so she won’t cause unnecessary pain—even if I want it.
She pulls back, eyes searching mine. “You should rest.”
