McCarthy's enforcer returns. Fuck yes.
Been too long. We've missed him.
Money's on McCarthy. Money's always on McCarthy.
Who's he fighting?
Always bet on the McCarthy Monster.
I lock my phone and shove it in my pocket, needing to move, needing to think. It's been weeks since I took her, since I made it clear she wasn't going back to Marcus Crowning.
The fucking prick always had to be the biggest man in the room.
Now he's gone silent. That's not right.
I check my phone again at the top of the stairs, away from where Bianca might see me obsessing.
Crowning hasn't said anything about Bianca. No missing person posts. No demands. No threats. No reach-out to the family. It’s suspicious as fuck.
Her mother's the same. We've been watching her—Declan's got eyes on her movements. She's gone to thesalon. Gone to brunch with her friends, like her daughter didn't just vanish off the face of the earth and claim the McCarthys as her new family.
I lower the phone and stare at the wall of my room, my chest tight with tension I can't shake.
They're planning something. They fucking have to be. No one like Crowning goes down like this, unanswered. And her mother wouldn't just shrug and move on.
I can't see the shape of it yet. Can't figure out what they're waiting for. And the not knowing's fucking killing me.
“You alright?” Bianca asks. “You seem distracted.”
Of course I am. I brush a strand of hair out of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. “Aye, I'm distracted. Want this over with. I know Crowning's planning his attack, isn't he?”
She nods slowly. “I know it too. He has to be.” She swallows hard, her throat moving. “You ready for the fight tomorrow?”
“Aye,” I tell her. “I am.” I pause, meeting her eyes, and my voice drops. “You ready to stay home?”
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “Sure.”
She walks away from me before I can argue, but I know she's not happy about it. She's gonna fight me on this all the way to the fucking ring… I know she will.
But she is settling in now. Maybe it's just how she is—adaptable, determined to make the best of things.
She started helping Aunt Caitlin in the mornings, learning recipes and asking questions about the family history and traditions.
Erin puts her to work, too, though I'm not quite sure what she's doing yet. Not quite sure Bianca knows either. Erin says she's assessing Bianca's skills, testing her and seeing where she fits.
“She's got a mind like a steel trap,” Erin tells me one afternoon.
I smile with pride I can't hide. “Aye, she does.”
Erin would know—the lass is bloody brilliant herself.
Bianca sits with Bronwyn in the library, listening to stories about our childhood and laughing at things I don't even remember being funny. She laughs easily now, more freely than when I first brought her here. She’s nervous about tomorrow, just like I am. But she doesn't let it show.
I listen. I'm always listening.
At night, she comes to me. I'm not always good with words, but Bianca seems content with silence. She curls against my chest, her fingers tracing the tattoos on my arms while I hold her. Sometimes it feels like she might disappear if I let go.
“Fancy a read, lass?” I say one night.
