"Congratulations," Aidan says, and he actually sounds like he means it. Like this is something to celebrate instead of mourn.
Dillon extends his hand to me. I shake it, and his grip is firm. Strong. The handshake of a man who's made his share of hard decisions and lived with the consequences.
"To new alliances," he says before releasing my hand.
Aidan's already moving to the bar cart, pulling out crystal glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He pours four fingers into each glass, the amber liquid catches the light.
He hands the first glass to Dillon, the second to me, the third to Aoife. She takes it without comment, her face still carefully blank.
"To the O'Rourkes and the Murphys," Aidan says, raising his glass. "May this union bring strength to both families and death to our enemies."
Dark words for a toast. But fitting.
We all raise our glasses. I look at Aoife across the rim of mine. She's looking back, and for a moment, our eyes meet and hold. There's something in her gaze now. Not anger anymore. Something deeper. Sadness, maybe. Or grief.
"To new beginnings," Dillon adds, and there's something heavy in his voice.
We drink.
The whiskey burns going down, but it's a good burn. Clean. I drain half the glass in one swallow, chasing the familiar warmth. Aoife sips hers, barely wetting her lips. Dillon and Aidan both drink deeply.
"William," Dillon says, setting his glass on the table. "I want to be clear about my expectations."
Here it comes. The speech. The warnings.
"Aoife is my only daughter," he continues. "She's been trained in business, in strategy, in everything she needs to be apartner to you, not just a wife. I expect you to treat her as such. To value her counsel. To protect her."
Protect her. Like I can even protect myself.
But I nod. "Of course."
"She's not a fragile thing," Dillon adds, and there's steel in his voice now. "But she is precious to me. If any harm comes to her..."
I meet his eyes. "I understand."
And I do. He's telling me that if I fuck this up, if I hurt his daughter, alliance or not, he'll come for me. It's the same threat I'd make if I had a daughter I was handing over to a man like me, but I wouldn’t hand over my fucking daughter, so his words have no value.
"Good." Dillon picks up his glass again. "Then let's drink to—"
The sound is deafening.
Glass explodes inward. The window behind Dillon's head shatters, and I see the moment the bullet hits him. See the way his body jerks. See the bloom of red spreading across his white shirt.
Time does something funny. Slows down. Speeds up. I'm not sure which.
Aoife screams.
The sound rips through the room, high and sharp and full of horror. I see her take a step toward her father. See Dillon fall forward, his hands clutching at his throat where blood is pouring between his fingers.
Training kicks in. The kind that was drilled into us since we were kids. The kind you don't forget even when you're high and drunk and falling apart.
I'm moving before I think about it. Three steps, and I'm on Aoife, tackling her to the ground. We hit the floor hard,my body covering hers, shielding her from whatever the fuck is happening.
She's fighting me. Trying to crawl toward her father. "Dad! Daddy!"
Her voice is breaking. Raw. I've never heard anything like it.
"Stay down," I growl, pressing her harder into the floor. My weight pins her completely. She's strong, stronger than she looks, but I'm bigger. Heavier. And right now, that's what matters.
