"It happens." I pull my hand back and break the contact.
I should step back and put distance between us. But I don't.
"What are you going to do, Aoife? Hmm, fix my split knuckles?" I say, letting my voice drop low and dangerous. "You want to fix me?”
Her cheeks flush deeper. "Some things are beyond fixing.”
I snort a laugh. Because she’s fucking right, I’m so broken.I grip her neck and drag her closer. Her breath catches. I can see her pulse hammering in her throat. For one heartbeat, I think she might close that last inch of distance. Might press herself against my sweat-slicked chest and find out exactly what happens when you play with fire.
Instead, she pulls out of my hold, and I let her step back.
"We need to talk," she says, and her voice is steadier than I expected. "About what I learned at the hospital."
Right. Reality. The world outside this basement where everything is simple and violent and makes sense.
I turn away from her and grab my shirt from where I tossed it. I don't put it on, just hold it and let the cotton soak up some of the sweat still dripping down my torso.
"Talk then." I move back to the heavy bag and lean against it, creating distance and safety for both of us.
She stays where she is, near the stairs. Smart girl.
"My brother discovered who's coordinating the attacks." Her voice is controlled and professional, like she's briefing a board meeting. "Viktor Tarasov. Russian Bratva. He was behind this."
The name doesn't ring any bells. "Never heard of him."
"You should have." Her eyes meet mine. "He's related to your brother Jason's wife. Kira Tarasova. Viktor Tarasov is her uncle."
Everything stops.
Jason. My exiled brother, who married into the Bratva. Kira Tarasova. He's been working as their negotiator, and we've suspected he might be feeding them information. Now it looks like we were right.
"Jason," I say flatly.
"Maybe." Aoife's expression doesn't change. "But we intercepted communications. Russian conversations about the attack on my father. The timing was too precise. Someone on the inside is feeding Viktor Tarasov intelligence. A mole."
A mole. The word hangs between us, heavy and deadly.
"Someone close to us," Aoife continues. "Someone who knew about the meeting."
My mind races through possibilities. Security staff. Family members. Business associates. Anyone who works for eitherfamily would have known about the meeting; it wasn't exactly a secret. An engagement announcement between the Murphys and O'Rourkes would've been talked about across all the families. Which means whoever the mole is could be anyone. Anyone at all.
"You're telling me this, why?" I ask carefully. "Your brother discovered this intelligence. Why share it with me?" I wouldn’t have shared it with her.
"Because Viktor Tarasov isn't just targeting the O'Rourkes." Her voice is steady and certain. "He's targeting all the Irish families. The alliance we're building? He wants to destroy it before it even begins. And he's using someone inside to do it."
She's right. Of course she's right. A coordinated strike like this, hitting us when we're most vulnerable, right as we're trying to unite? That's strategy. That's someone who understands our world and knows exactly where to hit to cause maximum damage.
"So what?" I push off the bag and cross my arms. "You want me to hunt for a mole? Start interrogating everyone who was in that house last night?"
"I want you to be prepared." Aoife takes a step forward, then another, "Viktor Tarasov is coordinating attacks. There's a mole feeding him intelligence. And this is only going to get worse before it gets better."
The information sits heavily in my gut. Viktor Tarasov. A mole. Coordinated attacks. It's worse than I thought.
I need time to think. To process. To figure out who the fuck I can trust.
"We have our engagement party tomorrow night,"I say as I rub the spot between my brows. "Be ready."
Her face goes blank. "What?"
