The line goes silent until I hear my da spark a lighter, the familiar hiss coming down the line as he scorches the tip of his cigar.
“The Viacavas indeed?” The way he says the name makes my stomach tighten.
“Yeah. I don’t know exactly what I downloaded, but it’s substantial. Enough to?—”
“Send me the files immediately.” His tone is urgent, though warmer than the icy displeasure from seconds ago.
“And what about Connor?” I ask. “We need to find another way to get the footage?—”
“Send me the files, Tierney. Now,” he repeats, firmer this time. “I’ll review them and decide what comes next.”
“Okay. Hold on. I’ll do it now.”
I connect the USB drive to the phone and start a secure transfer, routing the files through an encrypted relay.
They stream across continents, from a hotel room in Romania to my father’s office in Belfast.
“It’s done.” I disconnect everything and grab the duffel bag at my feet. “You have it.”
“Good girl.” His praise settles over me like weak sunshine on a wintry day. “Get on the plane. We’ll talk when you’re home.”
When the line goes dead, I empty the safe, pull clean jeans and a hoody from the duffle bag, and get dressed.
Everything else gets packed away before I order an Uber.
The drive to the airstrip gives me time to retrace my steps and pick apart my performance, every decision replaying on a loop I can’t shut off.
Maybe if I’d had a few more minutes, I could have dug deeper, pushed harder, pulled Connor’s mistake out of the vault before it locked me out.
That lack of time burns into me as regret.
Still angry with myself, I board the jet, pull up my hood, and tell the flight attendant I won’t need anythingduring the flight.
As soon as I get comfy, my phone buzzes with a message.
Damien: Call me if you’re still awake.
I let my head fall back against the headrest and sigh. The last thing I want right now is conversation, especially when I can’t explain why I flew to Bucharest in the first place.
Damien is the white knight in my dark world. He knows who my father is, and he knows I work for him, but he doesn’t know what I do, or how violent I can be when I’m pushed.
Bronx flashes through my mind then, all dark hazel eyes and that smug, knowing smirk of his. I shake my head and push the thought of him away. That’s a man I wouldn’t even touch with a long stick, or anyone else’s stick.
Give me the comfort and reliability of Damien any day.
“Hey…” I say when he answers. “Why are you up so late?”
“Missing you,” he says. “Did you get the deal done, or whatever it was your da sent you there for?”
I exhale through my nose. “It didn’t go as planned, and he told me to come home.”
“Really? When are you coming back?”
“I’ve boarded his jet already.”
“Come straight to my place,” he says. “You’ve been gone far too long this time. Is your da pissed at you?”
I look out at the runway lights and let the heaviness settle behind my ribs.
