"There's someone here," he said finally. "Someone you need to meet."
"Who?" I asked flatly.
"Aoife O'Malley."
The name hit me like a physical blow. The glass in my hand would crack if I held it any longer. I set it down. Aoife O'Malley. Connor's daughter. The man who’d taken Cressida and laid his filthy hands on her. Death hadn’t been enough to erase him from our lives…
"Here?" My voice dropped to a whisper. If it wasn’t Alex but any other grown man on the hot seat, he’d have wet himself by now. "In my house?"
"Yes."
I was on my feet before conscious thought kicked in, my hand moving instinctively toward the Glock concealed beneath my jacket.
"It's not what you think." He stepped between me and the door, and the fact that he was willing to block my path told me exactly how fucked this situation had become. "She's not a threat. Not anymore."
"Every O'Malley is a threat." The words came out like bullets. "You know this. You helped me burn their shit to the ground."
"I know." Alexander's composure finally cracked, revealing something raw and desperate underneath. "But Ronan... Christ, it's complicated."
Complicated. In our business, complicated meant dead bodies and destroyed lives.
"Uncomplicate it. Now."
He moved away from the door, beginning to pace like a caged animal.
"I told you I had an O'Malley asset providing information. What I didn't tell you was that she's been living here. Or that she's Connor's daughter. Or that..." His jaw tightened. "Or that everything changed."
The pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. The evasive reports. The tension in his voice during calls. The way he'd been avoiding direct questions about security.
"You're fucking her."
It wasn't a question. The guilt written across his face was answer enough.
"I'm in love with her."
The confession hung between us like a grenade with the pin pulled. Alexander—my most trusted person, my brother, the man who'd helped me out of trouble so many times—was in love with the enemy.
"How long?" My voice had gone dead calm, the way it did before I killed someone.
"She's been here several weeks. At first, she was just another asset to be managed. But Ronan..." His jaw tightened, and I saw the man I'd known for over a decade warring with something I’d never witnessed in him. Something I recognised in myself, as I was not long ago. With my beloved Cressida. "She's not what I expected. Not what you’d expect..."
"Several weeks?" Rage filled my chest still—I just couldn’t shake it. "You've had an O'Malley living under my roof for weeks and didn't think to mention it in your reports?"
"I know how this looks?—"
"It looks like betrayal."
Alexander flinched as if I'd struck him, but he didn't back down. That, more than anything, told me how deep he'd fallen.
"She had nothing to do with what happened to Cressida," he said, his voice gaining strength. "She was in Edinburgh when Connor took her, and before that in Paris for a long time. Didn't even know about the kidnapping until after the fact, when she learned her father died. Truth be told, her relationship with him was not the best."
"And you believe her?" The question dripped with contempt.
"I've spent weeks questioning her, Ronan, getting to know her. Weeks watching for tells, for inconsistencies, for any signshe's playing me. Then, things changed between us. I know what I’m doing. Yes, I believe her."
I studied his face, searching for signs of manipulation or self-deception. But all I saw was a man torn between loyalty and love—a position I understood with visceral clarity because I'd been there myself.
"Where is she now?"
