‘Where was he hiding?’ I stroke my thumb over Aoife’s pulse point. Her blood races beneath it.
‘Limerick.’
‘What the fuck was he doing there?’
‘Stupid fucker was trying to round up the O’Dwyer boys.’
‘The fucking cheek of him.’ The O’Dwyers run their own syndicate in Limerick city. It’s not as big as ours, and if they stay on their own turf, they don’t concern us.
‘Keep him alive,’ I say calmly. ‘I’ll deal with him when I get back.’
There’s a pause on the line. Ciaran knows what that means. ‘You sure you don’t want me to?—’
‘Alive,’ I repeat. Because this isn’t just about killing him.It’s about sending a message. And I prefer to deliver those personally.
I hang up. Aoife hasn’t moved. ‘Rory,’ she says quietly. It’s not a question.
I study her for a long beat. ‘Yes. After tomorrow, he won’t be a problem.’
Our eyes lock. Her pupils flare with understanding. I told her what I am. What I’ve done, but this is the first time she’s seeing it firsthand—me as the executioner, rather than her husband.
She said she loves me. Understands that I kill for love, not for cruelty. But it’s one thing understanding it and forgiving it—another thing entirely to watch me leave her arms to go and do.
She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t recoil. Doesn’t pretend she doesn’t know what I mean. Instead, she squeezes my hand, offering me reassurance for once. ‘Then finish it,’ she says quietly.
My molars clench as I run my knuckles over the stubble dotting my jawline.
‘I don’t want him haunting our lives,’ she whispers. ‘I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder. And I don’t want you holding things back from me because you think I can’t handle the truth of who you are.’ Her hand reaches over the table to touch my chest, right over my heart. ‘I married all of you,’ she says. ‘Not just the parts that make me feel safe.’
There’s no tremor in her voice. No fear. Just acceptance. Just when I didn’t think it was possible to love her more, she proves me wrong.
‘Just come home to me,’ she begs.
‘I will, I promise.’
46
AOIFE
We land back in Dublin to grey skies, a biting wind and the kind of rain that doesn’t fall so much as slap you sideways, needling into your face no matter which direction you turn.
The runway gleams slick and unforgiving beneath the jet’s lights, and the moment the cabin door opens, the cold hits me like a reprimand. We’ve barely stepped off Sean Beckett’s jet and Lake Como already feels like a dream. This is the harsh reality I was expecting to come and snatch away my happiness, but this time, I refuse to let it.
Dominic was right.
I didn’t realise until he pointed it out. Until him, I didn’t truly believe I deserved to be happy. I believed in earning. In surviving. In scraping my way forward, one careful step at a time. I believed if I worked hard enough, kept my head down, finished my degree, escaped the estate, built a respectable life with an honest wage and a classroom full of children who needed me—that would be enough.
Happiness wasn’t even on my radar.
It was a luxury I’d never be able to afford, no matter how hard I worked.
And then he pulled me into his home and into his world and showed me that safety doesn’t have to be borrowed. That love doesn’t have to be rationed. That choosing something bigger than survival doesn’t make me weak.
It makes me brave.
Dominic’s hand settles at the small of my back, guiding me down the steps. The wind snatches at my coat, tangles my hair, but he doesn’t loosen his hold. Outside the airport, Ciaran and Owen wait for us inside the BMW.
Ciaran hops out to greet us. ‘Welcome home, lovebirds.’ He slaps Dominic’s back in a manly hug, then turns to me. His pupils glint as he drinks me in. ‘Welcome home, sis.’ He kisses both my cheeks, and Dominic growls. ‘You look positively glowing.’ He winks. ‘And I can’t believe you managed to tame the beast.’
