Page 39 of Faithless Vows

We sit on the floor with her dolls spread between us. By now, I know most of them by name, though Fia still tells me exactly what they’re doing and what I’m supposed to say. She hands me one and launches straight into the story, correcting me whenever I get something wrong before carrying right on as though there was never any question she was in charge. I follow her lead, but my eyes keep drifting to my right hand.

The Claddagh sits on my finger, the heart turned inward—telling anyone who looks that my heart is taken. It feels wrong now. Almost mocking.

Because my heart is mine. It always was.

And I don’t want this ring reminding me of a time when I let myself believe otherwise.

When Fia announces she needs the toilet and runs out of the room, I set the doll in my hand beside the others. I look over at the jewellery box on her dresser. She showed it to me yesterday, taking out every little necklace and ring one by one so I could admire them. I get to my feet, cross the room, and open it.

Inside are plastic bead necklaces and little tin rings set with coloured glass stones, all tucked neatly into place. I slip the Claddagh from my finger and place it among the other rings. Then I close the lid.

I settle back onto the floor just as Fia returns. She picks up her doll and carries on with the story as though she never left, and I follow along. The bare place on my finger feels strange, but right. By the time Eilís appears in the doorway, we’re in the middle of setting up a tea party for the dolls. “Ten minutes, Alannah.”

“Okay.”

Fia lets out a dramatic groan and flops onto her back. “Already?”

“Already,” Eilís says with a smile before heading back down the hall.

I look down at Fia. “I’m sorry, but I have to go home today.”

Her face falls. “But you’re my friend.”

Something in my chest squeezes. “You’re my friend too. And this isn’t the last time we’ll see each other. Your da and my grandda are friends, remember?”

She thinks about that, then gives me a small nod. “Okay.”

I hold up my doll. “We still have ten minutes. Tell me what happens next.”

Chapter Fifteen

Ronin

My father sits in the chair opposite my desk, glass in hand, watching me pretend to work. He showed up twenty minutes ago and didn’t bother with pleasantries. Just said Seamus and Mick were coming, helped himself to a drink, and took a seat like he didn’t give a damn what I thought about it. Like I hadn’t been sworn in as head barely a week ago—like the title meant nothing unless he allowed it.

And right now, it didn’t. The announcement had been made. Da had already named me in front of the men, in front of the families, so the seat had to pass to me. But that didn’t mean he trusted me with it. And it sure as hell didn’t mean he was stepping aside.

And I couldn’t even blame him. Not after the embarrassing shit show I’d caused at my own wedding reception. Not after I’d humiliated my wife in public and walked out like I didn’t care who saw. Not after I’d forgotten that a woman I’d been sleeping with might show up as a plus-one. Kathleen O’Malley’s da had worked for mine since before I was born. That alone made it worse. A mistake I should have known better than to allow.

He didn’t need to say it out loud. He’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t think I was ready to hold it—to lead without embarrassing the family, without letting my personal fuckups play out in front of everyone.

I flip through the ledger on my desk without seeing any of it. Numbers blur. Dates mean nothing. I’ve spent the week like this—shuffling papers around my desk, checking on jobs that are already handled, giving orders I don’t care about—because sitting still feels worse.

It’s been a week. A whole fucking week since Alannah vanished.

At first, I told myself she’d be back in a day or two. That she just needed time. Space. A chance to cool off. I’d given orders to keep an eye out, had men all over the city checking every place she might turn up. But nothing.

By the third day, the confidence wore thin. By the fifth, it was gone.

Alannah didn’t have friends she could disappear with. She’d gone to a private girls’ school after Mick and I graduated—after things got ugly once we weren’t there to keep people in line. Even there, she’d had problems. Too many girls either afraid of her name or eager to use it. She kept to herself. Always had.

She had some money, but not enough to vanish like this. And the bag she’d taken—I could still picture it—it wasn’t big enough for a clean break. So where the hell was she?

I don’t scare easily. Never have. But I’m scared now. Not just of her being angry with me. Not just of her never forgiving me. At this point, I can live with her hating me. What I can’t live with is what might have happened after. Who she might have trusted. Someone seeing her alone and deciding she was easy prey.

At night, the last images I have of her play over and over in my head. Her smile at the altar, full of love I didn’t deserve. The look on her face at the reception—confusion first, then heartbreak, right before I turned away.

And then nothing.