Page 173 of Ruthless Claim

Her entire focus is on Claire. “You’re caught, Claire. We have proof you’re not who you say you are. We have proof Finn isn’t Cillian’s son. We have proof the first test was fraudulent. The only question is whether you cooperate right now or we hand everything over to the authorities and let them sort it out.”

Claire’s face is pale but her eyes are sharp. “You won’t go to the authorities,” she says, folding her arms over her chest, assured in her statement. “People like you don’t involve the police. You handle things…differently.”

Ah, there it is. It’s an admission. Not explicit, but clear enough.

“You’re right,” I say. “We don’t. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences. And in our world, we’re creative with how we dole out consequences.” I wink at her and that rattles her, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “So I’ll ask you one last time: who hired you?”

She’s quiet for a long moment. The coffee shop noise fills in around us—an order being called out, the hiss of steam, the quiet murmurs of conversation around us, the light noises coming from Finn’s game.

Then Claire leans forward and her voice is low and intense. “You think I’m the villain here? You think I wanted to do this? I was approached months ago by someone who knew things about me. Personal things. Things I’d buried.”

Her lips tremble but she continues. “They offered me money. More money than I’ve ever seen to claim Finn was yours. They said it was harmless. That you owed it to the boy anyway, even if he wasn’t yours. That you were rich enough it wouldn’t matter.”

“Bullshit,” Valentina spits, incensed. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You were trying to destroy our marriage.”

“I was trying to survive!” Claire’s composure finally cracks and true devastation is etched on her face. “I’m a single mother with no prospects and a mountain of debt. They offered me a way out. A chance to give Finn a better life.”

“By lying,” I say disgustedly. “By using an innocent child as a weapon.”

“As if you are any better,” Claire barks out a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “I did what I had to do,” she snaps, and something in her expression almost dares me to argue with it. “You don’t know what it’s like to have nothing. To watch your kid go without because you can’t afford anything. I did what I had to do to take care of my son.

Something ugly twists in my chest at that.

“So you admit it,” Valentina hisses. “You were paid to do this.”

Claire’s expression hardens again, taking all the actual emotion with it. “I admit nothing. And you can’t prove anything.”

“We have two DNA tests that contradict each other,” I say. “We have evidence of your fabricated background. We have⁠—”

Tires scream outside. The sound of car doors opening.

Then gunfire.

The window beside our table explodes inward, glass spraying everywhere. People scream and tables are knocked over as the coffee shop dives for cover.

I move on pure instinct. I grab Valentina and pull her down, my body covering hers as more gunfire erupts.

Something hits my shoulder hard enough to knock the breath out of me. Glass cuts into my hands, my ears ringing from the noise.

It lasts maybe ten seconds but it feels like an eternity. Then the gunfire stops. Tires screech again as a vehicle speeds away.

Sounds of screaming and sobbing fill the air along with the wail of incoming police sirens. I push myself off Valentina and lift her up, hands running over her face and arms, checking for injuries.

“Are you hurt?” I ask frantically, heart in my throat. “Valentina, are you hurt?”

“I’m f-fine,” she manages to get out, but her voice is shaking. Dust covers her, making her dark hair look like she’s just powdered it. Thin streaks of blood track down her cheeks. “I’m fine, Cillian. Are you—Cillian, holy shit, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine, Valentina.” And I am. Even though my ears are ringing and my heart is racing, I’m otherwise fine.

Valentina’s eyes widen as she gestures to my shoulder. “You’re bleeding!”

I glance down and see that blood is pooling under my shirt. “It’s nothing. Glass, I think.” I help her to her feet and wrap an arm around her waist. It’s then that I take a look around.

The coffee shop is destroyed. People are cowering under tables, crying, and shouting into phones. The window is completely gone, the street outside in chaos.

And Claire is gone.

The seats where she and Finn had been sitting are empty. There’s no sign of them.