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Grabbing a spare go bag, I shove all of Brioni’s stuff into it. She won’t want to come back down here. With my coat on and the black duffel slung over my shoulder, I leave the kid locked in the basement.

“Shit,” I mutter as I resurface into the back room.

Da’s in his chair at the head of the table. And he’s clearly been waiting for me.

“We need to talk.” He says it in that low, stern way of his. But instead of gesturing for me to sit down, he pushes himself to his feet.

“I need to check on Brioni,” I tell him, but Da doesn’t even turn around.

“She’s with your mam.”

Leading me out through the pub’s back door, he says nothing more as we clear the alleyway and head down a side street. He keeps his pace painfully slow, but I know it’s not because of his age. It’s to teach me fucking patience.

The sidewalks of our neighborhood are wide, and I hold the duffel like a barrier between us. Whatever Da wants to talk about, I’m not going to like it. He directs us around one corner, then down several deserted blocks. By the second turn, I can tell we’re headed for the churchyard. I’m really not going to like this conversation.

In the dark, the barren trees leer at us. Like they’re the kings and we’re the trespassers. I sneer up at one. I’m not intimidated by a sinister fucking tree. This is O’Sullivan territory.

As we get nearer to the churchyard, Da slows his pace to a crawl.

“Talked to the jeweler.” His gruff voice comes out with a puff of white breath. “He says you didn’t commission the ring until after you told the family about the engagement. Demanded a twenty-four-hour turnaround.”

“And?” I grip the duffel tighter.

Da turns to me with a frown, then gestures me to the nearest bench. It’s Fergal’s bench. This is where Da and his right-hand man would sit and discuss business after Mass. When Fergal’s wife died a few years back, Mam and Da had a dedication plaque installed for her. And now that Fergal’s dead too, I suppose we’ll have to update the engraving.

Fergal died fighting our war against Seven. I thought that fact would harden Da to the cause, but it took something out of him. Even made him willing to negotiate a peace treaty with our greatest enemy.

When we sit down, Da and I leave a respectful gap for the plaque. I set the duffel between us, and Da unzips it. I grit my teeth, but privacy isn’t a privilege I have with him. Peeking inside, he grunts to himself. Brioni’s pink peacoat is on top. I know he recognizes it, but all he does is zip the bag back up.

He lifts his gaze to me, raises his bushy eyebrows. My stomach clenches hard, and the skin under my jaw feels clammy. The truth is a poison I need to vomit from my body. I lean back and let out a long breath, a stream of warmth into the cold night.

“I love her.” I shake my head to myself, because it sounds so goddamn inadequate when I say it out loud.

I don’t just love Brioni. I would burn down this world for her. I would end everything in violence so there’s no violence left. Nothing to frighten or intimidate her anymore.

“I know, son.” Da lays a hand on top of the duffel between us. His thick knuckles look yellow beneath the streetlight, highlighting his liver spots. He’s been aging fast since Fergal died.

“The jeweler…” I try to explain, but it’s clear Da already knows the truth.

“Why’d you lie?” he asks. I don’t know how he figured out that our arrangement is fake, but I assume Mam had something to do with it. I sigh.

“It was supposed to protect her from her ex.”

“Supposed to?” Da sounds disappointed in me. I’m disappointed in myself.

“Hasn’t worked,” I say. “He’s somewhere in our city, I know it. But not even Brady’s been able to track him down.”

Da shifts on the bench to pull something from his back pocket. He hands me the slip of paper, and I unfold it.

It’s an address.

“Harrison?” I clench my jaw. My immediate urge to destroy that fucker screeches against the promise I made to Brioni. I grind my teeth so hard my skull vibrates, and Da grunts in the affirmative.

“If you truly love her⁠—”

“I do.” So much so that the promise I made to her burns on my cheekbone. I swear it, like a brand beneath my eye.

“And you’re strong enough to lead this family…” This time Da has to pause, and he levels his pale gray gaze at me. I clench my fists at my sides.