Page 69 of Then We Shatter

“It’s too risky. You can’t…”

“I can. And I will.”

“You can’t and you won’t,” Grace pipes up. I’d forgotten she was in car. “Not if I don’t agree. I’d rather stay out here all night than smuggle you into the party so you can sabotage all our plans. Duke needs to get his brother home.”

I hold up my hands. Katarina has managed to get her uncle to release Fitz tonight, and with the threat to the Moncriefs about to be removed, it’s practically gifting us a chance to rewrite our ending.

“I won’t be doing anything to jeopardize your plans,” I promise Grace. “You have my word.”

“Please, don’t do this, Killian.” Katarina’s plea is wet with tears. “We’ve said our goodbyes. Let me go. Maybe one day, when it’s safe and your family doesn’t hate my family so much, we can pick up where we left off.”

I’m pushing Katarina to reveal feelings she doesn’t want to feel, but that’s what we do. We push each other to do the craziest shit and tonight might be the craziest. “I won’t let you leave on a maybe.”

“You have to. It’s all I can offer. Goodbye, Shorty.”

“Kitty!”

It’s too late. She’s cut the call.

It was a long shot getting Katarina to convince Grace to sneak me in, so Plan B it is. I return my cell phone to my pocket and take out my Glock.

“Sorry, Gracie. I am going to the party and you’re going to get me in there. And the quieter and calmer you are, the less chance there is of things kicking off before your boyfriend’s brother can be returned.”

Despite having a gun pointed at her, Grace continues to plead with me to reconsider, but I don’t have a choice, I really don’t. Only death could separate me from Katarina now.

“My soul is black enough,” I tell her. “I really don’t want to kill you.”

The Moncrief mansion is straight out of a gothic horror novel. All that’s missing is a windswept Scottish landscape, swirling mist and tension-inducing background music. Instead, there are fairy lights and a Taylor Swift song playing as we’re waved through security without a hitch.

“If I can trust you to follow my orders, I’ll get you your time alone with her,” Grace says as she stops the car in front of a valet.

“Sure.” Just as long as her orders align with mine.

Grace takes the cake, and it’s quite sweet that she thinks she’s taking charge of me too as she marches towards a marquee as big as a circus tent with my gun pressed to the small of her back.

The house itself is a no-go area for party-goers, but lights spill out onto the stone terrace at the rear of the property. I’ve stood on it once or twice to welcome in the New Year with Ash and Rory. Tonight, there are four figures silhouetted against the light. Three Moncriefs and one Barkov, and I know they’re watching me. It was inevitable that I’d be spotted, but I’m here now, and I can’t be ejected without causing a scene.

When I check my phone, there are no messages from Katarina. She’s keeping her powder dry until she can scream at me in person, so I send her a little reminder of what’s to come. Opening our little app, I gift her a delightful buzz. I’m too far away to see her expression, but I swear her stance shifts ever so slightly. She’s wearing my last gift.

Grace finds Duke’s PA just outside the main marquee and gets him to relay a request for Duke to meet us in the nearby catering tent. Duke’s the man to get me a private audience with Katarina. He can’t really say no, there isn’t time. Fitz is due to be returned within the next hour.

As I follow Grace into the marquee, I feel a tug to my heart. This is the first party anyone’s ever thrown for Katarina and it’s going to be a blast. The guests are all connected to the Moncriefs, but it’s Katarina’s twenty-first birthday they’ve come to celebrate. There’s a trapeze artist keeping everyone entertained, but my attention is drawn to the large ice sculpture of a Russian bear guarding a gigantic six-tier birthday cake covered in pink butter cream. Grace keeps hold of the final tier as she guides me through a tunnel to the catering tent.

It's impressive when she orders all of the staff out and they obey. There’s a fuck load of food to be prepared, but knives are set down and burners are switched off as they file out. Duke’s bodyguard is the first to show up. Max doesn’t say much as he splits his attention between the rear exit and me. He can’t quite decide where the greatest threat lies.

Now that we’re away from prying eyes, I divest myself of my wig and sunglasses and make a sandwich while we wait. I tear a bread roll and add some fancy cheddar that isn’t Irish but will do, and a handful of lightly salted kettle chips. No Tayto cheese and onion crisps in sight and they call this a party.

Eating the sandwich doesn’t keep me quiet for long. I need to speak to Katarina before Vasili’s rep gets here. “If your man doesn’t hurry up, I might have to find Katarina on my own,” I warn.

“The fuck you will.”

Duke Moncrief is taller, broader and even more wound up than I am as he stalks towards Grace, his frame dwarfing hers. “Are you OK?”

She’s fine. We’re all fine. But then I spot Duke’s split lip. “Ouch. Who smacked you in the face?” I feign a grimace, but I’m secretly hoping I’m right when I ask, “It wasn’t Katarina, was it?”

Calder takes up a position next to his brother. “No, it was me.”

The comment brings an unexpected twang of nostalgia, and while Grace explains to Duke how I got into the party, I wonder how hard Malachy’s punch would be if he knew what I was up to. Why can’t I just be allowed to live my life the way I want to live it? Why can’t Katarina?