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“My name isn’t Ronnie,” I said. “My name is Ronan…Ronan O’Connor.”

The change in her expression was immediate. She knew the name. She’d spent days researching it, searching through old records and trying to understand the connection between the O’Connor organization and the events surrounding her family’s death. She took a step backward.

“No. Tell me you’re lying.”

I remained where I was. God, I wanted to tell her that lie and watch the relief return to her face. But I’d already lied to her enough. She waited for my answer, and when I said nothing, her eyes filled with something that looked like disbelief.

“You were there that night.” Her breathing became uneven. “You knew what happened to my parents.”

She stared at me for several seconds before asking the question I’d been dreading since the moment I’d realized who she was.

Her voice as deathly quiet when she asked, “Did you kill my father?”

I could have tried to explain, but nothing would change the answer.

“Yes.”

The word left my mouth quietly. Sofia didn’t move. She simply stared at me, and I watched the realization settle over her face. The man she’d trusted, the man she’d invited into her home, the man she’d allowed herself to love, was the man who’d taken her family from her.

She looked at me as though she was seeing me for the first time, and I knew that whatever we’d built between us was over.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sofia

The silence Ronan had left behind grew more unbearable with each passing day. A week had passed since I’d kicked him out of my apartment, and he hadn’t contacted me since. I’d expected him to return. Part of me had actually counted on him ignoring my anger and marching up to my door, demanding that I listen to his side of things.

Part of me had anticipated phone calls, texts, him reaching out to make me understand that whatever had happened fifteen years ago was far more complicated than I knew.

He’d done none of it. There’d been no texts, no calls, no knocks on my door, no veiled threats. Not a single thing from him. He’d just disappeared. I told myself that this was precisely what I’d wanted all along. If it was that simple, life should have been better now.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t. I reached for my phone whenever it buzzed, hoping for his text, a message I shouldn’t have been hoping to receive. Every time a message turned out not to be from him, I hated a little piece of myself for wanting it. I despised the part that still was waiting for Ronan when I was the one who’d explicitly asked him to leave.

I loved him. That was a fact I didn’t have the slightest idea what to do with. Anger was fine, hatred was great. Since my father died because of him, I had every right in the damn world to hate him.

But as I sat on my kitchen counter and thought about how he’d looked at me, I would picture him standing by my stove and sigh. I remembered the awful scrambled eggs he’d tried to make, his quiet listening, the kindness that had convinced me there was nothing dangerous lurking behind the man I knew.

Those images were so vivid now, tangled with his terrible lies. I buried myself in my work, and the café had enough to keep me busy for hours. Once my shift was over, I’d go home and work on Buried Saints until nearly dawn. It was either that or go to my bed and stare into the darkness…and let Ronan creep into my thoughts.

I hated him as much as I missed him. I was fucked.

Nora discovered my lack of sleep when I dropped a plate because I was staring into empty space.

“You need a break,” she gently suggested.

I offered a false smile. “No, I’m fine,” I insisted. “Just been having trouble sleeping.”

She looked like she didn’t believe me, but she just shrugged. I felt grateful for that. I wasn’t going to share my whole story with her. For now, staying busy would do the trick.

***

The first time I noticed the black SUV, I didn’t think anything of it. It was parked across the street from my apartment when I left for work, its dark windows reflecting the morning light.

I barely gave it a second glance. Boston was full of expensive vehicles, and there was nothing unusual about one sitting on a residential street.

The second time, it was in almost exactly the same place two days later. I slowed as I walked past it. Its windows were too dark for me to see inside, and I couldn’t make out the driver.

I told myself it was probably nothing. After everything that had happened with the podcast, my mind had become too accustomed to looking for connections. I wondered whether Ronan had arranged it. He’d warned me about the danger surrounding the investigation, and even after everything that had happened between us, I could imagine him deciding that keeping an eye on me was more important than respecting my wishes.