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I force myself to slow down to a stop, right in front of the window. My fingers twitch towards a drink I don’t have, so I stuff my hands in my pockets and focus on the view.
Martha’s Vineyard. Where sun, sand, and sea all roll into one nostalgic childhood memory.
There’s a sharp knock on the door.
“Enter.”
“It hasn’t changed in here since we were kids. Not even the goddamn books on the shelf.”
I turn to face Donnacha. He’s leaning against the door frame, drinking in my father’s old study.
“Only difference was the inch-thick layer of dust covering everything. You look tired.”
He rubs the dark circles under his eyes and throws me a lazy grin. “It’s been a long three days.”
I nod. “You want to update me?”
My cousin lets out a lazy groan and sinks into an armchair. “They’d taken her to the east tunnels. The ones the city had boarded up years ago. There was not a chance in hell we’d even think about checking in there if it wasn’t for Murphy. ‘Could hear him screaming Poppy’s name from behind the plywood walls.” He lowers his voice and raises an eyebrow. “Could fuckin’ hear that bastard from New York, he was so loud. We ran into Bratnov pretty quickly. Big gash on his head, acting like a caged animal as always. I left him with Miguel so he could finish his business with him in private, and went off to follow Murphy’s barking. That’s when I heard the gunshot.”
My heart quickens. What I’m about to hear would go down a hell of a lot easier with a glass of whiskey. “He shot her,” I say, grinding my molars together.
“Got her in the thigh. She fell pretty hard and smacked her head, and that’s what would have finished her off.” He pauses, before saying quietly, “Sorry man. I couldn’t bring Murphy back to you. Had my hands full with Poppy, and you know I had none of our men with us, just in case they’d been turned by Antoin too. It was easier to put a bullet in his head.”
I turn back to the window, jaw clenched, hands curled into balls. “It’s not always about seeking revenge. If the job is done by someone else, it’s done regardless.”
“Your father used to say that.”
When I turn back around, Donnacha is smirking at me, almost triumphantly.
Yeah. Maybe I’m becoming a bit more like him.
“And the rest of the men?”
His shoulders sag. I know this is why he looks so tired. After he brought Poppy to me at the airfield, so I could fly her directly to the chalet here at Martha’s Vineyard to recover in safety, he went back down to our part of the Tunnels. One by one, he and Miguel interrogated each of our men to see who had been turned.
“He’d got to three of them,” he says darkly. “And I disposed of them properly. The rest are as shocked as I am.” He adds wearily, “I didn’t know Antoin had it in him.”
I recoil at Antoin’s name. It sounds like betrayal. Usually, I drown my anger in a sea of whiskey, and I’m not ready to deal with the impact of his coup yet. Not sober, anyway.
When I don’t reply, Donnacha’s voice floats through the study again. “So, what’s next, boss?”
What’s next? Poppy is next. She consumes my foreseeable future and nothing else matters. Not the Estate. Not the new coke supply chain. Not even the reputation of the Quinn dynasty.
Just Poppy.
“I’ll keep you posted,” I grunt, straightening my cufflinks.
Donnacha rises to his feet and grips my hand, before bringing me into a strong hug. “Then, if it’s all right with you, I’m going away for a while,” he says, eyes dark. “Fuck knows where. I just… need a break.”
He doesn’t need to say anymore. Donnacha has been loyal to this family since the day he turned fourteen. I don’t think he’s taken a vacation since then, either. “Take all the time you need.”
He nods and turns to leave, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “I forgot. Cillian’s here to see you.”
“Send him in.”
A few moments later, there’s another knock on the door. Cillian appears, stern-faced and rigid. Cold eyes following me around the study.
“Sit.”
