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She’s quicker than I gave her credit for, grabbing it before it knocks the messy bun off her head. “It doesn’t matter why. I’m over it now.”
“Tell me.”
She flashes me a signature Orna scowl, before deciding it’s easier to tell me after all. “You never told me Poppy was Marcus Murphy’s daughter.”
“She’s not,” I snap back fast. Too fast. “She’s just Poppy.”
“Yes, but she’s still the daughter of the man who killed my mom,” she snaps back.
When she hurls the cushion at my head with surprising force, I throw my shoulder back in the nick of time. It crashes into the lamp on the side table and sends it flying to the floor.
Neither of us flinch. This is the chaos we grew up in.
“I get it,” I say quietly.
And I do. After the betrayal, my father took everything from Marcus Murphy. His estate, fleet of cars, staff. But it was all materialistic bullshit. He didn’t take anything that actually mattered, like his family. But Murphy took that from us. Orna’s mom was caught in the crossfire in the kitchen, right before O’Sullivan turned his gun on Murphy himself.
Orna’s mom had a big hand in raising me after my own mom died. She had that maternal instinct for me, which is why she pushed me behind the breakfast bar and took the bullet herself.
So, when I took Poppy, all I wanted was for Marcus to feel a fraction of the pain that my family felt.
He didn’t.
“Poppy didn’t kill your mom, Orna. She didn’t betray our family. In fact, she hates her father as much as we do.”
Orna nods slowly, swallowing my words. Eventually, she says. “I know. I spent a lot of time trying to hate her, but it’s hard.”
A loud sigh escapes my lips, and I run my hand through my hair. “You’re telling me.”
Feeling the weight of my words, Orna regards me with fresh suspicion. “If you don’t hate her, then why don’t you let her go?” We lock eyes, and I’m silent long enough for the penny to drop. A grin spreads across her face. “Jesus Christ, Lorcan. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“I do,” she chimes in, “you like her. And not just in the wayIlike her. You built her a whole-ass workshop, for Christ’s sake. You bring her along to your business outings and even that treaty dinner you had with the Cartel and the Italians. And the whole time, you can’t take your eyes off her. Like a man possessed.”
Her laser-like glare follows me around the room as I stretch my legs and begin to pace. Fuck, I’m turning into Antoin. When she speaks again, her voice is softer. “You’ve been through a lot and you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be human. I’ll give you a clue—humans have hearts, and yours is starting to thaw.”
I clamp my molars together and ignore the stabbing pain in my chest. I’m getting good at that. “I’m not here for a discounted therapy session.”
“Discounted? I didn’t know you were going to pay me at all.”
I’m getting good at ignoring Orna’s sarcasm too.
Time to get serious.
“Remember the chalet on Martha’s Vineyard?”
“The one we’d go to every Easter as kids?”
“I’ve opened it up again.”
“Really?” she clutches her hands to her chest in delight, eyes brimming with nostalgia. “God, I love that place.”
But I’m not interested in taking a trip down memory lane. “If anything happens to me, take Poppy there.”
This brings her right back into the present. Uncurling her legs, she jumps up and closes the gap between her. Then she jabs her skinny finger into my chest. “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” she hisses. “Jesus, Lorcan. I know you think you’re not worthy of standing in the shoes of your father, but youare.You will win this. There’s not a goddamn doubt in my mind.”
Suddenly, I see Orna for who she really is for the first time in a decade. Not only my housekeeper or annoying cousin that gives too much lip. But more of a younger sister.
