Page 330 of Lodestar

Though Conor had to have heard me, he answered Troy, “It sounds as if it is, but it was more a survival mechanism.

“Think about it—he was the head of the Irish Mob. If he looked sickever, someone would come for him. Then, they’d likely come for Ma and, when we were younger, his sons. The mafia underbelly is Darwinian bullshit at its finest.”

“That’s why you’re okay with Star arranging for him to be in a coffin?”

“Nice, Troy,” I spat, inwardly cringing at her wording.

“I’m not okay with it, but we’re working through it.”

“What is this? An episode ofDr. Phil? I thought you said you didn’t do interventions, Star?”

“I never said I didn’t,” I retorted. “I just said that I don’t show up to them with SMGs!”

“I don’t even want to know,” Conor muttered as he switched on a radio station and set it on low. “Dagda did my da a favor. A debt is paid and he doesn’t have to suffer and be used as target practice by another faction who wouldn’t be as noble as a sniper in ending his life.That’swhy I can be in the same room as him.

“If you’d asked me when he died, I wouldn’t have said that. I grieved him and you hard. But I wouldn’t have wanted him to suffer, and I’ve got you back.”

“God, pass me a barf bag,” Troy said, faking gagging.

Conor huffed but turned up the music even more.

When silence settled between us, a song filled in the gaps that conversations normally took. It gave me time to think about my situation, and that skewed guilt filtered through me as I reflected on what I’d done over the years.

I didn’t like Aidan Sr. I certainly didn’t like what he’d done to his son. Nor did I like how he treated his family, but my guilt wasn’t for the man—it was for Conor.

For what I’d done tohisfather.

Tentatively, half expecting him to shrug my hand off his lap, I let my fingers rest on his thigh.

When he cupped them, knotting our digits together, I breathed a little easier, finding comfort in anchoring myself to him.

Still, my voice was rough as I rasped, “I’m surprised your brothers haven’t set The Whistler on me.”

He arched a brow I only saw because of the gleam from the dash. “Someone had to die that day. The sins of the fathers can’t always be passed onto the sons.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Troy grumbled. “Are you purposely speaking in tongues?”

“Da gave Dagda his vengeance. He got him off our backs.”

“Why does Dagda have a hard-on for the Irish Mob?” Troy queried.

“Because they had his sister killed,” I muttered tiredly.

Troy whistled under her breath. “This is better than an episode ofA Day of Our Lives.”

“Shut up,” I groused. “And I think you meanDays of Our Lives. If you’re going to bitch at me, get it right.”

She harrumphed. “This is prime-time TV shit here.”

“Not sure they’d air men getting their faces eaten off by animals before eight PM,” Conor drawled.

I had to snicker at his droll retort. “Yeah, we’ve become desensitized to violence but not by that much.”

“Not yet anyway,” Conor agreed with a chuckle.

“Okay, so, your da had Dagda’s—” She paused. “Wait. Lyra told me that Aoife is related to Dagda.”

“What? When? She doesn’t even talk.” I spluttered.

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