Page 38 of The Heir's Defiance

Killian huffs. "You assume they won’t act just to force our hand?" He shakes his head at my brother, who drops the files and reaches into his breast pocket to pull out a cigar.

"Volkov doesn’t play games with unknowns. He’s brutal. He’s not stupid." The cutter is next, from his desk drawer. He snips the end of the stogie, brings it to his lips, and lights his lighter to suck in a deep drag of tobacco smoke.

They go back and forth. They argue over strategy, shipment manifests, and bribes paid to port inspectors. My eyes drift to the grain of Ronan’s desk. The map pinned beneath the glass has a red line drawn through South Quay. That stretch of water is a battlefield. And Nora stands at the edge of it.

I stay quiet until Ronan taps on the file. He looks at me with a dark glare and runs his tongue across his teeth under his lip. He's been holding that tongue as I've silently rebelled for weeks and his patience is so thin it might snap at any second. "Keep your head clear, Brother. If they see weakness?—"

"They won’t," I assure him. I'm not about to let Nora down. Seamus is already pushing her to wed a different Russian in a feeble attempt to patch up their shattered alliance. If she'd have gone through with it the first time, the O'Rourke name would be dead. If I allow her to do that, we'll suffer the same fate. Ronan just doesn't get it.

His eyes narrow. "You sure about that?" He takes another drag of his cigar and holds it in his mouth for a second before saying, "If you can’t separate the girl from the cause, walk away."

"I’ve got it handled," I growl, hands curling to fists again. It feels like the real war I'm fighting is against my own family.

"Do you, Connor? Because I feel like you're losing focus. We destroy Seamus and his family and Volkov won't look our way again. We cement our place in the hierarchy. If we let them…" His words trail off as anger laces across his face again.

Then he nods toward the folder. "This next move won’t allow half measures. If she turns on you, it won’t just be your blood spilled."

I want to argue, but it won’t matter one bit. He has his mind made up and that's the way it goes for him. So, I nod once, holding the motion just long enough to make it clear I’m not doing it easily. Any other reaction would draw blood. Then I turn and leave the room, fists clenched so tightly my fingers throb.

Each step away from Ronan feels forced, a withdrawal without a resolution. I close the door behind myself but don’t slam it. That would too obviously display my anger and the fact that I have no intention of doing things his way. He’s already decided I’m compromised, and nothing short of Nora’s betrayal of her own family spelled out in detail will shift his mind.

While the cellar offers silence, it doesn’t offer peace. The walls are lined with racks—rifles, handguns, knives. Everything organized by size and usefulness. Killian’s already down here—slipped out while Ronan was lecturing me again. He sits on a crate with a scope in his hand and doesn’t look up.

"You ever wonder how long we’ll hold this ground?"

I walk to my case and open it. "Every day."

"The Russians don’t care who bleeds as long as someone does." He scoffs. "They think they're the big dogs, and it's our turf."

I glance over. "Ronan thinks we can wait them out." I pick up a gun case, toss it to the side, then pull a Glock off the shelf and turn it over in my hand.

"Maybe. Or maybe they’re just waiting for a reason to pick a side."

He finally looks at me. "So let them move. I know what side I'm on."

"Then we’re already at war, Connor. Just do what Ro tells you. Don't be a fool." I can't even look at him. He knows what she means to me, and he's all but asking me to give her up.

"And Nora?" I freeze, anxious about what happens to her if the Russians let us walk and target the Fitzpatricks.

He sets the scope down. "You don’t have to say it. I know."

I sit across from him, still holding the Glock. "She called yesterday. Her father assigned two men to follow her. He told her to meet with me again and get intel. Real intel."

Killian whistles. "She told you that?"

"Yeah."

"So she warned you, knowing it could get her killed…" He whistles through his teeth. "She loves you."

"She’s scared," I counter, knowing that could get her killed too. Loving the enemy is dangerous in this line of work, which is why I won't ever utter those words to her aloud.

"And you still trust her?"

"I don’t have a choice," I tell him, shrugging. "It's believe her and hope I don't get set up or watch my brother kill her. Or worse—get charged with killing her myself."

Killian laughs dryly. "That’s not the same as trust." When I don't say anything, he wipes down the scope and continues. "You’ll have to choose. Not just between her and us. Between what you want and what protects the family."

"I won’t let it get that far."

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