Page 57 of The Thief

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"Okay."

"I'm not making any promises."

"Neither am I."

"And if this goes badly..."

"Then it goes badly. But at least we'll know we tried."

She nods, decision made. Whatever happens next, we're in it together.

"Be careful today," she says.

"Always am."

"Liar."

"Yeah. But I'm a careful liar."

I stand to leave, but her hand tightens on mine.

"Freddie?"

"Yeah?"

"Come back."

Simple words, but they carry weight. She's not just asking me to be careful. She's asking me to choose her over whatever violence is waiting in the shadows.

"I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I kiss her forehead, gentle, careful, like she's something precious that might break if I'm not gentle enough.

Then I walk away, carrying the memory of her touch and the weight of promises I hope I can keep.

Time to meet Sullivan. Time to plan Trace Harrington's death.

Time to end this war before it takes away anything else I care about.

CHAPTER NINE

alastríona

Dinner at the Gallagher house is like something from a movie.

The dining room could seat twenty people comfortably, with crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than most people's cars and oil paintings of dead relatives watching from the walls. Henry sits at the head of the table like a king holding court, while the rest of us arrange ourselves according to some invisible hierarchy I don't understand yet.

"Alastríona," Henry says, raising his wine glass. "I'd like you to meet more of the family."

More family. Like the dozen cousins I've already been introduced to via video calls weren't enough to process.

"Malcolm." Henry gestures to a man in his early thirties with dark brown eyes and an easy smile. "My grandson. He runs our operations in Spain."

Malcolm raises his glass in greeting. "Welcome home, cousin."

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