Page 61 of The Thief
"Don't listen to him," Melissa says, reaching for my arm. "Marcus has been Henry's attack dog for too many years. He sees threats everywhere, even where none exist."
"But what if he's right? What if people are dead because?—"
"Stop." Raylee's voice is firm. "Right now. You are not responsible for other people's choices. You are not responsible for some madman's war. You are eighteen years old and trying to figure out where you belong."
"But—"
"No buts. Your father loved you. Henry loves you. This family wants you here. That's what matters, not Marcus' poison."
I want to believe them. I want to think I'm not some kind of curse that brings death wherever I go. But Marcus' words echo in my head, mixing with my own doubts and fears.
"I need some air," I say.
"Want company?" Melissa offers.
"No. Thanks, but I need to think."
I escape through the French doors onto Henry's terrace, grateful for the cool night air. Dublin spreads out below, lights twinkling like fallen stars. Beautiful and peaceful, nothing like the violence being planned in rooms like the one I just left.
Maybe Marcus is right. Maybe I don't belong here, with these people who've built their lives on blood and bullets. Maybe I should go back to Belfast, back to pulling pints and minding my own business.
But Belfast isn't safe anymore either, is it? Sean Jennings' father is probably still looking for revenge. And there's always another Sean, another group of men who think they can take what they want from women like me.
"Thought I might find you out here."
Freddie's voice makes me jump. I turn to see him standing in the doorway, concern etched across his face.
"How'd you know?"
"Melissa said Marcus was being a prick, figured you might need rescuing."
"I don't need rescuing."
"No," he agrees, stepping onto the terrace. "But you might need company."
He's changed since this morning, I notice. Still handsome, still dangerous, but there's something different in his eyes. Something harder. Like whatever business he's been conducting has reminded him exactly what kind of man he is.
"Rough day?" I ask.
"Getting rougher. What did Marcus say to you?"
"That my father's choices got people killed. That I'm some kind of liability the family can't afford."
Freddie's face goes dark. "Bastard."
"Is he wrong though? Are people dead because Dad kept me away from this life?"
"People are dead because Trace Harrington is a psychopath who thinks murder solves problems. That's not on you or your father."
"But if Dad had brought me home earlier, if he'd been more focused on family business?—"
"Then maybe things would have been different. Or maybe they'd have been worse. You can't change the past, Alastríona. You can only decide what you do with the present."
Simple words, but he's right, of course. I can't undo the choices Dad made, can't bring back the people who've died.
"What did you learn today?" I ask. "In your meeting."
His expression hardens. "That we're running out of time. That Trace is planning something, and it involves you."
