Page 33 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

“I gave the money from the sale of your watch to human trafficking charity.”

“What the feckin’ hell, Ciara?” he says.

“I don’t want to profit or have any part of kidnapping girls and forcing them into sexual work.”

He sits back down with a thud. “Do you know why my dad hated me so much?”

I shake my head.

He leans forward, taking me by the hands. “It was me leaking information to the police about his human trafficking activities, he knew it, he just didn’t want to believe it because he didn’t want to put a bullet in his own heir.”

The mention of the word police sends panic arrows shooting through my body. I resist the adrenaline spike.

“But isn’t that what you do? Now you’ve taken over from him.”

“I closed his business down. I didn’t sell it. I don’t want any part of it. It is the most disgusting and disturbing part of my family history and my mother lost her life to it.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Which charity did you give the money to?” He asks ignoring my question.

He reaches inside his breast pocket and retrieves the watch I’d sold this morning. I looked down at the brown straps. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“My mother brought me this watch after my father put me in hospital. He beat me so bad I lost consciousness. My mother was scared I might die, so she gave me this watch as a reminder that I’m a warrior. That’s what Calatrava means.” He says pointing to the back of the watch. “Warrior.”

“That’s awful,” I say “I’m sorry. If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have taken the watch.” He looks down at me with suspicion in his eyes, “So how much did you give and to which charity?”

“€33,000, and I gave it to Radius,” I answer. he pulled his phone out from his pocket, googled the name and dials the twenty-four-hour hotline.

“Hi, he says, in a very cheery tone. “My employee made a donation today and it was agreed by our bank that we would match the donation but she didn’t tell me the amount and I need to write the cheque tonight to balance the books. Can you tell me the amount given in cash to your Dublin office?” he says.

He was a very astute liar.

“Please hold,” says a voice on the other end. Liam stares at me defiantly.

“€33,000.”

“Thank you for the information,” he pressed to end the call.

“Stand-up,” he says. I do as he asks and stand. My feet were already burning from the high arch of the stiletto.

“Turnaround,” he demands. I turn slowly.

“You also gave them the money I gave you to buy a dress. So how did you get this one? It looks new?”

“A girl gave it to me at the club. I never had the opportunity to wear it.” I swallow hard and the sound hangs in the air.

“It’s fucked up what you did, stealing from me, but I know why you did it, and I’d have done the same.” He pulls me into his lap and brushes my hair back. “It actually makes me like you even more and I didn’t know that was possible,” he says, stroking my neck, exhaling. He puts his watch back on his wrist and looks down at the time. “You look extremely beautiful, and I wish I had the time to unwind these bandages, but we need to go.”

Chapter Eleven

Entering the boxing match arm in arm with Liam was the closest I’d ever get to the scene in Goodfellas when Henry takes out his future wife Karen on their first proper date.

Two folding chairs are quickly positioned in the front row for us. The crowd is thick with gossip and excitement as people make bets and pretend to bob and weave or throw punches.

The stadium was the oldest in Dublin. An arena for bare knuckle fighting had since become the premier ground for the advent of professional boxing, led by Ireland’s saint, Connor McGregor.

The widened eyes and strained expression zeroing in on me were telltale signs that Liam didn’t bring women very often to boxing matches, if ever.

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