And that’s why I have to do this.
“Glad you came out,” Cillian says. Fynn’s laying in on thick with the limping, unless he hurt himself again. Gavino looks like he’s favoring one side too. I wonder what they’ve been up to. “We can be civilized, can’t we? Solve our differences with words instead of deeds?”
“I’m here to get Mirella back,” Fynn says, stopping short of Cillian. “That’s all I want.” He’s staring at me over Cillian’s shoulder, his eyes like burning embers. I release a soft whimper at the thought of kissing him and holding him one last time.
“Then you’re in luck. I have the girl and her mother, and I’m willing to trade them both for certain promises. Territory, a little money, some concessions in who can deal what drugs, that sort of thing. All very dull and simple.”
“Whatever you want,” Fynn says, and his voice sounds monotonous. Like this is killing him. “But let me see her first.”
I want to scream. I hate this so much it makes me sick.
“She’s right there. Look away.” Cillian gestures back at me.
“Closer. I want to make sure she’s okay. I want to hear it from her lips.”
Cillian snaps at me and waves. “Mirella. Come here.”
I take a deep breath and glance back at my mom. “I love you,” I whisper.
“Mirella,” she hisses. “Whatever you’re going to do—”
I walk forward before she can finish that and destroy my last nerve. I’m hanging on by a thread, but this is my chance. I won’t get another, and if I fuck it up, I’m screwed. I’m totally fucking screwed.
I slip the knife I stole from Ronan out of my front pocket and palm it.
Cillian doesn’t look at me. He’s watching Fynn, and Fynn’s watching me, and I’m looking between the two men. One I hate, the other I love. How did I end up here? I get closer, twenty paces, ten. I let the knife drop into my hand. It’s not that sharp, but it’ll be sharp enough. All I have to do is plunge it into Cillian’s throat as hard as I can and this is over. I’ll die in the process—his men will light me up—but it’ll be worth it.
Eight paces, five paces. I’m close now and Fynn’s staring at me. He glances down and frowns—and he spots the knife. I grip it tighter and I look at him and I hope he can read my expression.
I love you.
Cillian half turns to glare at me as I lunge forward.
Chapter 32
Fynn
She’s got a fucking knife.
Oh, god damn it.
I knew Mirella was a fighter. I knew it the moment we met. She’s a beast, a banshee, a killer with a heart of gold. I love that about her, but right now she’s making a goddamn mistake.
She thinks this is the end of the line for her.
I watch her grip the knife tighter. She gives me a look—so damn sad and filled with longing, and I’m sure she loves me, surer than I’ve ever been—before she looks away.
Cillian turns to tell her to hurry up.
That’s when I motion for Nico.
The thing about this club is the ceiling’s high and there are metal beams crisscrossing up in the shadows. It was once a warehouse, and during the nineties it got converted into a club space. The Somalis bought it a few years back, but all those old industrial hiding places are still around. Cillian thinks this place is neutral ground—and he’s right, to some extent, but this is my fucking town and I know it like the back of my hand.
Something round and dark and sparking drops from the ceiling and hits the dance floor as Mirella lunges forward. Cillian curses and the smoke grenade goes off, bouncing off the floor as it pours a shocking amount of thick black gas. I throw my cane away and pull my gun, dropping to one knee, just as Mirella slams into Cillian and tries to stab her knife into his throat.
Cillian catches her wrist with a grunt. She manages to cut his collarbone but he throws her back, and just as he opens his mouth to tell his men to start shooting, I pull the trigger.
Cillian’s face explodes in a shower of blood and gore, drenching Mirella.
More smoke grenades drop. In the chaos, nobody knows what’s happened yet. Cillian’s dead, and his men are looking around, his father completely bewildered and shouting through the gloom. The room’s filling up fast, reducing visibility to a foot or two. Gavino’s yelling orders at the men as they yank gas masks over their faces. I sprint forward and bash a fist into Ronan O’Shea’s face, knocking the old man down and bloodying his teeth, before I grab Mirella and pull her into my arms. I try to drag her away, but she stops me, digging her fingers into my arm. “Mom!” she screams.