Those eyes are so blue. So desperate.
“It was an ambush,” I explain. “I was surrounded. A dozen men against me, maybe more. I was about to die and Cillian jumped into the fray.”
“He knew he would die,” Sinead guesses.
“Yes. As I said, he was loyal to a fault.”
“The only question is: were you worth his loyalty? Were you worth his life?” Ronan asks.
I shake my head. “I’m not,” I reply without hesitation. “Cillian was a better man than I am. But he was a man without a country, without a woman, and without children. His only family was me. That is why he did what he did.”
I can see unshed tears in Sinead’s eyes, but she blinks them back and gets a hold of herself in a matter of seconds.
I see clearly why a man like Ronan would choose a wife like her.
More to the point, I see how a man like Cillian came from a woman like her.
She doesn’t fear her feelings. They make her strong.
Cillian understood that better than I ever have.
“That’s all very well,” Ronan says. “But it doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
This is it.
Time to plead my case.
I take a slow breath. Then I tell them the truth, unvarnished and bare.
“I’m here to avenge your son’s death.”
“And you took a flight to Ireland just to tell us that?” Ronan scowls.
“I need resources.”
Ronan throws up his hands in dismay. “As I suspected. You’re just a fucking beggar.”
He turns to Sinead and I see the silent conversation the two are having.
When he turns back to me, his eyes are wiped clean of emotion once more.
“Who is the man who pulled the trigger?” Ronan asks.
“Budimir Kovalyov.” I can’t put off the revelation any longer.
“What?” Sinead says in alarm, leaning into her seat.
“My uncle.”
“Your uncle killed my son?” Sinead asks slowly.
“He also killed my father,” I tell them. “He took control of the Bratva, robbed me of my birthright, and tried to kill me and everyone loyal to me.”
“And yet here you sit,” Ronan says.
He leaves the rest unsaid, but I hear him loud and clear.
Here you sit—while my son is dead.