“Budimir left me lying in the dirt beside Cillian,” I tell him. “He left me to bleed out slowly. He believes I’m dead just like your boy.”
“So you’re nothing but a ghost.”
“I am precisely that,” I admit. “One that is soon going to be unleashed.”
“With my resources?” Ronan says sardonically.
“That is why I’m here,” I say, looking between the handsome couple, wondering how good my chances are.
“This is not about avenging Cillian,” Ronan comments. “This is about taking back what you think is yours.”
“It’s about both.”
“And if I say no?” Ronan asks.
“I’ll walk out of here and find another way,” I say firmly. “And I will find another way. I will be don of the Bratva once more. And Budimir will pay for what he did to your son.”
I stare him in the face. Ronan understands the subtext here. It’s politics at the end of the day, after all.
Wouldn’t you rather make an ally of a Bratva don?
Ronan sighs and steeples his fingers on the table.
“I will consider your request,” he says. “You’ll have an answer tomorrow.”
“I appreciate that, Don O’Sullivan.” I stand, leaving my whiskey untouched, and get ready to depart.
“We have a room you can use tonight,” Sinead says suddenly. She lurches up with me and rests a kind hand on my forearm.
Ronan growls deep in his chest but says nothing. I’m sure he doesn’t like the display of softness.
But Sinead doesn’t give a damn.
I hadn’t expected an invitation to stay. I incline my head with gratitude.
“Thank you,” I say. “But I’ll decline. I have a place in mind for the rest of my trip in Ireland. You can find me at The Free Canary when you’ve made up your mind.”
My mind flashes back to an ancient memory.
“Byrne’s again?” I ask. “We went there twice already this month. That pub is fucking rank.”
“I know,” Cillian laughs.
“So the fuck do you love it so much?” I demanded.
“Reminds me of The Free Canary,” he says softly..
“An Irish institution, huh?”
Cillian snorts. “More like an Irish travesty. It was a shitty little bar wedged in between a better pub and a porn shop. But fuck… that bar was my whole fucking adolescence.”
“Pity I missed it,” I drawl sarcastically.
He ignores me. “Had my first drink in that bar. Fucked my first woman in one of the rooms upstairs. Had my first fight by the cash register. Fell in love in that pub.”
His eyes are dreamy. Distant.
He’s remembering a place he might not see again in this life.