Cillian
The soldiers part and the man in charges steps forward. Unlike the others, his face is unmasked and his eyes are triumphant as he glances at each of us.
“Ronan O’Sullivan. Sinead O’Sullivan,” he says. “You’re under arrest.”
“On what grounds?” I snap.
Da rises slowly to his feet. His expression betrays nothing.
“Corruption, racketeering charges, manslaughter… the list goes on,” the man chuckles. “We’d be here all night if I listed them in their entirety.”
Then he nods to his men.
“Take them in.”
Given the fact that I’m unarmed and outnumbered, I have no choice but to stand there and watch as both my parents have handcuffs snapped onto their wrists.
It has the appearance of a lawful arrest, but even I can recognize the stink of Kinahan influence.
There’s nothing “by the book” about this.
I notice Da’s gaze fall to Kian. Something passes between them, but I’m left in the dark.
Of course I am. They’ve had over a decade to develop a shorthand communication.
“Let’s move out,” the leader orders.
All this shit is happening far too fast and far too easily. I wait for someone to say something.
For my father to fight back.
For my mother to turn to me.
For Kian to at least look outraged, for fuck’s sake.
But none of that happens. The whole damn thing is so unbearably composed that it feels like I’ve wandered onto the set of a movie where everyone except for me knows what the fuck is going on.
“You can’t fucking do this!” I yell into the black void.
Because apparently, I’m the only one here who can still use his voice.
“Stop.”
My head swivels in the direction of my father. He’s staring at me as if I’m a stranger. A stranger who’s decided to darken his doorstep at the worst possible time.
“Keep your mouth shut,” he adds without an ounce of emotion.
Then he allows himself to be walked out of the room, two men at his sides clutching his elbows and a third jabbing a shotgun into the small of his back.
Ma is taken out after him, leaving only Kian and me behind, along with two soldiers hanging back from the rest.
Both of them are masked, but there’s a menace in their air that’s hard to miss.
“So… which one of you is Cillian O’Sullivan?” the shorter one asks.
I’m about to tell him exactly who the fuck I am, when Kian speaks up first.
“I am,” he growls with so much confidence that I can only stand there and gawk at him.