“And it started with Aoife?”
I can only nod.
Saoirse turns her eyes back to the portrait of my sister, undoubtedly trying to figure out how this unassuming young woman could have started a mafia rivalry that has spilled so much blood for so many years.
I find my voice again. “She was only sixteen when she caught the attention of Colm Kinahan. He was the heir to the Kinahan mafia throne. Fifteen years older than she was, but he became obsessed.”
“Sixteen is a child,” Saoirse rasps.
Then she seems to understand the irony of her statement, given the husband she has, and her mouth clamps shut.
“To my parents, she was a child,” I agree. “To Colm Kinahan, she was a woman, ripe for the plucking. He approached my father and asked to marry Aoife and unite our two clans once and for all.”
“Your father turned him down?”
“Actually, my father thought it was a good idea,” I tell her. “It was Aoife who refused. And Da wasn’t about to force her to marry a man she didn’t want to marry. Da tried to sweeten the rejection with money, business deals, and more. But Colm only wanted Aoife.”
“Oh God…” Saoirse breathes.
It doesn’t take a genius to see how this ends.
“So he kidnapped her,” I continue. “He married her under duress and did awful things to her. When Da demanded to speak to her, he was denied. Da finally got his men together. He stormed the Kinahans’ property in order to rescue Aoife.”
“And?” Saoirse asks desperately.
There’s a tremor of hope in her question. As though, somehow, I’ll able to give her a miraculously happy ending for her own story.
“Da killed Colm Kinahan himself,” I answer. “Ma was there, too. She was the one who found Aoife, locked in a room at the top of the Kinahan mansion.”
Saoirse grips my hands even tighter as though she’s finally realized where this is heading.
“They had come hours too late,” I sigh. “Aoife had committed suicide before they’d even breached the gates.”
“Oh, God…”
“The Kinahan clan lost their heir. We lost Aoife.”
“And that’s how the feud started,” Saoirse says softly.
“That’s why the Kinahans decided to ally with Brian Murtagh,” I explain. “They needed a powerful ally to help gain power again. They also needed a figurehead, another heir. Brian Murtagh had one.”
“Until you took him out of the running,” Saoirse says.
“I thought I did. But apparently, the fucker’s hard to kill.”
“It’s true then?” she asks. “He really is alive.”
“It seems that way.”
“Cillian—”
“You don’t have to worry, Saoirse,” I insist, noticing the fear in her eyes. “I will protect you.”
“And who’s gonna protect you, Cillian?” she asks.
I stop short, realizing that the fear in her eyes is not for herself.
It’s for me.