Page 53 of The Heir's Defiance

"And what? You expect me to shake your hand?" Seamus snaps. He's in pain, but he's biting the hand that saved him. Not a smart move. Ronan could kill him right now and everyone would think it was the Russians. His family would fold into ours and be saved, and we'd be better off because of it.

But I can't let him do that. Nora means too much to me. "No," I say, cutting in and stepping closer. "We expect you to stand down long enough to bury your men… Then we decide how our two families will fight back against Russian interference."

Seamus glares at me, chest heaving. "You think my daughter picked you because she believes in peace?"

"I think she picked me because I didn’t come here to destroy her family," I answer, meeting his stare. "I came to protect it, even when you wouldn’t."

Seamus breathes heavily, his fingers twitching beside the pistol on the floor. His glare bounces between Ronan and me, resentment etched into every line of his face. I tighten my grip on my weapon, even as I lower it slightly. Across from us, my brother Finn enters the doorway and stops, rifle up, waiting for a sign.

Ronan steps in closer. He doesn’t raise his voice or shift posture. He simply lets his presence fill the room, the heat of firelight reflecting off the sweat on his jaw.

"Call it a ceasefire," he says. "Not peace. Not forgiveness. Just a moment to stop dying."

Seamus grunts and his shoulders slump. His eyes flicker to the windows where light from the fire down the hall flickers. His men are dead. His house is half destroyed, and still, he is so hard-hearted about this.

"Ceasefire," he mutters with gravel in his tone.

Ronan doesn’t thank him. He just turns and walks out. We leave the study together. Killian pulls two wounded men out from the side room. I help lift another who’s still breathing. The smoke is everywhere now—black and cloying, crawling through the vents and cracks. Outside, the night glows red.

The front lawn is wrecked. Shell casings glint in the dirt. The fountain’s cracked in two. The faint whir of sirens in the distance grows louder as one by one, the men left standing exit the building. Seamus has a lot of work to cover this one up, but the house fire will do a good job at destroying most of the evidence.

Nora is still in the car when we stumble down the steps. I'm not as much walking as I am leaning on Ronan. Her eyes lock onme the second I step through the doorway. She throws the door open and runs before my feet hit the grass.

"Connor!" she gasps, throwing her arms around me. Her body shudders with sobs. Ronan lowers me to the ground and turns to go back into the burning building, probably for Seamus. "Oh, my God…" she whimpers, lavishing my face in wet kisses, salty with her tears.

I drop onto the top step, gasping for breath. "It’s done," I say.

She looks me over. Blood. Dirt. Burned fabric. Her face crumples, just for a second. "Are you hurt?" she asks, voice tight, and I force a crooked smile.

"No more than I was when we left," I answer, leaning back.

She exhales, still kneeling beside me, her hand pressed lightly to my chest as if to convince herself I’m real. Her forehead rests against mine, just for a breath, just long enough to let some of the panic drain from her limbs.

An ambulance crests the hill at the far end of the lawn. Its lights flash red across the charred remains of the estate. Ronan reappears through the smoke, half-carrying Seamus, whose face is ghostly pale. Blood stains the front of his shirt, his arm draped uselessly at his side.

We both watch as Ronan helps lower him to a stretcher. The paramedics don’t speak much. They move with efficiency, hands practiced, eyes scanning for anyone still salvageable.

Nora doesn’t say anything until they start to wheel her father away.

"Will he live?" she asks in a small voice.

"He took a bullet and lost a lot of blood," I answer. "But the medics got to him in time. He’ll live."

She nods, then looks back toward the burning house.

"Everything’s going to change now," she says.

"Yeah," I say, reaching for her hand. "It has to."

She looks down at our hands for a long moment, then back at the ambulance as it disappears through the gates. Her father is gone now—at least for tonight. The fire still burns behind us, crackling low against the black sky. Somewhere behind the flames, bodies are still being counted and the fire trucks are just starting to arrive.

She turns her gaze back to me. "Do you think they’ll accept it—us?"

I pause. "Ronan already does. He saw you stand between me and a gun. That means more to him than blood."

"And my father?"

"He may never say it," I tell her, "but if he really wanted to stop this, he would have let me die. He might've killed you."

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