Page 49 of Bloody Knuckles

Aoife shifts beside me. "The succession traditions he mentioned at Kilmainham."

My father focuses intently on her. "Perceptive. Your father mentioned your intelligence. How God damned annoying it is."

"My father discussed me with you?" Surprise colors her tone.

"Patrick and I have maintained...communication over the years." A smile toys with his lips. "Know your enemies, and all that."

The admission confirms my suspicions. "You've been working with Patrick Gallagher all along."

"Working with? No." He adjusts his position with practiced dignity. "Maintaining balance. Dublin prospers when power is distributed evenly. No one should have it all. Your kidnapping of Miss Gallagher disrupted that balance."

"Yet you didn't intervene," Aoife notes. "Even knowing where I was. Not one attempt to stop me."

"Intervention proved unnecessary when the outcomes aligned with interests." My father gestures vaguely. "Your captivity accelerated certain... long term plans."

The implications ripple through me. "You wanted me to discover Finn's betrayal."

"I wanted you to grow beyond blind loyalty to family." His tone hardens. "The Donovan-Gallagher feud is outdated, expensive, and counterproductive. Your grandfather's vendetta, your obsession. I indulged it while useful. That time has passed."

"So, you sacrificed Finn," I state flatly. "Your own son."

"Finn sacrificed himself through poor choices." No remorse shadows his words. "As did your brother Liam," he adds to Aoife.

She straightens beside me. "What do you mean?"

"Liam overplayed his position. The arrangement was controlled conflict—not the assassination of Donovan soldiers. Not your kidnapping." My father turns back to me. "Actions have consequences. Liam's choices forced your father's hand, just as Finn's forced yours."

Understanding dawns, cold and crystalline. "Tomorrow's meeting with Patrick Gallagher—you arranged it."

"Suggested the timing, perhaps." My father's non-answer confirms everything. "This city needs stability. The Donovan’s and Gallaghers tearing each other apart benefits only our competitors."

"And what role did you envision for me in this grand design?" Bitterness edges my question.

"Leadership, of course." He speaks as if addressing a slow child. "Once you outgrew your vendetta against the Gallaghers. Once you recognized the value of an alliance over endless bloodshed."

"Alliance." I taste the word, glancing at Aoife. "You couldn't have predicted this."

"Predicted? No." My father's assessment turns calculating. "Hoped for? Perhaps. The Gallagher girl has certain qualities this family needs. Qualities your children might inherit."

Aoife's sharp intake of breath matches my own disgust. "You orchestrated all this—Finn's betrayal, Liam's coup attempt—to arrange a marriage alliance?"

"Orchestrated is too strong. Influenced. Nudged." He shrugs his good shoulder. "The board was set. Pieces moved."

"We're not your chess pieces." Aoife's voice turns glacial. "Not your bloodline savior, or breeding stock."

"My dear, everyone in Dublin is my chess piece. Have been for forty years." No arrogance in the statement—simple cold fact. "The question is whether you'll play the role assigned, or futilely resist the inevitable."

I stand, unable to contain the fury building beneath my skin. "You made Finn betray me. You knew I'd kill him for it."

"You chose how to react." No mercy softens his assessment. "Just as you chose to take Miss Gallagher rather than negotiate with her father. Just as you chose to bring her here tonight. Free will exists, son. I merely set the guardrails so you move in the right direction."

"You made me a monster," I whisper, the realization breaking something loose inside me. "Everything I am—the violence, the control, the inability to trust—you crafted it. Deliberately."

"I made you strong," he corrects. "Capable of leading this family through troubled waters."

"No." I shake my head. "You made me in your image. Cold. Calculating. Willing to sacrifice anyone—even family—for power."

Aoife stands beside me, her hand finding mine. The simple gesture centers me, anchors me against the rage threatening to consume everything.

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