Page 5 of Sins and Salvation

Cormac looks older, lines around his eyes that weren't there before. He runs the family business now. The business I wanted to burn down.

"Come in. People will want to see you."

"I doubt that."

His mouth tightens. "You're still a Donovan."

That's what I'm afraid of.

Cormac sent me away to save me from either killing my father, or being killed by him.

I take a deep breath and follow my brother through the front door, crossing a threshold I swore I'd never step over again. Our family is dysfunctional at best, homicidal at worst.

Inside, conversations hush as soon as people see me. Eyes turn, they stare, and whisper. I recognize old family associates, distant relatives, men who work for Cormac now. My brothers, the ones that are still alive are all here, my crazy sister is probably hiding—if she showed up at all. Daddy’s little doll.

Finn finds me, pulling me into a hug that hurts my bruised ribs. I hide the wince.

"You look like shit," he says.

"Good to see you too."

A glass of whiskey is shoved into my hand. I drink it like its juice not booze.

The coffin is in the formal living room, surrounded by flowers. I approach it alone, needing this moment without an audience.

Patrick Donovan looks peaceful in death. A lie. The man never knew peace in life. His hands, folded on his chest, once strangled the innocence out of his sons.

"You didn't win," I tell him quietly. "I never became what you wanted."

But looking at my reflection in the coffin's polished wood, I wonder if that's true.

More whiskey. More handshakes. More eyes that judge the prodigal son's return.

I escape to the back garden for air. The night is cool, stars hidden behind clouds. Dublin's lights create a glow on the horizon.

"Declan Donovan. The ghost returns."

I turn to find Ryan Byrne, one of my father's oldest associates.

"Ryan."

"Fighting these days, I hear. Bare knuckle. Barcelona, Paris, London." He examines me with calculating eyes. "Your father kept tabs. You have a reputation for being ruthless."

All these years, thinking I was free, and the old man was watching. I hope he enjoyed the show before he died, the asshole.

"What do you want, Ryan?"

"Just paying my respects." He sips his drink. "Your brother runs things differently than your father did. More... diplomacy, less blood."

"Good for him."

"Is it?" Ryan's eyes narrow. "Some say the Donovan name doesn't command the respect it once did."

I recognize the game. Old guard versus new. Ryan trying to use me against Cormac.

"My brother knows what he's doing."

Ryan shrugs. "We'll see. Word is the Russians are moving in. Testing boundaries." He walks away, leaving his warning hanging in the air.

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