Page 46 of Sins of the Father

The apartment shrinks with his presence. Gone is the polished businessman from the office. This man looks dangerous. Predatory.

"What do you want, Cillian?"

His eyes scan the evidence spread across my table, the whiskey bottle, the gun I still hold.

"Truth," he says. "Everything."

I set the gun down but keep it within reach. "Which truth? There are so many."

He moves closer, and I see the war in his eyes. Anger and desire. Betrayal and need. The same conflict tearing me apart.

"Start with your father," he says.

I point to the crime scene photo. "Thomas Nolan. Accountant. Father. Murder victim."

He picks up the photograph, studies it. "You found him."

"Seventeen years old. Came home from debate practice." My voice cracks despite my control. "He was supposed to help me with calculus that night."

Cillian sets the photo down carefully. "Tell me about Collins."

I pull out the financial records, spread them across the table. "Two million stolen over three years. My father discovered the discrepancies. Collins couldn't let him report it."

"So he used Eamon."

"Your brother thought he was protecting your family. Collins fed him lies about Dad planning to expose everything to authorities."

Cillian studies the documents. "You have proof of this?"

"Account numbers. Transfer dates. Communication logs." I meet his eyes. "Your brother pulled the trigger, but Collins gave the order."

He straightens, decision made. "I need those files."

"They're copies. Originals are somewhere safe."

"Smart." He moves around the table toward me. "Collins called you tonight."

Not a question. "Yes."

"What did he want?"

"To kill me before I testify."

Cillian's face hardens. "He won't touch you."

"Why?" I challenge. "I'm your enemy. I infiltrated your life, your family. Why protect me?"

He stops inches away, close enough that I smell his cologne. The same scent that clung to my skin after New York.

"Because despite everything," he says quietly, "you're mine now."

The words hang between us, loaded with promise and threat. My pulse races beneath his stare.

"I destroyed any trust between us," I say.

"Yes." He reaches out, fingers grazing my cheek. "But you're still mine."

My phone buzzes on the table. Another unknown number.

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