Page 95 of Iron Crown

That was when we saw our little man.

It was like Eoghan and I were reanimated, and the two of us ran down the marble veranda steps, across the manicured lawn, just in time for Aoibheann to help our son down from the door.

“Cillian!” I yelled over the rotors hushing as they slowed their rhythm.

“Mama!” he said, his arms up, his hands closing and opening into tiny fists like he was holding a squishy ball in his palms—the toddler sign language for wanting uppies. “Dada!”

I picked him up as Eoghan slammed into us, his massive arms wrapping around both of us, and squeezing us together.

“I love you,” I whispered as I buried my nose into our son’s hair.

Eoghan pulled away, just a little, his hands cupping the back of mine and Cillian’s heads, as he stared at the two of us, his eyes full of… something. Regret, maybe? I wasn’t sure.

“Eoghan?” I whined, looking at him for the comfort I was so used to always receiving from him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, love,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Nothing at all.”

I frowned, agitated that he wouldn’t tell me more. “Talk to me!”

I had to shout the words to be heard, but then blushed, realizing that Aoibheann and Jericho looked our way, side-eyeing us as if they were about to see a fight.

“I’m just looking at my family, love. Trying to memorize everything.”

And still, there was an undercurrent of pain in his voice that I detested. It stabbed at me. Itscaredme. Like he was about to disappear at any moment. It felt like the ache of a thousand small cuts ripping into me all at once, and I had no way to stop it.

I looked at Aoibheann, who looked at me with absolute sympathy—she feltsorryfor me, and I did not know why.

All I knew was that his tone, his eyes, his face, and everything about his demeanor felt like a long and painful goodbye.

Chapter thirty-three

He’s Talking to Dairo

Eoghan

“What’s eating you, cousin?” Dairo said, his finger lightly tracing the rim of his martini glass.

I ignored his question, downing my absinthe, as we both smoked cigarettes, facing the open window. We were holed up in my office, smoking and drinking. Hiding from everyone else on a sleepless night.

His twins were asleep upstairs with Rose, and my own son was in bed, curled into my wife’s side. We’d both come out of our rooms within minutes of each other, and didn’t exchange a single word, as we quietly walked down the steps to my office, shutting the door behind us as we brought out our drinks.

“What’s eating you, cousin?” I said back.

Dairo let out an aggrieved sigh.

“I can’t make Rose happy.” What more could be said after that?

I nodded, unsure of how the two of us came to be in this situation. What in the world had happened to lead us down such similar paths? And why was the world intent on shattering us into two?

“I can’t make Kira happy.”

All I could see was the terrified little girl under the desk. Little Giovanna Morelli Durante. I imagined Cillian in her place, and wanted to stab myself in the heart.

This was no life for a child. I had forgotten that when I brought my wife home. I had selfishly just needed her in my house, chasing away the ghosts of the past, bringing her light into my hollow world. It could have easily been my son, terrified, hiding under a table, as armed men threatened to slaughter him like a Romanov heir.

I had forgotten that this was no life for children, because Dairo, Shiny, and I had ceased to be children long ago. We’d had to grow up too fast, and become adults too soon. The stakes were too high, and they damaged us irreparably.

Dairo snorted and let out a sad, humorless laugh before he finished his glass, then made himself another.

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