Chapter 3 - THE TRAITOR IN THE ROOM
Cian stared at the photograph of the little boy. The gray eyes looking back at him were a ghost from his past. They were his mother’s eyes. They were his own eyes.
"Where is your son right now?" Cian asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"With a babysitter," Maeve choked out. "But Sienna’s men are watching the apartment. She cornered me in the kitchen. She said I had to stand there and watch you eat it, or my little boy wouldn't wake up tomorrow."
Sienna laughed. It was a jagged, ugly sound that shattered her refined magazine-cover image. She wiped the pasta sauce from her cheek, her eyes turning vicious. "You actually believe this trash, Cian? She’s a nobody!"
"She’s a mother," Cian said flatly. He slipped the photo into his breast pocket. "And you are a liar. Julian Russo sent you."
Sienna’s face twisted. "Julian promised me the waterfront once you were gone. You never loved me, Cian. I was just a trophy to you."
Cian turned to his second-in-command, a broad-shouldered man named Declan who had stood by his family for fifteen years. "Take her to the basement. Call our men at the docks. We’re tearing Russo’s operation apart tonight."
Declan stepped forward. He pulled his weapon from his shoulder holster.
But he didn't aim it at Sienna.
He aimed it directly at Cian’s chest.
"I can't do that, boss," Declan said, his voice heavy with fake regret.
The guests screamed. Chairs scraped violently against the mahogany floor as forty innocent people realized they were trapped in a coup. The other three bodyguards drew their weapons—but they aimed at Cian, too.
Maeve’s heart slammed against her ribs. She had exposed the bride, but she had walked right into a larger trap.
"Declan," Cian said, not moving a muscle. "You’ve been with my family since I was a boy."
"That’s the problem," Declan spat. "You run this city too quietly, Cian. There’s no money in peace. Julian Russo offered me double to help the girl slip the poison in your food." Declan glanced at Maeve with pure disgust. "The plan was perfect. Until this little rat got involved."
Sienna moved to stand behind Declan, a triumphant smirk on her face. "Kill them both. Send someone to finish the waitress’s kid."
Maeve’s blood ran cold. Leo.
Declan’s finger tightened on the trigger. "Goodbye, Cian."
Before the gun could fire, Maeve kicked the heavy silver ice bucket off the service station. It crashed to the floor, sending ice and freezing water over Declan’s expensive shoes.
In that split second of distraction, Cian moved. He flipped the heavy dining table upward. Crystal shattered. Wood splintered. Bullets tore into the mahogany as the table became a barricade.
"Kitchen!" Cian yelled, grabbing Maeve’s hand.
They scrambled backward as bullets rained around them. Maeve slammed through the swinging metal doors of the kitchen, Cian right behind her.
Cian locked the deadbolt, but they both knew it wouldn't hold for long.
He leaned against the stainless-steel counter, breathing hard. Then, he looked at Maeve.
"Your son," Cian said, his eyes locking onto hers. "What is his name?"
"Leo," Maeve cried. "We have to get to him!"
Cian pulled the crumpled photograph from his pocket again, staring at the boy’s face under the harsh fluorescent kitchen lights. "Maeve... who is his father?"
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Maeve pressed her back against the walk-in freezer. "His name was Tommy. Tommy Callaway."
Cian dropped the photograph. "Tommy was my little brother."
