Page 34 of Sins of the Father
By Sunday night, I'll know exactly who Orla Nolan really is and what threat she poses to my family. The woman who invaded our lives seeking justice will face Kavanagh justice in return.
CHAPTER 15
ORLA
Cillian comes up beside me, offering me a glass of wine. "My grandfather built this place forty years ago. No one knew about it except immediate family."
I accept the glass. "No business associates?"
"No. That was the point." He stays close. "This was where we came to be normal. No Kavanagh business allowed."
The house sprawls out across the rocky outcrop with ocean views from every room. I spot security cameras hidden in the interior decor, satellite equipment disguised as part of the architecture, reinforced, bulletproof windows. Even in retreat, the Kavanaghs prepare for the worst.
"Penny for your thoughts," Cillian says.
"Just taking in the view." I taste the wine. "Thank you for bringing me here." I don’t think he understands how much I needed a break, but it’s myself I need a break from most.
His invitation was out of the blue—a weekend away, he’s been very careful about not being alone with me since New York.
We eat dinner overlooking the ocean, seafood Cillian cooked himself. Night wraps around us as conversation flows through bland topics—books, travel, music. Easy subjects that I don’t have to lie about.
After dinner, we move to the great room where Cillian builds a fire. I settle into a leather sofa, wine glass in hand, watching him arrange the logs.
"You build fires like a boy scout," I say.
"Dad taught us some camping skills. Said every man should know how to survive outdoors." Flames rise as he sits beside me. I think about a man like his father teaching his sons how to ‘run and hide’ if they need to. "Though it was more than camping."
"What else?"
Cillian moves closer. "The skills went beyond fishing and fire-building. How to disappear. How to live a life without leaving any trace you exist."
I try look mildly interested while my pulse speeds up.
"Unusual lessons for kids."
He watches the fire. "My childhood wasn't normal. I figured that out young."
"How young?"
He pauses. "I was twelve when Dad took me to a warehouse near the docks. A man was tied to a chair. Dad said he worked for us but he had talked to the pigs."
My fingers tighten around my wine glass.
"I thought we were going to scare him." Cillian stops. "Dad handed his gun to our lieutenant and said, 'Show my son what happens to traitors.'"
My blood turns ice cold in my veins. I think of my father—an accountant who found things he shouldn’t have. A man who believed in honesty, and integrity.
"What happened?" I ask, already knowing.
"The lieutenant shot him in the head." Cillian meets my eyes. "Dad made me watch. Said a Kavanagh needs to understand consequences."
His admission is raw. This powerful man who maintains boundaries with everyone shares his darkest memory with me. A boy forced to watch murder in order to become the man beside me.
"That changed how you see things," I say, putting down my glass.
"It made me see everything." His voice is hard. "I saw my father and our family differently after that day."
"Is that why you want to change things?"
