“I think,” I said, “that I might know her better than they do.”
“Well, then,” Tristan replied. “It seems like you finally have this figured out.”
I shrugged. “About time, right?”
“If you’d told us sooner, we wouldn’t have made this so hard on you.”
“You’d have made it harder,” I said.
“Yes, well. You’ll have to forgive us for being protective. You’re still our brother.”
“Damn it, Tristan,” I said, and I could feel the exhaustion leave my body. “How many times did you think about just getting rid of her?”
“A few,” he replied. “But now I know she’s my niece’s mother, right? So I probably shouldn’t kill her. But if you fuck this up, then it might end up ruining your life, too.”
I smiled tightly. "That's never stopped you before."
Tristan gave me a long, hard look. "You're still keeping something from me. I know you, Kieran. I know exactly when you're holding back and why, and you should know better by now. Tell me what you're planning, or figure out a will in advance."
I didn’t flinch.
He wanted to see panic. I gave him silence.
Tristan stepped closer, enough that I could see the faint scar under his right eye—the one he got in Belfast and never talked about. “You think I won’t find out?” he said quietly. “You think Liam won’t slip, or that Ivanov won’t crack when I finally lean on him?”“I’m not planning anything,” I said, which was only half a lie. “Not yet.”
“Wrong answer,” Tristan murmured. “Because the only thing worse than scheming behind my back is waiting until after the explosion to say you saw the match.”
“I’m not lighting anything.”
“No, you’re just standing in the kitchen, staring at the fuse,” he snapped.
Liam shifted beside us, uncomfortable. “Maybe this isn’t the time—”
“This is exactly the time,” Tristan said, eyes still on me. “Because I need to know if my brother is about to throw his entire life into the fucking woodchipper over a woman who already has one foot in a federal building.”
“I’m not throwing anything,” I said. “I’m protecting what’s mine.”
“She’s not yours,” Tristan said. “Not in any way that matters. She’s not your wife. Not your ally. Not your guarantee. She’s a wild card. And you know what wild cards do to empire stability? They burn the whole deck.”
“I don’t care.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow.
“I’m telling you now,” I said, and my voice didn’t shake. “If you make me choose between Rosie and the family, I will walk.”
“There is no choosing,” Tristan said. “There’s no walking. We’re your family, Kieran. You don’t get to cut and run.”
A gust of wind blew across the lot, sharp and biting. He stepped in closer, his tone quieter now, but colder. More dangerous.
“You think you’re the only one who cares what happens to them?” he said. “She’s got your blood in her veins. That makes her ours. Ruby too, whether she likes it or not. You think I’m going to let some prosecutor with a martyr complex raise a Callahan daughter without protection?”
My hands curled into fists.
“You don’t get to make that call,” I said.
Tristan just smiled—something dark and wolfish and final. “We’re already making it.”
He looked at Liam, then back to me.
