Donnacha and Cillian exchanged a look. Liam had the decency to contain his smile, though Maeve caught the subtle stiffening of his shoulders.
“You’ll have to bear with him, Mr. Riley,” Cillian said. Out of the three men, he was the one who spoke less. “Liam has no business with your wife in that manner. It’s just the way he shows his excitement.”
“And he seems particularly excited tonight,” Donnacha added, sending a glance Liam’s way.
The sickening feeling in Maeve’s stomach intensified. Everything about this meeting felt off, yet she bit down on her nerves in a futile attempt to contain them.
A second later, a door burst open, and the mood in the bar shifted as her father walked in with two bodyguards flanking him on either side. He was the same tattooed bald man she had known all her life, and he was grinning at them—more at her than Fedya—as he took a seat in the space the three men had created just for him.
The sight of him conjured so many dark memories she’d buried deep and long ago. And if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he washappyto see her.
“Well, well,” Cormac started, his voice like a clap of thunder in the bar. “Don’t we all just love a family reunion?”
Maeve’s spine straightened on the chair. “Glad to see you were able to spare some time to show up in a meeting thatyouarranged.”
Her father didn’t flinch or scold her for the tone she used with him. His eyes briefly darted to her hand interlaced with Fedya’s on her thigh, and she quickly withdrew her fingers, not wanting to give him the impression that they’d developed an actual bond. That would ruin things right now, especially since he believed she was doing what he asked.
“I’ve missed you dearly,A stor,” he said, his eyes moving to Fedya. “You’ve done a fine job looking after my daughter, Jonathan.”
“As is my responsibility as her husband,” Fedya responded with a polite tilt of his head. He was playing his role as flawlessly as ever, but Maeve could feel it in her guts, in the subtle clench of his fingers around her thigh. He didn’t trust as meeting as much as she did. And she didn’t trust it at all.
“Margot,” Maeve said, shifting his focus back to her. “You promised me you’d keep her alive. How is she?”
“Has she told you about Margot?” Cormac asked, moving back to Fedya. “It doesn’t seem like she has. Your wife was only six years old when her mother died. Lydia was unlucky to have died the way she did, her skull smashed by a tire after trying to flee an ambush caused by a few men whose toes I’d stepped on.”
Maeve bristled in her seat, anger coiling deep inside her.
Cormac leaned in, his eyes alight as he continued, “Margot, however, has been playing Lydia’s role in her life since then. It’s why she’s so attached to my staff. It’s a little sickening, really, that she loves this woman more than she loves me.”
“Mom was unfortunate, yes,” Maeve spat through gritted teeth. “Unfortunate that she married a selfish bastard who did nothing to protect her.”
“Easy, little Maeve,” Liam smiled across the table. “That’s no way to speak to your father. Especially not in front of your husband.”
“Marriage gives you wings, I suppose,” Cormac smiled, shaking his head like she was just another spoiled child.
If Maeve didn’t shut her mouth, things would escalate and become ugly. Fortunately, Fedya was smart enough not to step on Cormac’s toes the way she did.
“You’ll have to forgive her,” Fedya—Jonathan—smiled, shaking his head. “She says things she doesn’t mean when she gets angry.”
Cormac nodded in agreement. “That sounds like my daughter indeed.”
To Maeve, he said, “Margot is alive and well. Inevergo back on my promises,A stor. You should do well to remember that.”
Maeve was going to vomit.
Her skin prickled with the dozens of eyes that were centered on both of them. She stood abruptly, her features twisted in a grimace.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she muttered as she left the booth.
Fedya straightened, as if to follow. “I’ll come with you.”
“No.” She waved him off, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
His hesitance was clear as day, but he nodded anyway, his eyes never leaving her as she disappeared from view. Perhaps that was the only sense of comfort she felt since she walked into this godforsaken bar.
She walked briskly towards the hallway, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she turned the corner to the corridor that led to the bathroom.
It was déjà vu all over again. The last time she’d been here, she was spilling her guts out after witnessing Fedya—then, Jonathan—supposedly killing a man whom she only found out two days ago wasn’t even dead.
