f*****g i***t. He’s too dumb to last long in this world.
I turn my back on him and walk to the foot of the mansion’s marble staircase. Before I ascend, I’m stopped, frisked and unburdened of all my weapons by a pair of suited goons.
Ronan stands at the top of the stairs, looking up at the ornate gargoyles looming above the entryway. Waiting for me, no doubt, but his back is turned so I can’t see his face.
Does he feel the loss?
He clearly feels something—otherwise, why invite me back to the house?
It gives me a small glimmer of hope, but I’m still cautious. I knew next to nothing about the O’Sullivan clan. Nothing real, in any case.
Cillian had spoken about them in brief, bitter anecdotes. And only when he was very drunk or really pissed. The family portrait he painted was less than
