Page 47 of The Endless Want

I snort. “I’m not looking for advice on my love life.”

He blinks at me slowly. “Love life? Just how far into denial are you?”

“Deep enough to ignore that question.”

“Uh-huh. Well, while you’re ignoring reality, the Russians are making moves on the northern docks again. Maybe try thinking about that instead of whatever you’ve been brooding over.”

But that’s the problem. I have been thinking about that. Constantly. There’s a hardened instinct inside me that won’t quiet—the sense that we are missing something obvious, that the Russians are baiting us, that every quiet hour is a noose tightening. And Ailish… she’s the kind of target you pick if you want to destabilize an entire syndicate from the inside out.

She’s smart, visible, strategic, and she gets under everyone’s skin—Liam’s in the old days, mine now, and half the lieutenants who’ve ever been foolish enough to underestimate her.

“Security is getting adjusted,” I say flatly. “I have men running sweeps every six hours. Italians have the perimeter. Russians aren’t getting through.”

Conor lets out a breath. “That’s not what I meant.”

And I know it. I know what he’s implying, and I resent him for being right. Because the truth is I’ve been running every scenario in my head—every outcome, every weakness, every point where I might lose control over this situation—and she is in every one of those calculations, whether I want her to be or not. It’s maddening.

Later that afternoon, when I still can’t focus, when even the weight of a gun on my hip feels like clutter instead of grounding, I find myself driving out to Liam’s compound like some idiot moth pulled to a flame that’s already burned him once.

I tell myself it’s strategy. I tell myself it’s about verifying the Italian and Irish guard rotations.

It’s none of those things. It’s her.

The house is busier than usual. Italians are stationed in the hallways. Liam’s men stand scattered along the staircases. Liam’s men stand scattered along the staircases. A hum of tension is thick enough to taste, and in a room near the end of the corridor, I hear her voice—low, focused, issuing instructions like she was born doing it.

When I step inside, she looks up sharply. Her eyes widen, then narrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking security protocols,” I lie.

“Funny, because Ronan already did that this morning.”

“Then I’m double-checking.”

“You mean you’re avoiding your own work.”

She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t have to. Every clipped syllable hits like a thrown knife. I cross my arms. “I don’t answer to you.”

“No,” she says, “you just show up unannounced, bark orders at everyone, and glare at the walls like they personally offended you.”

The room empties around us—quietly, efficiently—because even the new recruits know better than to get caught between us. Ailish stands from the desk, shoulders straight, eyes bright with heat. “Why are you really here, Declan?”

“I told you.”

“Coward,” she snaps.

The word cuts sharper than it should. I take a step toward her. She doesn’t back up. She never does.

“You handed me off in a parking lot,” she says, voice tight. “You looked at Mackenzie and said ‘she’s yours,’ like I was a set of keys. And then nothing. Weeks of nothing. If you think you get to walk into my workspace and pretend you don’t owe me anything, think again.”

I should walk away. If I had an ounce of good sense left in me, I would. But hearing her say coward sends something dark snaking through my veins, something possessive and reckless and starved.

I crowd her back toward the desk. She presses her palms to the edge, keeping distance between us. “Don’t,” she warns.

But I’ve already leaned in, breath brushing her cheek. “You think you know what I owe you?”

“I think you’re hiding,” she whispers. “From me. From yourself. From everything you felt that night.”

My hand finds her jaw before I can stop myself, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. And despite every reason not to, despite the war, the Russians, Liam, the danger, the goddamn guarantees that this will only wreck us both—I kiss her.