Page 63 of Then We Shatter

“If we do find any of them in Boston, Lorcan stays back until we have the situation under control,” I insist. I’d reluctantly agreed to him being part of the team we’re meeting tomorrow, but we need to be realistic. “The chances of him being triggered are too high, and the last thing we need is to be fighting him as well as our enemies.”

“But he gets the privilege of watching the light go out of Diego’s eyes,” my brother insists. He won’t simply agree to my order, but that’s Malachy.

“If we can make it happen, we will.”

“Which leaves Tomas for us to fight over.” Malachy says, swirling his whiskey around his glass.

I break the seal on the unopened bottle. “And then we grieve.”

“Then we grieve.”

It takes another shot of whiskey before I consider what life might look like when I’m not fueled by hate or passion. Empty comes to mind. Desolate. Bereft. Lost. And all those other words poets pluck from a thesaurus to describe a broken heart.

Malachy is watching me with an intensity I don’t much like. “Were there tears?”

“Sorry?” I reply, acting like my heart hasn’t just clenched at the memory of Katarina’s face when I’d opened the stall door. I need a moment to prepare.

My brother doesn’t play along. “Did you say goodbye?” he asks. “Can you say goodbye?”

I refill my glass. “Yes, and yes.”

“And you’re ready to publicly shame Katarina so Duke calls off the wedding? You’re happy for her to be sent back to her uncle to face the consequences?”

I tip my head to the side. “Do I look fucking happy?” I lick my lips, but Katarina’s kiss has vanished and all I taste is whiskey. “But rest assured the wedding isn’t going to happen. I can guarantee you that.”

“Shit,” Malachy mutters under his breath. “You’re planning something else, aren’t you? Something that’ll stop her being sent back to Russia.”

“Oh, fuck off, Mal,” I say, too drunk to come up with a better reply.

His jaw works. “Whatever it is, you’re going to start a war.”

“I’m not starting anything,” I say, my words laced with self-loathing because I wanted to start something with Katarina so fucking much. But instead, I’m letting her go. “I’m just the prick who’s going to stand by and let everyone else decide our fate.” My eyes glaze over. “Standing back and letting Ash take her from me. Without a fight. Because she’s a Barkov. And no one ever fights for Katarina. She told me that.”

Malachy goes still. “Why would Ash be taking her anywhere?”

Ah, bollocks. I wasn’t supposed to say that.

I drain my glass. It had to come out sooner or later. “That’s the end game. The Griffins are faking her death and she’s going to disappear on her wedding day,” I explain. “So don’t you worry your little head about wars or Barkov brides. And please for the love of God, don’t give me shit right now about not telling Dad. Katarina’s leaving.” I choke on a breath. “And I’m letting her go.”

I tense my fingers around my empty glass, ready to launch it at Malachy, but he doesn’t berate me for once. What he does is much worse. So much fucking worse.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. Yes, softly.

I barely trust myself to respond. If this fucker is nice to me, this dam I’m building around my heart might just break. “And what would you be sorry for?”

“For reasons I cannot begin to fathom, you liked her. And if you weren’t who you are, and she wasn’t who she is, even a cold-hearted bastard like me could see you’d make a right pair of… idiots.”

And that, Ladies and Gentleman, was the moment my fate was cast.

Chapter 23

Killian

We track two armored vehicles weaving through the darkened streets to an abandoned factory complex on the outskirts of Boston. There are no lights visible from the seemingly disused warehouse they drive up to, but Ignacio has been amassing recruits and three of his men are inside. Not quite an army yet, and if all goes well tonight, it never will be.

We’ve been staking out this particular pit of desolation for eight days now, splitting our men into two shifts, with Malachy and I taking charge of one each. Keeping away from him suits me fine. He’s the only one who knows why I’m being even less talkative than Lorcan.

For the last week, I’ve been lost in my own thoughts. I shouldn’t have looked up the translation of the term of endearment Katarina used on me. She’s pretty much guaranteed my heart will never be whole again.