Page 125 of Godless Saints

I nodded once. “Declan. And now Ronan.”

Da’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll handle it. Ashbourne way.”

After dinner the house went quiet. That deceptive quiet only old mafia homes know. Ma kissed my cheek. “Don’t stay up too late.” Keira steered Rory upstairs. Lorcan jerked his head toward the study. The heavy oak door clicked shut behind us.

I dropped the folder on the desk. It landed with a dull thud. Lorcan didn’t touch it right away. He poured two glasses of whiskey, slid one toward me, then sat and opened the file.

Page after page. Lorcan’s thumb paused on Seamus Carrick’s name. Then on Moon’s. His jaw tightened. When he hit Sawyer Whitlock’s name, Lorcan set his glass down hard.

“This isn’t great,” he said flatly. “I won’t lie.”

My hands flexed harder. “I need it gone. Every copy. Every scan. Every fucking trace.”

Lorcan leaned back. “Carricks I can handle. They’re loud and stupid.” He tapped the folder once. “But Whitlock? Evan Whitlock’s kid. That family doesn’t dump bodies. They make sure no one ever finds one.”

He shut the folder.

“You start pulling that thread, you might drag half this academy down with it. People we can’t afford to touch right now.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the academy,” I growled. “I care about Moon. I need his name away from Seamus Carrick. That’s it.”

The door opened. Da stepped in. He poured himself a glass and sat.

Lorcan stared at me for a long beat.

“You took a Writ on the boy you decided to keep,” he said. “That wasn’t romance. That was fucking stupid.”

My jaw tightened until it hurt.

“And now you want me to bury the same weapon you agreed to use on him.”

“I’m asking you to protect family.”

Lorcan’s face stayed hard, but something shifted behind his eyes.

He looked at Da. “Will you talk some sense into him?”

“I don’t have time to argue with you,” I said. “I’m flying to New York tomorrow morning.”

Lorcan stared at me.

“Jesus Christ.”

Da took a slow sip. His voice came low.

“Nathaniel Moon won’t be happy you showed up in New York, son. But family comes first. Always has.” Another sip. “If you want him to say yes, don’t go as a boy asking for his son. Walk in as an Ashbourne. Tell Nathaniel Moon that the Ashbourne stands behind House of Moon. He’ll know exactly what that buys him.”

I met his eyes.

Da wasn’t talking about love. He was talking about power.

“Aye.”

CHAPTER 31

CILLIAN

I looked up at the glass tower of House of Moon cutting into the Manhattan sky. Crescent-and-four-point-star logo gleaming silver over black marble. Cold air off the avenue. Every surface screamed control. The same beautiful cage Moon grew up inside.