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I searched for Ronan O’Connor, but the results were surprisingly limited. There were references to the O’Connor family, several old articles about organized crime in Boston, and a handful of mentions of businesses connected to the family, but very little about Ronan himself.

There were no recent photographs, no interviews, and almost nothing that told me what the man actually looked like or what he did.

That bothered me. People like that usually left footprints everywhere. I searched again, this time adding my father’s name and the year of the fire, and the results became more interesting. My father’s name appeared in several old articles, although most of them were buried beneath pages of unrelated information.

One article mentioned an investigation into financial irregularities involving several Boston businesses, while another referred vaguely to suspected connections between local businessmen and organized crime.

When I saw the O’Connor name again, I leaned closer to the screen. The article was fifteen years old, and the reference was buried near the bottom, almost as though whoever had written it had considered it too insignificant to deserve more attention. My father’s company had apparently conducted business with an entity connected to the O’Connor organization.

My stomach turned. I read the paragraph three times before closing the browser. I needed help. There was one person I knew who would tell me exactly how stupid this was, and I called her anyway. Leigh answered on the fourth ring.

“Girl, I need a favor.”

“You sound like someone about to make a terrible decision.”

I smiled despite myself. “I need you to put me in contact with your hacker friend.”

There was a long pause. “Sofia.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. Whatever you’re looking into, if you’re calling me for Elias, then this isn’t some harmless podcast research.”

“I found something. This is different.” Her silence told me she was thinking about it, and when she finally spoke, her voice had lost its teasing edge.

“What did you find?”

“The name Ronan O’Connor. The name appears in connection with my father’s business, and I think it may have something to do with the fire.”

“You’re investigating the O’Connor family? Were they involved in killing your parents?”

“I don’t know who killed them.”

“And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

There was an unnaturally long pause. She gave me Elias’s number after making me promise that I wouldn’t contact or confront anyone I found in the records.

I promised, although we both knew promises had never been my strongest quality. Elias answered almost an hour later, sounding suspicious from the first word, and after I explained what I needed, he agreed to look through archived financial records and databases that were no longer publicly accessible.

Then he said, “Send me the dates.”

I did. When the phone cut, I felt as though I was finally pulling on the thread that might lead me back to the truth.

***

I was still standing behind the counter when my phone buzzed. I pulled it from my pocket and felt my heart jump when I saw Ronnie’s name on the screen. I stared at it for a moment before answering, annoyed that he’d managed to make me nervous without even saying a word.

“Hi. Who is this?” I teased.

“You didn’t save my number?” he asked, with mock-hurt in his voice. “That breaks my heart, Sofia.”

I couldn’t help the laughter that escaped me. “I’m working, so this is technically a bad time to call, Ronnie.”

There was a brief silence before I heard him laugh softly. “Do you have any plans tonight?”

I glanced around the kitchen, then at the clock on the wall. “I finish at six, although I should probably warn you that I’ll smell like a kitchen.”

He laughed again. “I don’t mind.”