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“I hope you’re right,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
For the next hour, Ciarán and Cathal expertly install the remaining security measures while I do what little I can to help, which is holding a chair steady and mundane tasks given to me so that I’m not pacing like a caged tiger. I know they’re including me to distract me, but fuck if it’s not working.
By the time we’re done, the apartment feels like a fortress. Cold, unyielding, and impenetrable.
“Done,” Cathal announces with satisfaction, stepping back to survey our handiwork. “No one’s getting in here without us knowing about it.”
“Good,” I say, trying to sound confident even as my heart continues to race. “Now about that christening.”
28
SUMMER
“Remember, Summer,” Ciarán says later, his voice low and commanding, “stay inside and don’t open the door for anyone. We’ll be back soon.”
“Be careful,” I murmur, my heart swelling with concern for them.
Cathal reaches out and squeezes my hand, his touch providing some reassurance. “Always,” he replies, kissing my forehead before they both head out, leaving me alone in the new secure safe house apartment.
The silence that follows is almost oppressive, a stark contrast to the near-constant activity I’ve grown used to since becoming part of their lives. As I pace the living room, anxiety gnaws at my insides, urging me to do something—anything—rather than wait helplessly.
A sudden knock at the door shatters the quiet, and I freeze, my heart hammering so hard, I feel it in my head. Remembering Cathal and Ciarán’s warning not to open the door for anyone, I hesitate, torn between curiosity and caution.
Taking a deep breath, I approach the door and check the set up for the doorbell camera. My blood runs cold at the sight of the man on the screen; the same man I’d seen at the warehouse meeting last week, the man who looks unsettlingly like my supposedly dead father.
“Shit,” I whisper, wringing my hands, my thoughts racing as I try to make sense of the situation. What could he possibly want from me? How did he find me? The questions pile up, but there’s only one way to get answers and the brothers are going to fucking kill me.
My fingers hover over the lock, my resolve wavering for a moment before I make a decision. With a determined exhale, I unlock the door and pull it open with the chain still on, ready to confront this stranger who has haunted my thoughts since that day at the warehouse.
“Who the hell are you?” I demand, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound strong. “And don’t you dare fucking say, ‘Your dad’.”
The man who looks like my father regards me with a mixture of sadness and caution.
“Summer, it is me. Your father,” he mumbles.
My heart stutters.
Impossible.
It can’t be him.
He’s supposed to be dead, regardless of what that fucking Ronny said. Yet here he stands, looking exactly as I remember him, only twenty years older.
“Cut the crap,” I spit out. “My father is dead, and I don’t have time for whatever the fuck this is.”
“Summer, please,” he pleads, his eyes filled with pain. “I know how hard this must be for you to accept, but I’m telling you the truth. Your mother and I faked our deaths to protect you.”
“Protect me?” I shout, anger coursing through me, as I shut the door and yank the chain off, hurting my hand in the process before I swing the door wide open. “You left me with your fucking bitch sister! She made my life a living hell, and you call that protection?”
He flinches at my words, guilt flashing across his face. Before he can respond, I notice Ronny standing behind him, looking uneasy.
“Can we talk inside?” my dad asks.
“No.”
“Summer, I’m sorry,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. I’ve been working undercover in the Manchester mafia, trying to bring them down from the inside,” he whispers. “Ronny is your uncle, he works for--“
“I know who he works for.” I snap. “Or used to. Ciarán ispissedat you.” I point a finger at him like a child.
