Chapter 8 - The Brother Who Died
Declan Riley was supposed to be dead.
Cormac had watched his car sink into the Chicago River twenty-nine years earlier.
No body was recovered.
Everyone assumed the river kept it.
They were wrong.
Declan had survived.
And disappeared.
“Why?” June asked.
Cormac sat in her apartment above the diner.
Rain struck the windows.
“Because he betrayed my father.”
“How?”
“He was working with federal investigators.”
June absorbed that.
“So the brother everyone thought was a traitor might actually have been trying to escape the family.”
Cormac's eyes sharpened.
“You make it sound noble.”
“Was it?”
“I don't know.”
That answer mattered.
The younger Cormac would have chosen certainty.
The man sitting across from her had learned uncertainty could be honest.
Agent Ramirez discovered the truth two days later.
Declan had lived under another identity for decades.
He had returned after learning Mercer had been arrested.
More importantly, he'd been financing Doyle.
Not because he loved crime.
Because he hated Cormac.
Declan blamed their father, their organization, and ultimately Cormac for destroying his life.
And Maeve?
Declan had known Doyle ordered her murder.
He had done nothing.
That revelation broke something in Cormac.
June found him behind the diner late that night.
He stood beneath the fire escape staring at the alley.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“He could have warned her.”
June didn't offer false comfort.
“Yes.”
Cormac's eyes glistened.
“I wasted seven years blaming myself.”
“You did blame yourself.”
“I should have protected her.”
June stepped closer.
“You loved her.”
“That didn't protect her.”
“No. Love isn't armor.”
Cormac looked at her.
“Then what good is it?”
June thought of Ray.
His secrets.
His mistakes.
His final letter.
She thought of her own anger.
And the impossible fact that she still loved parts of the man who had lied to her.
“Love doesn't guarantee anybody survives,” she said. “It makes surviving them mean something.”
Cormac closed his eyes.
June wrapped her arms around him.
For once, he allowed someone else to hold him.
Declan contacted them the next morning.
He wanted a meeting.
At Holloway's Diner.
Of course.
June almost admired the dramatic instinct.
At midnight, Declan entered alone.
He looked like Cormac aged through different weather.
Same gray eyes.
Same shoulders.
But bitterness had hollowed his face.
“So,” Declan said, looking at June, “you're the widow.”
June poured coffee.
“And you're the dead brother.”
Declan laughed.
“I like her.”
Cormac didn't.
“Why kill Doyle?”
“He was becoming inconvenient.”
“You helped him kill Maeve.”
Declan's smile vanished.
“No.”
“You knew.”
“I learned afterward.”
“You still protected him.”
“Because destroying you mattered more.”
Cormac went silent.
Declan leaned forward.
“You became our father.”
“No.”
“You became worse.”
“Maybe.”
Declan looked surprised.
Cormac continued.
“That's why I'm ending it.”
“What?”
“The organization.”
Declan laughed.
“You can't end something like this.”
“I've transferred legitimate companies into independent trusts. Illegal operations are being dismantled. Evidence is already with federal prosecutors.”
Declan stood.
“You'd destroy our family?”
“Our family destroyed itself.”
Declan reached inside his coat.
June saw the gun.
Cormac did too.
Everything happened at once.
Cormac moved in front of June.
Declan aimed.
June grabbed the coffee pot.
Then the diner filled with red and blue light.
Federal agents surrounded the building.
Declan looked through the windows.
“You set me up.”
Cormac shook his head.
“No.”
Declan looked at June.
She raised her hand.
“I did.”
Cormac stared at her.
June shrugged.
“No lies, remember? I told Ramirez everything.”
Declan laughed bitterly.
Then he raised his gun.
Not toward Cormac.
Toward himself.
Cormac moved faster.
He knocked the weapon aside.
Declan hit the floor.
Agents rushed in.
Cormac held his brother down until the cuffs clicked.
Declan stared at him.
“Why didn't you let me do it?”
Cormac's voice broke.
“Because I'm tired of burying my family.”
Declan was taken away.
Cormac remained on his knees.
June approached.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
She sat on the floor beside him.
For several minutes, they said nothing.
Then Cormac looked around.
“Your diner attracts an unreasonable amount of crime.”
June leaned against his shoulder.
“It didn't until you showed up.”
“Fair.”
“I'm considering charging you extra.”
“For what?”
“Coffee. Emotional distress. Bullet holes.”
Cormac smiled.
Then he took her hand.
“What about weddings?”
June froze.
“What?”
“I hear diners sometimes cater weddings.”
“Whose wedding?”
Cormac looked at her.
June's mouth fell open.
“Cormac Riley, if this is your proposal—”
“It isn't.”
“Good.”
“I had something considerably more dignified planned.”
“Thank God.”
“Tomorrow night.”
June blinked.
“You already planned it?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“You were that confident?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Cormac lifted her hand and kissed it.
May you like
“Hope.”
For once, June Holloway had absolutely nothing sarcastic to say.
