All eyes turn toward my mother, who has maneuvered herself between Seamus and Kiernan. Marianne’s mouth falls open, her face paling, and her eyes go wide as she gapes at the ghost before her.
“That’s…” Marianne stutters, her hand loosening its hold on my hair. “You’re…”
“Dead?” my mother finishes. “One would think so after the damage you did.” My mother flicks the cane in her hand, twirling it in a circle. “With this.”
Where the fuck did my mother get that? In her hand, she’s holding a silver crossed cane. The lacquer on the wood is peeling, and the cross is bent at an odd angle.
“Jesus,” I whisper under my breath.
“I’ve never seen that before.” Her left eye twitches at the lie. My mother raises a brow in disbelief.
“Really?” she mocks. “You don’t remember the tool you used to nearly beat me to death all those years ago? How odd.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that,” Marianne insists. “I was here. Working the bar.”
Liam shakes his head. “Except you weren’t,” he says. “You should know by now how thorough I am with keeping track of things, Marianne. No one saw you during the lunch rush. In fact, no one saw you until closing.”
“My timecard…” She trails off helplessly.
“You mean the one you had Eduardo clock you in with?”
Marianne visibly swallows as fear shines in her eyes. “You don’t understand.”
“Understand what?” my mother asks calmly. “That you took everything I ever loved away from me? Do you know what Elias did to me, Marianne? Night after night, day after day, and that was before he found me half dead in my own house just feet away from my daughter’s hiding place.”
“You didn’t deserve what you had,” Marianne snarls. “You were nothing more than a spoiled Irish princess with a silver spoon in her fucking mouth. Did you ever think about what I went through growing up? What they did to me?” She shakes her head wildly. “No, of course you didn’t. Too busy fucking Liam in your ivory tower.”
“I didn’t even know you existed, Marianne,” my mother tells her softly. “Not until you sold me out to Elias for the second time. You were never a thought in my mind until the day we met when we were thirteen and became my best friends.”
Marianne scoffs. “Please.” Her lips twist into a cruel snarl. “We were never best friends, and you know it. You didn’t give a fuck about what was happening in my life.”
“I did,” my mother assures her. “If you had only told me before I became suspicious myself, then maybe it wouldn’t have come to this. I had always felt like something was missing in my life, and when you came along, I felt like that hole was filled. I just didn’t know why. But you burned that bridge when you conspired to have me killed. Fuck, it hadn’t crossed my mind that you would have betrayed me like that, but now I can see the whole picture.”
“And what are you going to do about it?” Marianne derides with a sneer. “Kill me? Liam won’t let you do that. I’m the mother of his children.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Kiernan mutters and glares at Seamus, who elbows him in the side.
“No, Marianne,” my mother sighs. “I wouldn’t take away their mother like you tried to Ava’s away from hers, but you will be going away for a very long time.”
“You see,” Liam steps forward, “the Irish clan council has been informed of the treachery within the McDonough clan, and they are less than pleased.”
“Pfft,” Marianne dismisses. “The clan has no say in what goes on here.” Liam shakes his head, eyes full of sorrow and regret.
“If you had bothered to pay attention to more than just your phone and vendetta,” he tells her, “you would have known that every Irish clan answers to the council. They are the ones who ensure we don’t fight among ourselves or repeat the sins of the past.”
“Murdering my father—” My mother’s hand tightens on the cane she’s holding. “Putting someone else in his place. Selling women and children. Those are things the council frowns upon. You will all be held accountable.”
“He wasn’t even your father.”
“He was to me,” mother breathes sadly. “And that is all that matters.”
The hand that had loosened on my hair tightens again, pulling me back into Marianne’s chest. She begins walking us backward toward the kitchen doors, the gun in her hand moving from my temple to my mother.
“If you think for one second that I am going to allow you to take me in like some kind of criminal,” she hisses, “you’re wrong. I told you this once already,sister,” she spits out the word as if it were something bitter coating her tongue. “I’m a goddess, and they named me Hera.”
Movement catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. A sharp scream tears through my throat as I watch Marianne’s finger tighten on the trigger. I don’t need to think about what I do next. The moment I see her finger tighten on the trigger, I slam my head as hard as I can into the hand holding the revolver.
The shot meant for my mother goes wide, the bullet landing somewhere in the far wall.