Page 104 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

I looked at him for a long moment. Then I spoke again, quieter this time. “And he accepted that.”

Father Michael didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

I didn’t speak for a while after that. There was no point in adding more words. Father Michael still sat in the chair, but something about him had changed. The calm he always carried was still there, but it looked thinner now, like it was stretched over something that didn’t fully hold it anymore.

Maeve stayed quiet beside me. I could tell she was still taking it all in. My eyes went back to the file on the table.

Everything inside it now made sense. Nothing was random anymore. Every name, every record, every gap pointed in the same direction. I closed the file slowly.

I kept my voice steady because I had to. I looked at Father Michael again. “You weren’t ever really our ally,” I said. “You were building power for yourself.”

He didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

I leaned back in the chair, keeping my hands on the table. My thoughts stayed sharp, but something colder had settled in them now. This wasn’t a mistake that had spread too far. It was a system that had been designed to work against me from the start.

I glanced at Maeve. She looked like she’d just realized there was no way out of what she was seeing. I understood that feeling. I looked back at Father Michael.

Patrick hadn’t been the traitor. He’d been used. Maeve had been threatened. Declan had betrayed me.

Anton had used their treachery when it suited him. I gave a small nod to myself as everything locked into place. I stood up slowly.

There was no need to rush. There were no missing pieces left to chase. Only one truth stretched across everything I’d built my life on, and now it was time to accept it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Maeve

I didn’t move for a while. Sean stood up, but I stayed seated. It felt like if I moved too quickly, something inside me would break. Father Michael was still there, still sitting, still breathing like he belonged in the room.

I didn’t look at him anymore. My focus went elsewhere.

I used to think I understood my father. Even when I disagreed with him, I thought he was simple in a way I could trust. Solid and clear.

That feeling was gone. I looked down at my hands on the table. They felt too still, like they didn’t know what to do with what I’d just learned.

My father didn’t just take the blame. He’d accepted it to keep me safe. My throat tightened, but I didn’t cry.

It didn’t feel like that kind of pain. It felt sharper, like something had been removed and I was only now noticing what it had been holding in place.

I’d been used to keep my father silent. Used to hold the story in place.

I closed my eyes for a moment. My father had chosen survival by choosing silence. And I’d been part of what made that silence necessary.

My fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the table. It wasn’t loud anger. It was more contained. I opened my eyes again, but I didn’t look at Father Michael.

I looked at Sean. There was something different in him too, something he wasn’t letting show. Something colder than words.

I stood up slowly, not because I was ready, but because staying still felt worse. I stepped forward before Sean couldspeak. “I want answers,” I said. My voice was steady, but it didn’t feel calm.

Father Michael looked at me like he was still trying to find a way out of this.

“Why did you do it?” I asked. “Why my father? Why that deal? Why everything?” My hands curled slightly at my sides. “And don’t lie to me,” I added.

Sean stayed behind me, silent. I could feel him there, but this was my moment. Father Michael exhaled slowly. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he spoke.

“Maeve—”

“No,” I cut in. “Don’t say my name. Just answer me.”