Page 39 of Oblivion
“When is it happening?” Tristan asked at the same time.
“What date is it today?” I looked at him.
“Uh,” he mumbled and pulled out his phone. “It’s June 2nd.”
“Ah, fuck.” I stood up and pulled out my phone. “The wedding is tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” they both asked at the same time.
“Yes,” I murmured, typing a message. “Tomorrow.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Cillian seethed. “For a world-class killer, you are a mess.”
“Well, excuse me if it slipped my mind. But between trying to find whoever this Belladonna person is, worrying about Storm and trying not to get killed, his wedding completely slipped my mind.”
I left the kitchen and entered the living room that was just on the opposite side. I needed a dress, and I needed to RSVP as fast as possible.
“What are you doing?” Cillian asked as soon as he entered the room.
“Getting a dress, Kill.” I looked at him. “What size tuxedo do you wear?” I asked him.
He narrowed his eyes on me, distrust evident on his face. “Why?”
“Because I can’t go alone, and I can’t go with Storm. It’s going to be all lovey-dovey, and it will look as if the Cupid himself puked all over the place, and I can’t—”
“Did you not hear what I said earlier?” He scowled. “You are not going.”
“The hell I’m not,” I retorted. “This is a perfect opportunity to talk to him and to get him on our side. If I try to get to him later, I might not succeed.”
“Ophelia.” Cillian exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. “As of today, you are officially dead. Hell, the news reported it as well. Don’t you think it’s idiotic to go to the wedding, in the middle of the day, showing your face like that?”
He did have a point. I knew he had a point, but Italians were as much against The Syndicate and the Outfit as we were. They didn’t work with the Albanians, and they definitely didn’t work with Storm.
“Kill, I need to do this. This is the perfect opportunity.”
“God fucking dammit, Birdy,” he murmured and stood up from his chair, pacing the length of the kitchen. “I burned down that cabin for you, for us, so that you wouldn’t need to live in fear of getting found. So that we could get all these things in order before you actually revealed that you were alive. Going to this wedding is suicide.”
“Then it’ll be my suicide, and not yours,” I growled. “I don’t need your permission, Cillian. I don’t need anyone’s permission to do whatever the hell I want.”
“I’m not letting you kill yourself, Ophelia,” he glowered. “We will find a different way. You’re not going to that wedding.”
“Cillian,” I murmured. “I am going. You can’t stop me.”
Silence ensued, our heavy breathing filling the space of the kitchen, while Tristan looked from Cillian to me.
“Brother,” Tristan said. “Maybe she does have a point. Maybe it would be the—”
“No.” Cillian shook his head. “You know as well as I do that this wouldn’t give us what we needed. This would only put us out there for everyone to see. Who knows if the Italians have moles who are working for Belladonna or one of these other parties. This plan won’t work.”
Maybe he had a point. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this, but goddammit, I couldn’t miss this opportunity. Besides, I wanted to see my friend. I wanted to see that happiness was possible even in this line of work.
I walked toward Cillian who was glaring at me as if he would strangle me any minute now. And maybe he would, but he had to understand that I would do this even if he didn’t agree with it. The only catch was—I wanted him to agree.
“Kill,” I murmured, pulling his arm toward me, and entwining our fingers together. “You know I have always loved you more than I have loved my own brother.” Tristan chuckled at that. “But I don’t need a guardian or someone to tell me what I can and can’t do. I need your support and your help.”
Minutes passed, both of us suspended in time, looking at each other, breathing slowly, when his eyes suddenly softened, relenting finally.
“Okay, okay, okay,” he started and came closer to me. “I’ll go with you. But for fuck’s sake, you gotta start telling me these things sooner.”
