Page 84 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

“This doesn’t make sense,” he said. “These are partial logs.”

I held his gaze. “So fill in the gaps.”

He stopped speaking for a moment. The room felt tighter, even though nothing physically changed. He straightened slightly and looked at me properly now, no leaning back, no ease in his posture.

“Sean,” he said, slower this time, “what are you accusing me of?”

I didn’t answer immediately. I took another sip, set the glass down, then looked back at him. “I’m not accusing you of anything yet. I’m just asking questions.”

The silence after my words didn’t stretch out like before. It tightened instead, like the space between us had closed. Declan leaned back in his chair, but he didn’t look relaxed anymore. He looked like someone adjusting to a change hehadn’t expected. His eyes dropped to the folder, then came back up to mine and stayed there.

The small smile he’d worn when he walked in was still there, but it had lost its ease. It looked forced now, like something held in place.

“You looked at the logs,” he said. I didn’t answer him, he nodded slowly, as if that confirmed something he’d already suspected. “Alright,” he said under his breath.

The room felt different after that. Not because anything moved, but because something between us had been understood without being spoken. Declan’s posture changed slightly, like something inside him had made a decision.

He reached out and tapped the folder once with a finger. “You didn’t find that by accident,” he said.

“No,” I said. He let out a slow breath, almost like a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it.

“Of course you didn’t,” he said. There was no shock in his voice. No attempt to deny anything, just acceptance.

I leaned forward slightly. “That’s all you have to say?”

His head tilted a little as he studied me. “It depends on what you think you have.”

I kept my eyes on him. “You framed Patrick Callahan.” My voice stayed steady as I said it.

For a moment he didn’t respond, but then he nodded once. “Yes,” he said. There was nothing added to it. No need for an explanation or defence, just the answer. I stayed still, watching him.

“Why?” I asked.

He leaned back again, slower this time, like he was settling into the question instead of avoiding it. “That’s the question you want answered?”

“It’s the one I asked,” I said.

He gave a small sound, close to a laugh, but there was nothing light about it. “You think it’s so simple.”

“You made a choice,” I said.

That made him pause. He looked down at his hands for a moment, then back at me.

“You always were like this,” he muttered.

“Answer the question.”

He gave a small nod. “Alright.”He pushed the folder slightly away from him, clearing space on the table. “It wasn’t about Patrick.” That pulled the air tighter again. “It was about everything around him,” he continued. “He was already in a position where it was easier to let things move toward him.” Declan watched me while he spoke, careful and controlled, like he was measuring how much I could take in at once. “I didn’t hurt him. I just changed the way things were going to happen.”

“So he was in the way,” I said.

“He was convenient,” Declan corrected.

That word stayed between us for a moment longer than the rest. Neither of us moved until I spoke again. “What about Maeve?”

He didn’t answer right away, and in that pause there was something unspoken. “How much of this do you want to know?” he asked quietly.

“I want to know everything,” I said.