When Kings Fall (The O’Sullivan’s Brides #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Diarmuid

THE AIR INSIDE St. Gertrude’s smells new like the carpets have just been replaced. Of course, they had to be. The blood soaked deep into the fibers when Victor was killed, spilling across the sanctuary like a curse. I can still remember the sound—the wet thud of his body hitting the ground, the way his blood soaked into the old carpet, and the silence that followed. That silence was louder than any gunshot or scream. Now, as I stand here, in this sanctuary that feels too clean, too fresh, I can’t shake the memory away. I glance over my shoulder as if I can see my brothers again, with guns in their hands, ready to die with me if necessary. Only we all had walked away. With Victor dying on the floor in front of us, no one seemed to know what to do, and having one of my brother’s running for president held more power than I had known at the time.

Everything looks the same, yet it doesn’t. The faces are different, unfamiliar. Even the walls seem sterile like they’ve scrubbed away more than just blood—they’ve scrubbed away the history, the sins. The sins of men like me.

I glance around at the people milling about, and the murmurs of conversation fill the space, but it feels distant. All of it feels distant. This place, with its freshly cleaned surfaces and the hollow warmth of its new fixtures, isn’t where I thought I’d be. And yet, here I am. Back at St. Gertrude’s. A King among many.

I move toward one of the pews, and for a moment, I hesitate. Selene is sitting there, her back straight, her head tilted slightly as she watches the people around her. Her hand is resting on her stomach, the gentle curve of her belly just beginning to show. The sight makes something inside me twist. She’s planning a wedding—our wedding. She’s racing against the clock, trying to beat the inevitable swell of her pregnancy before the big day arrives. Every day, her belly grows a little more, and every day, the weight of it presses down on me.

She’s glowing, more radiant than I’ve ever seen her, and yet... yet I know she feels it too. The tension in the air. The unspoken fear that lurks just beneath the surface. I’ve told her everything is fine—that we’re safe. But until I know who the next leader is, I can’t guarantee that.

The Hands of Kings should’ve retaliated by now. There should have been blood. I expected blood. Instead, there’s been nothing but quiet. Too quiet. It’s as if we’re all standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the ground to give way beneath us.

My eyes flick back to Selene, her fingers absently tracing circles on her stomach. I can’t let her see the unease that gnaws at me. Not here. Not now.

I’ll return to her soon. Once I’ve satisfied this gnawing curiosity.

I turn away, moving down the hallway toward Victor’s old office. I don’t know why I’m here. St. Gertrude’s hasn’t felt like mine since Victor died. I’ve done everything I can to distance myself from this place, from the weight of the past. But when I heard that Victor’s replacement had finally been chosen, something pulled me back. It’s not my concern—not anymore. But I had to know. I had to see for myself who had taken his place.

It’s strange, coming back here. The church was a cog in Victor’s machine, one of many. He ran his empire like a clock, with every cog, every gear moving in precise harmony. I was one of those cogs. A piece of his grand design. Now, without him, it feels like the machine is falling apart. But I know better. I know that someone is behind the scenes, keeping it running, making sure everything stays in place. That’s what worries me.

Victor wouldn’t have left the church vulnerable. Whoever filled his shoes would have to be powerful, ruthless. I’m not involved enough in the inner workings of the Hands to know how this person was chosen, or who chose him, but I need to know who’s pulling the strings now.

I push open the door to Victor’s old office, expecting to see some faceless lackey, another pawn in the game. But the sight that greets me stops me cold.

Isaac.

He’s sitting behind the desk, his hands folded neatly in front of him, a faint smile playing on his lips. For a moment, I just stand there, blinking, as if I’ve walked into a dream. Seeing Issac here may seem like a blessing since he most likely will be the one to punish me for killing Victor.

"Diarmuid," he says, his voice smooth, familiar. "I was wondering when you’d find your way back here."

I take a step inside, closing the door behind me. My mind races to catch up. Isaac? Isaac is the new priest?

"You’re the one who took Victor’s place?" I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. I feel the memories pulling me under, forcing me back to those days when Victor and Andrew had been my judges, my tormentors, now Issac would take their place.

He leans back in the chair, his eyes glinting with amusement. "It seems you’re surprised."

I force my expression to stay neutral, even as my heart pounds in my chest. "Surprised isn’t the word I’d use." I’m trying to make sense of Isaac sitting here, this is good, I remind myself, but then why is my heart thumping wildly in my chest?

Isaac laughs, a soft, almost mocking sound. "Ah, Diarmuid. You always were hard to surprise."

I take a step closer, my eyes narrowing. "How did this happen? How are you sitting behind that desk?"

He shrugs, his smile never faltering. "I was the logical choice. Victor’s death left a void, and someone had to fill it."

"And that someone is you?" I ask, my voice hardening.

The man who had helped me save a boy, the man who also had whispered into Selene’s ear, about the boy, at the time I had thought it was fear for Selene, trying to get her away from me, but now it all seems so calculated since he is now Victor’s replacement.

Isaac tilts his head, studying me. "You sound skeptical."

"Victor wouldn’t have chosen you," I say flatly. "Not you." This doesn’t make sense.

Isaac’s smile widens, but there’s something predatory about it now. "You underestimate me, Diarmuid. Victor’s death created an opportunity, and I was in the right place at the right time."

The right place.

“I’ve been around for a long time,” Issac says, with no expression on his face. “I remember how they talked about the torture of a young boy, how Victor and Andrew molded him into a monster.”

The blood sinks to my shoes. He’s speaking about me. He’s been aware of me all this time, listening, plotting?

“So when I heard Andrew O’Sullivan died, Victor called me to help find out who did it.” Issac smiles. “You did.”

“You shared that knowledge with Victor?” I ask, it all is clicking into place.

“No,” Issac says.

"And you expect me to believe that?" I ask, my voice low.

He stands, moving around the desk until he’s standing in front of me, his eyes locked on mine. "You don’t have to believe it. But, telling Victor would only get you killed and that was not what I wanted.”

I feel my jaw tighten, the weight of his words sinking in. "What did you want, Isaac?"

He smiles again, that same cold, calculating smile. "I want what’s always been mine. Control."

"Control of what?" I ask, my pulse quickening, but I already know the answer. He wanted Victor out of the picture and knew I would be the one to do it.

"Everything," he says simply. "The Hands, the church, the O’Sullivans... you."

I take a step back, my mind racing. This isn’t just about replacing Victor. Isaac’s playing a much bigger game, and I’m one of the pieces on his board.

"You think you can control me?" I ask, my voice low and dangerous.

Isaac chuckles softly. "I already do, Diarmuid. You just don’t realize it yet."

I clench my fists at my sides, resisting the urge to lash out. He’s baiting me, trying to get a reaction. But I won’t give him the satisfaction. Not yet.

"You’ve been watching me," I say slowly, piecing it together. "Manipulating things."

"Of course," he says with a shrug. "Your refusal to kill Brien Cahill showed me everything I needed to know. You’re not loyal to anyone but yourself."

My breath catches in my throat. The test. It was all a test. Isaac had orchestrated the situation, knowing I would hesitate, knowing I’d fail.

Isaac’s smile sharpens as if he can read the question on my face. "Oh yes, Diarmuid. I know all about your little... moral dilemma. It was a test, you know. One that you failed spectacularly. That knowledge I did share with Victor and of course he was furious."

I stare at him, my mind reeling. This was all a game to him. A test. And I played right into his hands.

"You thought sparing a child made you righteous," he continues, his voice dripping with condescension. "But all it did was show me where your loyalties truly lie."

"And where is that?" I ask, my voice cold.

"With yourself," he says simply. "You didn’t kill Cahill because you thought it would make you a better man. But it just made you weak."

The room feels smaller, the walls closing in. I can feel my pulse throbbing in my temples, the blood rushing in my ears. Selene, Niamh, Brien—they were all part of this. Isaac watched me, studied me, and pushed the pieces into place.

"You’re wrong," I say through gritted teeth. "I didn’t kill Cahill because it was the right thing to do."

Isaac’s eyes gleam with amusement. "Right and wrong are irrelevant in our world, Diarmuid. It’s about power. Control. And now, thanks to your little act of defiance, I know that Victor was wrong about you. He thought you could be trusted, but I see you for what you really are."

I stare at him, the weight of his words pressing down on me. He’s not just challenging my loyalty—he’s challenging my entire existence. Everything I’ve built, everything I’ve fought for, is crumbling beneath me.

"And what now?" I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. "What do you want from me?"

Isaac steps closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "I want you to remember your place. You may think you’re free, Diarmuid, but you’re not. You never were. I will wave away any consequences of you killing Victor, I mean, after all, you did me a favor." He grins.

I swallow hard, my mind racing. Isaac has been pulling the strings all along, manipulating everything. I was never in control. Not really.

"But don’t worry," he says softly, his voice soothing now. "You’ll have a place in the new order. I’ll make sure of it."

I force myself to hold his gaze, to keep my expression neutral. But inside, I’m seething. Isaac may think he’s won, but he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know what I’m capable of.

"Welcome to the new era," Isaac says with a smile. "You’ll be seeing a lot more of me."

“I have one more question,” I say.

Issac nods for me to proceed. “Sophie Hughes, you put her on Andrew’s grave, didn’t you?”

His smile widens. “I had someone do it for me, but yes, I ordered it.”

Dread pools in my stomach. I would never have suspected him.

“The boy?” I start but I don’t finish. I can’t.

“Collateral damage in all of this, it happens.”

I feel sick.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and walk out of the office, my mind swirling with rage and confusion. He thinks he’s won. He thinks he’s in control.

But he’s wrong.

I make my way back to the sanctuary, my heart pounding in my chest. Selene is still sitting in the pew, her eyes following me as I approach. I sit beside her, my hand covering hers over the growing life between us. She looks at me, a question in her eyes, but I say nothing.

The organ music begins, and the congregation rises. Isaac steps to the front, his eyes sweeping over the crowd, his presence commanding. For a moment, I feel the weight of it all—the pressure, the danger, the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

Victor was right. There are worse monsters out there.

But Isaac doesn’t realize that I’m one of them.

I rise, keeping a hold on Selene. I knew this would never be easy; this is the world I was born into. I’m still a King among men, and I’ll use that to my advantage. But, for now, Victor is gone, Niamh and Amira are happy, and I have everything right beside me. I squeeze Selene’s hand, and she glances at me with a small smile playing on her lips.

Perfection.

THE END