Dirty Delivery (Bound & Delivered #1)

Chapter Sixteen

Rylan

The moment Declan’s name flashes on my phone, I know it’s not good news. My brother isn’t exactly the chatty type, and he only calls when something needs handling—immediately.

“What now?” I answer, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“My source informed me that the Castillos found Vinny’s phone. And guess what they saw?”

My stomach drops, but I keep my tone even. “What source and what did they see?”

“I’ve had one of our guys posing as an initiate into the Famiglia to feed us intel over the last few months. He told me they saw messages from your girl. Inviting him over to her house.”

I clench my jaw, cursing silently. “She didn’t know who he was, Declan.”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re casing her place now, hoping she’ll show up. They’re not subtle about it, either. I’ve got eyes on them, but you’ve got to keep her locked down. If they get their hands on her . . .”

“They won’t. She’s staying here. She’s not going anywhere.”

Declan’s silence says more than words ever could. Finally, he exhales sharply. “Good. Just make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ve got it handled,” I say, ending the call before he can argue.

As I pocket my phone, I glance around the kitchen. The counter is a disaster zone, littered with crumbs, half-empty glasses, and the remnants of what looks like an attempt at breakfast. Savannah’s handiwork, no doubt.

She’s been acting like a brat since we got back, refusing to leave her room except to eat. And when she does venture out, she leaves a mess so catastrophic it’s like she’s trying to prove a point.

“Mr. Doyle,” Noreen’s sharp voice pulls me from my thoughts. She stands in the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression one of pure disapproval.

“Noreen,” I greet her, already bracing myself for whatever chaos she’s about to stir. Her sharp eyes sweep over me, searching for something to critique, as tension prickles in the air..

“I’ve been keeping this house in order for years,” she begins, her Irish lilt growing sharper with every word. “And never—not once—have I had to deal with such . . . chaos. That girl is testing my patience, and if you don’t fix it, I’ll do it myself.”

I rub the back of my neck, biting back a laugh.

“She’s . . . adjusting.”

“Adjusting?” she repeats, her brows arching. “She’s acting like a spoiled child. Clean up her mess, Mr. Doyle. Or better yet, make her do it.”

Noreen storms off, muttering under her breath, and I’m left staring at the disaster Savannah left behind. Something has to give.

Savannah

The knock on my door is sharp and unrelenting.

“What?” I yell, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice.

Rylan steps inside without waiting for an invitation. His broad frame fills the doorway. He’s calm—too calm—and that’s never a good sign.

“Get up,” he commands.

“No thanks. I’m good here.” Rolling my eyes at his attempt to demand me into doing something.

“Savannah, I’m not asking.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did my refusal to cater to your every whim hurt your feelings?”

He doesn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he strides across the room, grabs my wrist, and pulls me to my feet before I can protest.

“Hey! What is your problem?” I try and fail to pull away from his grasp.

“My problem is that you’re acting like a child. You want to throw tantrums? Fine. But you’re going to learn that actions have consequences.”

“Oh, so now you’re the consequence police?”

He smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “If that’s what it takes to get through to you, then yeah.”

Before I can argue, he spins me around and pushes me gently but firmly toward the bed. My heart pounds as I realize he’s not just angry—he’s determined. And I have no idea what that means for me.