His Possession (Mafia Masters #2)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

MAEVE

M aeve fled to her studio, where she kept her extra clothing. Quickly, she washed herself as best she could in the sink. Leaning against the counter, she tried to regain her composure… what had she done?

Her mobile rang, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was Sabella.

“The gallery… oh my god Maeve. Someone broke in and they’ve vandalized the place,” Sabella said without preamble. “It’s not just the building, it’s the artwork—a lot of it yours.”

“If you haven’t already, call the cops. I’m at my studio. I’ll be there as quickly as I can be.”

When she arrived, the gallery smelled of destruction. Paint, plaster dust, and the sharp tang of metal filled Maeve’s lungs as she stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the wreckage before her. Her heart sank as she stepped inside, her heels crunching over shards of glass that glittered like broken stars under the lights. It wasn’t just vandalism—it was a message.

Her newest sculpture, a twisting piece of wrought iron and bronze that had taken months to create, lay in jagged fragments on the floor. Something ripped apart the carefully welded seams, scattering the pieces like a dismembered corpse. Maeve’s chest tightened as she knelt, her hands hovering over the largest chunk of the sculpture.

The hands she had so meticulously forged—bound but reaching, defiant—were now severed, their story obliterated. A hollow ache settled in her chest, mingling with anger that burned hotter with every passing second.

“Maeve?” Sabella’s voice came from behind her, hesitant and soft.

Maeve stood, brushing her palms on her jeans as she turned to face her best friend. Sabella’s eyes darted nervously around the gallery, her fingers clutching her phone like a lifeline.

“Have you called the police?” Maeve asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Sabella flinched. “Not yet. I wasn’t sure if—if it would help.” She hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the shattered windows. “Maeve, this wasn’t random.”

“No kidding,” Maeve said bitterly, gesturing toward the destruction. “Who would even do this?”

Sabella stepped closer, lowering her voice. “The Kellehers. Or someone working for them.”

Maeve froze, the name like a slap to her already raw nerves. She’d heard enough about the Kellehers over the years to know they weren’t people you wanted to cross. Her heart thudded painfully as she thought about what this meant.

“Why would they come after me?” she asked, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to stay calm. “I’m not part of this.”

“The entire city is gossiping about you and Rory…” Sabella said, her expression grim.

“There is no me and Rory,” Maeve lied.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. If people believe—especially his enemies—that makes you a target.”

The truth of it settled like ice in Maeve’s veins. She had never wanted to be pulled into the syndicate’s wars, but it seemed her budding connection to Rory had erased any chance of staying out of it. Her gaze drifted back to the wreckage of her sculptures, the anger building again. She didn’t want to be a victim—she’d fought too hard to let herself become one.

The sharp sound of a car door slamming outside made both women jump. A moment later, Rory strode through the gallery’s broken entrance, his dark eyes scanning the damage with a cold, calculating fury that sent a shiver down Maeve’s spine. He didn’t need to say anything to command the room—his presence alone was enough.

“Sabella,” he said curtly, his gaze briefly flicking to her before returning to Maeve. “Leave us.”

Sabella glanced at Maeve, uncertainty in her eyes, but Maeve gave her a small nod. “It’s fine. Go.”

Once they were alone, Rory stepped closer, his polished shoes crunching over the debris. The controlled menace in his movements was both terrifying and reassuring, a promise that he would make someone pay for this.

His gaze landed on Maeve, his voice low but firm. “Are you hurt?”

Maeve shook her head, though the tightness in her chest made it hard to speak. “No. I was with you when it happened.”

Rory nodded once, his eyes narrowing as he turned to take in the destruction again. His jaw clenched, the veins in his neck taut with the effort of holding back whatever storm brewed inside him.

“This was a message to me, to the O’Neill Syndicate,” he said, his tone like steel. “The Kellehers want us to know they’re willing to cross lines.”

Maeve crossed her arms, trying to mask the tremble in her hands. “Why me? Why my work?”

“Because they think you matter to me,” Rory said bluntly, his gaze cutting to hers. “And they’re right.”

The raw honesty in his voice made her belly flip, though she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or something deeper. Rory wasn’t a man who minced words and hearing him claim her like that was both thrilling and terrifying.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

As Rory stepped closer, his broad frame towering over her, and he reached out to gently cup her chin. The contrast between his cold fury and the tenderness in his touch left her breathless.

“What I do best,” he said, his tone deadly calm. “Handle it.”

Maeve swallowed hard, her cougar instincts stirring as she held his gaze. She could see the angry turmoil in his eyes, the tightly leashed power simmering just beneath the surface. He was dangerous—more dangerous than she’d ever fully grasped—but she also knew he’d stop at nothing to protect her.

“Rory,” she began, but he cut her off.

“No,” he said firmly, his thumb brushing her cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture. “You don’t need to worry about this. Let me take care of it.”

Her lips parted, a thousand protests bubbling to the surface, but none of them came out. She wanted to tell him she could handle herself, that she didn’t need him to fight her battles. But she needed him. The danger she was facing wasn’t something she could handle alone.

“I don’t want to be a liability,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady.

“You’re not,” Rory said, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made her pulse race. “You’re my priority.”

The words sent a thrill through her, even as they filled her with unease. She wasn’t used to being someone’s priority— not like this. But with Rory, it didn’t feel like a choice. It felt inevitable.

As he turned to inspect the damage again, Maeve watched him with a mix of fear and fascination. His controlled movements, the way his mind seemed to work ten steps ahead of everyone else—it was enthralling. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that being close to him would come at a cost.

Rory pulled out his phone, his voice clipped as he gave orders to someone on the other end. The conversation was terse, efficient, and when he ended the call, his expression was unreadable.

“I have men on their way to secure the gallery and your studio. I’m assigning someone to watch over Sabella,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

Maeve blinked, startled by his assumption. “Rory, I can’t just?—”

“You can, and you will,” he said, cutting her off. “This isn’t up for discussion, Maeve. If they’re willing to do this, they’re willing to escalate. I won’t take chances with your safety.”

The finality in his voice left no room for protest. Maeve exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting to the broken sculpture at her feet. She hated the idea of relying on him, hated feeling like a pawn in a game she didn’t want to play. But as much as it grated against her pride, she knew he was right.

“Fine,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rory stepped closer, his hand brushing hers as he looked down at her. The intensity in his eyes made her breath catch, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her again. But he simply nodded.

“Good,” he said, his voice low. “Now let me take care of the rest.”

As he turned to leave, Maeve felt the full significance of what she’d just agreed to settle over her. Being with Rory wasn’t just dangerous—it was consuming. And she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

But as she followed him out of the gallery, the flickering image of her shattered sculpture burned into her mind, Maeve couldn’t deny the truth: she wanted to see what would happen next, even if it destroyed her.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the sleek, modern interior of Rory’s penthouse. Maeve hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, the tension in her chest winding tighter. Her cougar instincts stirred, restless and alert, torn between the safety Rory promised and the danger his world carried. The contrast was dizzying, but the steady hum of his presence beside her had a grounding effect she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Rory walked ahead, his movements deliberate and assured as he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. The space reflected him perfectly—sharp lines, cool tones, and a subtle elegance that spoke of power without excess. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Galway Bay, the stars twinkling lights stretching far into the darkness.

“You’re safe here,” he said, his voice breaking through her thoughts. “Nothing and no one will get to you while you’re under my roof.”

Maeve crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the back of the couch as she watched him. “Do you really think this is necessary?”

“Yes,” Rory said without hesitation. He turned to face her, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “The Kellehers sent a message, Maeve. I don’t take that lightly.”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue. The image of her destroyed sculpture flashed in her mind, the memory of it still fresh and raw. She hated the vulnerability it stirred in her, the feeling of being targeted and powerless. It wasn’t a sensation she was used to, and she despised every second.

“You could have just had someone guard my place,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Rory stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “I don’t trust anyone else with your safety. Not now.”

His words carried an unspoken intensity, one that made her chest tighten. The way he looked at her—like she was more than just another responsibility, more than a problem to be solved—it unnerved her. It also made her want to lean into him, to let herself believe he could protect her from the anarchy that seemed to swirl all around her.

Maeve exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing the cool fabric of the couch. “This is temporary.”

“Of course,” Rory said, though the hint of a challenge in his tone suggested he thought otherwise.

He moved past her, pouring two glasses of whiskey from a decanter on the bar. When he handed her one, their fingers brushed briefly, the contact sending a spark up her arm. She tried to ignore it, but her cougar stirred, its instincts a chaotic tangle of desire and unease.

Rory sat on the edge of the couch, his posture relaxed, but his gaze still sharp. “You don’t have to trust me completely,” he said, his voice calm. “But trust me enough to keep you safe.”

Maeve took a sip of the whiskey, the burn in her throat grounding her as she met his gaze. “I don’t know if I want to live in your world or if I can even survive it.”

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said. “And you’re not in this alone.”

The words hung between them, laced with all things he hadn’t said. Maeve’s fingers tightened around the glass as she fought the urge to close the distance between them. Her cougar instincts clawed at her, torn between the urge to fight and the desire to surrender.

Before she could stop herself, she took a step closer. “Why are you doing this? Why me?”

Rory stood, his presence commanding, as he set his glass down and turned to face her fully. “Because you’re my mate, Maeve…”

“Don’t say that…”

“It’s true and you know it. I let nothing or anyone I care about get destroyed.”

Her breath caught at the raw intensity in his voice, the conviction that burned in his eyes. He wasn’t just saying the words to reassure her—he meant them. Every single one.

Rory reached out, his hand brushing her cheek as his fingers slid into her hair. The tenderness in the gesture was at odds with the power he radiated, and it made her pulse race. “You’re not just some part of this world,” he murmured. “You’re mine.”

The declaration sent a shiver through her, and before she could respond, he kissed her. His lips were firm and insistent, his touch igniting a fire that spread through her like wildfire. Maeve’s body responded instinctively, her hands gripping his shirt as she pulled him closer.

Rory’s arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to him as the kiss deepened, their breath mingling as the world outside faded into nothingness. His control, so precise and deliberate, melted away, replaced by something raw and unrestrained. Maeve felt it in the way his hands explored her body, in the way his lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Her cougar roared to life, its instincts aligning with hers as she leaned into him, matching his passion with her own. Rory lifted her effortlessly, his strength a reminder of the strength and power that simmered beneath his surface. He carried her to the bedroom, their movements a blur of urgency and need.

When he laid her down on the bed, his eyes burned with a primal intensity that made her heart race. His touch was both reverent and demanding, his lips and hands exploring her with a hunger that left her breathless. Maeve’s own desire surged, her body arching into his as she let herself drown in the heat of the moment.

Their passion was raw, untamed—a collision of instincts and emotions that neither of them could hold back. Rory’s dominance was palpable, but it wasn’t suffocating. It was protective, possessive in a way that made Maeve feel claimed but not caged. She met his intensity with her own, their connection deepening with every touch, every whispered name.

As Rory’s hands and lips explored her, devotion and desire merging in each caress, Maeve realized this was more than a physical union. It was Rory, baring his soul to her in the only way he knew how.

Rory’s hands were a soft whisper against her heated skin, grazing her nipples and sending waves of pleasure surging through her body. It was uncharted territory, his mouth working magic where no one had dared before—his actions spoke of worship and adoration.

Maeve let out a quiet moan as he silenced her doubts, her hands fisting in the sheets. The tension within her coiled tighter, each pull of his lips drawing her closer to a precipice she hadn’t even known existed until earlier in the day. Instead of the frenzied fucking in his office, Rory now patiently and methodically pursued her pleasure, a pleasure she hadn’t realized she deserved.

“Rory,” she gasped, her voice breaking on his name.

The world narrowed down to the sensation of his mouth, the mastery of his touch, and the overwhelming certainty that she was about to shatter into a million pieces. And when the climax hit, it was like a supernova inside her, dazzling and all-consuming. Her back arched off the bed, every muscle tensed as wave after wave of ecstasy ripped through her.

“Rory,” she cried out, a testament to the wonder he had coaxed from the depths of her soul. It was amazing, a revelation that left her breathless and clinging to the remnants of earth-shattering bliss.

As the aftershocks of her climax subsided, Rory’s movements became a languid crawl up her body, his skin scorching against hers. The corners of his mouth lifted in a half-smile filled with promise before his lips crushed hers. The kiss was a maelstrom, devouring any remnants of restraint. There was only them, the heat of their bodies entwined, and the thundering pulse of desire that demanded fulfillment.

He positioned his cock at the entrance to her core, and she nodded against his mouth in unspoken consent. With a gentle but firm push, he entered her, and a soft gasp escaped her throat. The fullness, the intimate connection, sent ripples of pleasure coursing through her system.

“Rory…” The word was a sigh, a prayer, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. He moved within her, each thrust punctuated by a shared breath, a shared heartbeat. They moved in sync, a dance as old as time yet as fresh as the new desire blooming between them.

The world outside his bedroom ceased to exist. Nothing could touch her here, not the shadows of past doubts or the whispers of former pain. In Rory’s arms, entwined with his soul, she felt invincible.

His rhythm quickened, a crescendo of motion and emotion that spiraled tighter with every thrust. The heat of his body seared against hers, an inferno that promised to consume them both. She clung to Rory, her fingers digging into the cords of muscle along his back, each movement driving her closer to the edge.

“Rory,” she gasped, her voice hitching as the building pleasure coiled within her. With every stroke, he hit a depth that sent stars bursting behind her closed eyelids.

“Give over to me, Maeve,” he urged, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a rough whisper that wove through the haze of her senses. “I’ve got you.”

And then, as if his words were the key to release the lock, the tension snapped. The explosion of bliss was blinding, all-consuming. Her body shook with the force of it, waves of ecstasy rolling through her in a relentless tide. She cried out, a sound that echoed off the walls, raw and full of wonder.

“God, yes…Maeve,” Rory groaned, his own release following close on the heels of hers. She felt him shudder, his body tensing above her in powerful spasms, and then he collapsed, his weight a comforting pressure that anchored her to the here and now.

When the maelstrom finally calmed, Maeve lay tangled in the sheets, her head resting against Rory’s chest as their breathing slowed. He draped his arm around her, his fingers tracing absent patterns along her back. The silence between them was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.

But even as her body relaxed, her mind churned. The bond between them had shifted, deepened in a way she hadn’t expected. And with that bond came questions—ones she wasn’t sure she could answer.

“You let nothing you care about get destroyed,” she whispered, repeating his earlier words. “What happens if the thing you’re protecting gets lost, anyway?”

Rory’s hand stilled, his voice low but firm. “That won’t happen.”

“You can’t control everything, Rory,” Maeve said, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “Not even for me.”

“No,” he admitted, his eyes dark. “But I can destroy anything that tries to take you from me.”

The promise in his voice sent a shiver through her, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. Maeve closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest once more as she let his heartbeat’s steady rhythm pull her in.

But even as she lay in his arms, safe and secure, one thought lingered in the back of her mind.

What if loving Rory meant losing herself?