Chapter 64
Sixty-Four
“I called it love, but it was an obsession in disguise. Then she walked back in and reminded me it was both.”–Cyan MacBrady.
“You look like shit. Between you and Thomas, I don’t know who’s worse.”
“Fuck off, Collin.”
“If this is what doing the right thing looks like, I’ll stick with being a villain.”
I don’t answer, lifting the Irish whiskey to my lips.
The burn doesn’t compare to the poker lodged in my chest, the white-hot ache of being away from my Dove.
The only time I’ve left the towers was to keep my word to Ethan.
A life for a life, and I kept it. I let him go from the top of a fucking building.
Not my fault he didn’t specify he wanted to stay alive after I let him go.
Since then, I haven’t set foot outside the penthouse.
I can’t risk it. I’ve almost broken my vow dozens of times and gone to her.
But then the memory plays again. Aria nailed to that fucking table, her hand bruised and bloodied, and I stop because dragging her back into this world, after that? I’d never forgive myself.
So, I drink, but the madness clings to me like a second skin. I’m walking a razor’s edge between obsession and insanity.
If Collin knew how deep it went, how far gone I am, he’d either laugh or lock me up. I’ve searched her clothes for her scent like a goddamn addict. Stared at her lipstick on the rim of a glass like it held the secrets of the universe. Her underwear?
Fuck. They’ve become my coping mechanism, my escape, and my fucking lifeline.
Last night in the shower, I wrapped her panties around my cock and jacked off.
Great. I’m hard again. If Collin doesn’t leave soon, I’m going to lose the last thread of control I’ve got left.
I take another sip. Deeper, slower, trying to regain some discipline.
The only thing keeping me from storming Crescent Bay and dragging her back here is this bottle and my goddamn promise.
The phone rings. It’s probably security calling about another wedding gift.
My assistant postponed the ceremony after everything went wrong, rerouting the packages here.
I should cancel it. Call off the wedding.
Send everything back. But I can’t move past my three obsessions: Aria, drinking, and jerking off to the ghost of her.
“You gonna answer that?”
I take another sip. “Nope.” It stops.
“Family dinner’s tomorrow. You going?”
“Nope. Rosa’s not speaking to me. Called me a stubborn mule and told me not to come back until I grow a brain.” The phone rings again. Collin sighs and gets up.
He answers, listens, “What a wonderful gift. Send it up.” He hangs up and flops back onto the couch.
“You’ll probably enjoy this gift. I think.
” Bringing the bottle to my lips, I take another drink.
I don’t care what it is, I’ll send it back the second I stop thinking about her long enough to fucking breathe.
“I’m heading to Crescent Bay; you might be on Rosa’s shit list, but I’m not. ”
The elevator dings as the door opens. I don’t even look up. “Well, well... Cyan fucking MacBrady. The king of bad decisions.” That voice. That goddamn voice. My head snaps up, seeing her slice through the fog like a fiery blade. “Miss me? Or are you still convincing yourself you don’t give a damn?”
She’s there, next to Johnny, wearing that blue floral dress as if it’s armor in her declaration of war.
My Aria. Blazing brown eyes. Her curls wild and unapologetic.
That mouth–fire, softness, and defiance in one perfect shape.
She’s a storm wrapped in floral and curves.
Every obsession, every craving, every twisted fantasy I’ve tried to drown. Right here.
“You two.” She points at Johnny and Collin. “Get the fuck out.” Her order is whip-crack sharp, commanding, and fearless.
Collin, the traitor, raises both hands. He knows exactly what he’s done.
He walks to the elevator, Johnny in tow.
She’s here. She came for me. Joy, panic, and hunger—it all crashes in at once.
I want to run to her, fall to my knees, and beg her to stay.
But I can’t; she deserves better than this.
Better than me. Better than blood and shadows.
Digging deep, I summon the discipline that has kept me alive all these years.
I must let her go. I will do the right thing.
“Later, C,” Johnny calls out as the elevator closes, his smile mocking. Bastard.
Now we’re alone. Me and my greatest weakness.
She walks toward me, stopping in front of me just inches away from where I’m sitting near the window.
As she stands there so fucking close, looking down at me, her scent hits me like a drug.
Sweet, familiar, and almost fatal. I breathe her in and for a moment, just a moment, I forget the hell I’ve been living in.
I take a long drink, letting the burn anchor my resolve.
“Aria, you and I are done.” My lie comes out cold and sharp, like the scrape of a blade unsheathing. Another sip, my hand clenches around the bottle.
“Cyan, how can you say that after everything we’ve shared?” Her voice wavers a little, wounded. “You can’t just walk away from our love.”
I nearly break and pull her into me and tell her I love her.
Mark her again and again until she forgets the pain.
Seeing the scar on her hand reminds me why I shouldn’t.
I made a promise. One that keeps her safe.
She deserves a life untouched by this world.
A life without ambushes, without bloodshed.
Without waking up nailed to a fucking table.
Every violent memory claw at me, every moment she suffered because of me.
I have to stay distant. My face, a mask of indifference. My words are calculated to hurt.
“You don’t belong in my world, Aria. It’s like Elana said, you were a distraction, one I was stupid enough to indulge.
Go playhouse in Crescent Bay and find some poor bastard to give you the quiet life you deserve.
I’m done.” I let a cruel smirk curl on my lips.
“You think this was love? Nah, sweetheart. You were just something to pass the time.” I take another long drink. “I don’t want your love.”
I glance away and stare out the window, though the view of Boston Harbor means nothing with her standing there.
I can feel her gaze burning into me. Then she steps forward, her fingers cradling my face, turning it upward to hers.
Her eyes are unflinching, sharp with truth.
She slaps me hard. A dark, humorless laugh slips from her lips.
“Wow.” Her arms cross her chest and draw my attention to that glorious cleavage. “That’s the best you’ve got. I expected something more original from you, Cyan.” She steps closer and drops to her knees. Now we’re eye to eye. Her voice lowers, coated with venom and heat.
“I was a distraction. Funny, because last I checked, you don’t drink yourself stupid over distractions. You don’t risk your life for them, and you sure as hell don’t look at distractions like you’re doing right now, like every word out of your mouth is killing you.”
My jaw locks, but she’s not done. “I don’t scare easily anymore, Cyan, and I’m not running.
So, if you really want me gone, you’re gonna have to try a hell of a lot harder than that.
” Then like the savage she is, she snatches the bottle from my hand, marches into the kitchen, and pours every last drop down the drain.
I sit there, choking on my own damn lies. She wasn’t supposed to call my bluff. She wasn’t supposed to see through the cracks. “Suit yourself, Aria. Stay… go… do whatever the hell you want.” I exhale and drag a hand down my face. “Doesn’t make a difference to me.”
She tilts her head. Her voice practically purrs with mockery. “So let me get this straight. You don’t want me, but you’re cool with me walking out that door, calling up an old fuck buddy, and riding him into next week?”
Her words hit like a shotgun blast to the chest. My head jerks toward her.
My vision tunnels. She plants a hand on her hip, daring me.
Every twisted part of me burns at the thought of someone else touching her.
Jealousy rises like a beast with blood in its eyes.
“If that’s what you want,” I manage to grit out. She’s bluffing. She has to be.
Aria nods, pulls out her phone, and starts scrolling. Then dials. “Hey, Raymond?” She did not just call someone in front of me. “It’s Aria. Want to meet up later? I’ve got an itch that needs scratching.”
What the fuck? What the fuck? I stand up.
That’s it. I’m a mobster, not a saint. From the living area, I walk to the kitchen island where she stands.
“I’ll castrate any man who touches you,” I snarl, lunging forward.
I grab the phone from her hand. “Listen, fucker–” But the voice on the other end isn’t a man’s.
“Serves you right, I would’ve taken Trevor to your balls if you dumped me like that.”
“Tasha?”
“Damn right, it’s me, and if you don’t do right by my girl, I will pay you a visit with Trevor in tow.” I hang up, lower the phone slowly, and turn to face Aria. She’s standing there with a wicked smile, smug as hell. Like she just checkmated a mob king.
“For fuck’s sake, Aria. That wasn’t funny.”
“Neither was the shit you said.” Her eyes blaze.
“Because let me tell you something, you fucking idiot, I don’t want anyone else.
I love you, you jackass.” She yanks me into her, and our mouths crash together.
The kiss is fierce. Desperate. Like we’re both trying to undo every second we lost. She fits perfectly in my arms, like coming home.
Collin was right; doing the wrong thing never felt so damn good.
Our lips move in a rhythm born of fire and thirst, making up for every stupid mistake I made when I first claimed her, every scar, and every lie.
“You’re my everything, Dove,” I growl between kisses, voice hoarse with need. “And there’s no going back. I won’t give you up. Not even if you change your mind.”
“Likewise, Cyan. You’re mine.” She gasps, our foreheads pressing together, breaths ragged and uneven.
Her palm cups my cheek. “I’ve killed to keep you, as you know.
” Her fingers thread into my hair, and we fall into each other, no hesitation, no fear.
There’s no slow burn, no buildup. I rip her dress open, baring her breasts, and take a nipple into my mouth.
She sighs in delight, tugging at my T-shirt, pulling me deeper into her orbit.
“I want you, Cyan. I need you. It’s been too long.”
I lift her onto the island, barely shoving my pants down before she guides me into her.
Her moan tears through the kitchen, searing me from the inside out.
Being inside her again. There are no words.
Just this overwhelming, soul-deep rightness.
What the fuck was I thinking, trying to give her up?
My heart claimed her the first night I heard her laugh.
We make love on the island. On the couch. In the shower. Then finally, she fulfills one of my darkest fantasies–my Dove, on her knees, wearing her “fuck me” glasses, draining me with her mouth until I see stars.
Next, I tongue her pussy until she’s screaming my name loud enough to wake the dead.
We’re two broken souls, fusing the pieces back together, and we don’t stop until the city fades and it’s just us–breathless, wrecked, and tangled together like we were always meant to be.
We’ve found our way back, not just as lovers, but as soulmates.
Two halves of a whole, ready to face whatever comes next.
“Aria,” I murmur, brushing a curl from her cheek, “you know life with me won’t ever be normal, right?”
She smiles. “It’ll be better. Because I found my second half. But Mr. MacBrady.” She arches a brow. “This time, we’re equal. I refuse to be an unknowing pawn in your world again.”
My chest tightens with pride and guilt. “Oi. I hear you, lass. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. But I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”
She shrugs. “I sent in my resignation to J&G Accounting. Living in two worlds is something I can’t do anymore.
I’m taking the job as Troy’s assistant, and you,” she pokes me hard in the chest, “are going to train me to defend myself. Got it? Next person who tries to grab me, I’ll blow their fucking head off. ”
“Aye, Dove. I’ll teach you. And by the way, Troy handles the books. Legally and illegally.”
“Perfect.” She grins. “Put me to work, Don.” I kiss her forehead, still stunned by the force that is my woman.
“If anyone tries to hurt you or our family, I won’t hesitate to send them to sleep with the fishes.”
“I can help,” she says sweetly. I laugh.
She brings me so much fucking joy. She’s quiet for a moment, fingers walking playfully on my chest. “Cyan... my training will have to wait... until,” she pauses, her throat moving, before looking up at me.
“Our baby’s born. My entire body freezes. “Wait. What? You’re pregnant?”
“Yep. You knocked me up,” she taps my chest. “Must’ve happened around the bachelorette party. I forgot my birth control. I was always bad at remembering the pill.”
Grabbing her face, I kiss her, slow and long, taking in every second.
I’m already hard again, but before I lay her down and make slow, sweet love to her, there’s one thing I have to do.
After breaking the kiss, she looks up at me, puzzled.
I gently guide her to sit on the edge of the bed, then drop to one knee.
“Dove, I need to ask you something important.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Aria Concetta Boschett, would you give me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She blinks. “But... we’re already getting married.”
“That time, I told you we were getting married.” I take her hand. “This time, I’m asking. Be mine, mo ghrá thú.” Her eyes go soft.
“Oh, Cyan. Yes, I’ll marry you. Wait. What does mo ghrá thú mean?” She fumbles with the pronunciation, blushing.
“It means ‘you are my love’ in Irish Gaelic.”
She kisses my cheeks, my lips, my chin. “And you are my love. I want that–mo ghrá thú–inscribed on your ring too.” I’m smiling like a damn fool.
Then she, all sass and fire. “One more thing, Don MacBrady... this wedding needs to happen soon. Because I need to fit into my dress.” She kisses me again, murmuring against my lips. “I want to do Gracie’s design justice.”
“I’ll make it happen fast,” I vow. “Because I might be sweet with my Dove... but I’m still The Púca. And no one in this city dares say no to me. Or my Dove.”