CHAPTER THREE
conall
CONALL: 29 / FRANCESCA: 18
The night air in New York was crisp, slicing through the usual heavy scent of exhaust, but I forced myself to breathe evenly—counting each inhale, each exhale. I kept my hands shoved in my coat pockets, fingers curling into fists, resisting the urge to fix the slightly uneven fold in my sleeve.
Sean rattled off the details of our latest supply run, his words slotting into neat little compartments in my mind, categorized, ordered.
"The truck is rolling in from Boston at four a.m.,”
he said, his tone all business. “We have two guys posted at the drop point, but I want an extra set of eyes on it—someone we trust.”
My gaze flicked to the cigarette in his hand, the ember burning unevenly at the tip. I clenched my jaw, irritation prickling beneath my skin. He was a lazy smoker, never tapping the ash at the right moment, letting it grow until it threatened to break off messily. Disorganized. Wrong.
"I’ll send Finn," I said, pushing past the distraction. "He won’t let anything slip by him."
Sean grunted in approval just as the building doors burst open behind us.
My head snapped up, muscles tensing at the abrupt disruption. Francesca stormed onto the sidewalk, dark curls bouncing, eyes glittering with defiance. Her best friend Theodosia trailed behind, smirking like she was enjoying the show.
Francesca hardly glanced at me. "Move."
I blinked, thrown by the command. People didn’t order me around. That wasn’t how this worked. My pulse ticked against my temple as she shouldered past me, cutting through the space between Sean and me like she was entitled to it.
Theodosia’s smirk widened. "Don’t take it personally, Conall. She’s having a moment."
My jaw tightened. A moment. That kind of phrasing was vague. Unclear. It set my teeth on edge.
Francesca had never interested me before. Angelo’s little sister had always been contained—quiet, disciplined, the perfect mafia princess who stayed within the lines. Predictable. Safe.
But this? This was something else entirely.
Her chin lifted in defiance, fire snapping in her dark eyes, and something inside me clicked into place—a puzzle piece I hadn’t realized was missing.
I shifted, curiosity tugging at me like an itch I needed to scratch. “Are you planning to tell me what that moment is about?”
Francesca didn’t slow down. “Not your concern, O’Kelly.”
I smirked. “That’s debatable.”
She shot me a look over her shoulder, one that promised murder if I kept pushing. It only made me want to push harder.
Sean exhaled, sounding both amused and annoyed. "Jesus, what’s the problem?"
"The problem lies with domineering men who think they can decide for me,”
Francesca snapped. “As if I’m just some fragile little doll.”
That caught my attention.
Angelo and Remo were old school—protective and territorial. I had a sister, and I’d sent her across the ocean to keep her safe. I understood the instinct: control meant security. It kept things in order. And reckless girls? They embodied chaos.
My gaze locked onto Francesca just in time to see her stalk toward Angelo’s Ferrari.
I tensed, my mind already spinning through the consequences. The scrape of her heel against the pavement was too sharp, too rushed. Her breathing was off-rhythm, and if she touched that car, if she drove that car?—
"Francesca," I warned my voice even. Are you sure you want to do that?"
She flashed me a wicked grin as she reached the driver’s side door. “Are you going to stop me?”
I didn’t move. Didn’t answer. But my pulse hammered, my brain screaming at me to intervene, to set things right before they spiraled. She wasn’t my problem. I would let Angelo know that his little sister took his car. That would be all.
She opened the door and slipped inside like she belonged there.
Theodosia climbed into the passenger seat and rolled down the window without hesitation or concern.
Sean let out a low whistle. "Your brother’s gonna blow a fucking gasket."
"Let him," Francesca muttered, her fingers moving over the controls in quick, precise movements. Deep and guttural engine roared to life, shaking the quiet street.
I leaned down, resting my forearm against the open window, forcing myself to stay composed. “You do realize this is a declaration of war, right?”
She met my gaze, something sharp and electric flashing between us. "Then consider this my opening shot."
Then she hit the gas.
The Ferrari peeled out, tires screeching against the asphalt. Theodosia threw up a mock salute.
I exhaled slowly, encouraging my shoulders to relax, but the tension coiled tightly in my gut wouldn’t ease.
Sean sighed. "That one’s gonna be trouble."
As I watched the taillights disappear into the city, something unfamiliar settled in my chest—a gnawing, persistent feeling.
"Yeah," I murmured. "I think you’re right."
But the principessa had done something dangerous. She’d disrupted the order of things. She’d become interesting, and I decided that she was my business after all.