CHAPTER FIFTEEN
francesca
I felt boneless and weightless, drifting — trying to convince myself that I knew what I was doing being in this bed. I was lying, of course. Never before had a man given me an orgasm. I’d always gotten off by myself with my trusty vibrator. I’d had sex before, but it had been a letdown of epic proportions. I’d never been able to get there.
Suddenly, Conall O’Kelly, master of everything and alpha-hole extraordinaire, pulled an orgasm from me like he knew my body better than I did. He delivered directions like he had the right to.
Stay still.
Keep quiet.
Basically, like he was in charge.
Well… hell, yes, he could take charge if I could feel like that.
I hoped he’d do it again.
“Now, let’s try again,”
he said, nearly prompting me to open my eyes and focus.
Again? I perked up.
I didn’t even bother nodding or trying to move. If he killed me now, I could die happy. I watched as he rolled on a condom per my request.
No children, I’d said, and it seemed like he was complying.
His body was a temple, I thought as I looked at him from under my lashes. Conall was beautiful in that rugged way, with sculpted abs and thick thighs. Even his cock was sturdy and thick, jutting out from his body in that same commanding fashion as he worked the condom over it.
Watching him from beneath hooded lids, I could probably mention that I had received a birth control shot, allowing us to forgo the condom; however, it was better to be safe than sorry. Besides, I had made my stand and hadn’t changed my mind about having kids.
Without preamble, he hitched one of my legs up and started to work into me, all the while watching our joined bodies with fascination. The first touch of the blunt end of his cock made me shiver, but he seemed to pay me no mind as he pushed forward.
“That’s it, wife. You’re made for me.”
He closed his eyes as he groaned, but I kept mine open, watching him as he made shallow strokes, his fingers moving across his cock and my folds, playing them both as he stretched me. Each butterfly touch made me wild, making me try to buck against him, but he held me firm as he controlled the rhythm. “Don’t move until I say.”
“What if I do?”
The words slipped out of my mouth on their own accord. “You can’t hurt me. It’s in my contract.”
I groaned as he drove in deeper, his eyes narrowed on mine.
“No, I can’t touch you in anger. Nothing we do in the bedroom will ever be in anger. You’ll like everything we do, even if it’s a punishment. Even when you’re naughty.”
The idea was tantalizing. Conall had managed to get fully seated and now rocked against me, grinding against my clit with each stroke as he pounded. He stopped me and held me firm whenever I tried to tilt up. The restriction burned my senses because a release was so close I could practically taste it. I reached for him and tried to pull him closer, unsure if he’d allow it.
I tangled my fingers in his hair and pulled him down for a kiss, sucking at his mouth, trying to tell him without words how desperate I was. I wanted him to increase his pace — fuck me harder.
He hitched up my other leg, and mercifully, he picked up the pace. “That’s a good girl. Squeeze me just like that. Milk me dry. You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”
I did. He stroked into me, each movement pulling me closer to the edge all over again as his hips snapped forward over and over again.
“You’re going to come again for me now.”
He rubbed my clit steadily. Hard. I blew apart into a million pieces as I felt him surge forward and the ensuing warmth in the condom as he came.
“What a good wife,”
he cooed, kissing me gently and rocking back into me. Once. Twice. A third time and a fourth. He looked at me as if he were assessing whether he had done a thorough job. Giving a slight nod, he said, “I’ll be right back.”
When he rolled away to dispose of the condom, I felt bereft and a little cheated. I didn’t have anyone to blame but myself. I wished I could feel the weight of him on me as we lay together afterward. The condom was unnecessary, but I was too proud to say so, and there were still feelings I had about my mother and the “what if”
scenario. What if I got pregnant? Where would I be then? I closed my eyes to block out the confusing feelings swirling in my head and tried to enjoy the afterglow. When he suggested that if I got pregnant, I would have the baby and leave, my heart stuttered in my chest. I wasn’t sure I could do that. Then I really would be just like my mother. No, if I kept my baby, then I would stay and be the best damn mother ever.
Conall slid back into bed and pulled me close, kissing my shoulder and whispering words I couldn’t hear. All I could focus on were the words my mother used to tell me …
“Francesca, you’re a disaster.”
“Francesca, I should have never had you.”
“Francesca, you were a mistake.”
**
Sunlight streamed through the narrow gap in the heavy blinds, pulling me from a restless sleep. The day’s reality struck me before I even opened my eyes. I was married. To Conall O’Kelly.
I let out a soft groan and stretched, feeling the luxurious sheets cool against my skin. At least Conall had a nice bed. He hadn’t skimped on the linens either. My head turned automatically toward the other side of the massive bed, which was empty.
Our night had been quite eventful. Conall was more than a generous lover. I had never worried about a lack of chemistry between us, but now I feared I would combust whenever he was in my line of sight. The man practically set me on fire every time he glanced at me. Now, if anything, I’d turn into a nymphomaniac.
I knew Theo had probably left me a slew of messages asking for details about how my evening went. She had been more concerned about whether I would have a room to myself than I had been. Theo had been indignant about my newly changed circumstances. She wanted me to be allowed to come home before the wedding, but that had never been possible. Truthfully, I had been excited about sharing a room with Conall, and I was right.
Theo and I had always known we would eventually be cornered into the blood oath, but we hadn’t been certain that a real marriage was part of it. The mechanics of the oath eluded our research. We knew a legal marriage was necessary, but we didn’t know if consummating it was required. Of course, we had speculated. Mafia men were nothing if not braggarts and macho to the core. There was no way they wouldn’t require you to sleep with them.
Now that I was married to Conall and Cora was married to Maxim, I was pretty sure Theo was freaking out. There was no doubt that she and Angelo were paired up. Theo would swear until she was blue in the face that she loathed Angelo and felt nothing for him, but she was lying. She had had a crush on my brother since she wore her first training bra. Once a year, Theo snuck into my brother’s garage and removed the valve stems from every car he owned.
I understood my bestie, though — you had to deny, deny, deny for as long as possible. Sometimes, that was all you had when it felt like your power was taken away. This was one reason Theo and I got along so well. We didn’t call each other out on insignificant bullshit. We allowed each other our petty deceptions. I didn’t acknowledge her crush on Angelo, and she didn’t remind me that I caused one of the biggest upsets in our lives.
Besties.
I reached for my phone and scanned my messages.
Theo: Tell me the details.
Me: What are you doing today? Can you come over?
Theo: Same old. Are you going to be allowed to roam free? Your new man, Conall, is a little bit of a control freak. You probably have interesting details.
Me: Text soon, and let’s coordinate. We need to cause a little chaos. We’ll talk.
Theo: Yes! I’m in.
I took my time sitting up and scanned the room. The sleek, modern décor contrasted with the heavy weight in my chest. Polished wood floors, clean lines, and neutral tones provided a sense of calm that I didn’t feel. This was Conall’s world, meticulously curated, just like him. If I were going to live here, I would need to make some serious changes to liven up this décor. Flopping against the pillows, I sighed. Well, I would have to make the best of it.
After a quick shower that must have been the most luxurious experience ever, I padded over to the closet and discovered an array of new outfits that Conall must have bought for me. I couldn’t picture him shopping for anything, let alone for women’s clothing. Dresses, blouses, skirts—most of them far fancier than anything I would choose for myself. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of my new role as Mrs. O’Kelly. Hopefully, I could transfer my belongings from the apartment so I’d have some of my own clothes. Then I’d feel a little more settled. Right now, it felt like there were cracks in the foundation of who I was, fissures that could open into chasms at any moment.
Blow-drying my hair took time, but I tried not to dwell on the moment. I was good at putting bad things in a box and closing the lid. It probably wasn’t very healthy. As I shook my long hair out while diffusing it, I focused on the heat from the dryer and how the strands slipped through my fingers. When that stopped working and my thoughts turned dark, I turned to choosing an accent color for the apartment. Mustard yellow? Maybe peach? Throw in some vibrant purples for va-va-voom. Conall would hate those. Seemed perfect.
I slipped into a soft cream sweater and black slacks, quickly brushed my hair, and tied it into a loose ponytail. There was some faint bruising around my throat from yesterday, but surprisingly, it wasn’t too noticeable unless you knew what to look for. Still, I found a silk scarf in one of my drawers and tied it around my throat in a jaunty manner.
As much as I hated to admit it, I looked the part of the mob boss’s wife: polished but not overdone, respectable yet approachable. The perfect accessory, the rings on my finger, made it official. Although I had to give Conall credit for that, the set fell within my taste while still loudly proclaiming ‘respectable.’ The eternity band was beautiful, generously adorned with vertically stacked baguette diamonds, and the thick gold band was perfect for days when I had a shift. I was not a solitaire sort of girl. He had picked well.
The hallway was eerily quiet as I made my way toward the kitchen. The building was massive—an old brownstone that Conall had gutted and modernized—and felt more like a fortress than a home. Having seen some of the floors during my previous visit, I knew a lot went on in this building. Conall’s entire Irish mob boss organization had its headquarters here. My heels clicked against the polished wood floors, the sound unnerving in the otherwise still air. I mused as I walked. Maybe a plant here, a plant there, a reading chair over there, a bookshelf? Throw pillows. Perhaps a cluster of framed pictures? I could enlist Theo’s help with that. Perhaps I could even get a dog.
When I entered the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit me first. Conall stood at the counter, dressed for the day in a crisp white shirt paired with a jacket and tie. He moved with calm confidence, pouring himself a cup of coffee as if he owned the world—because, in many ways, he did. Sour thoughts tried to seep through the cracks, but I steeled myself and forced a smile.
“Good morning,”
he said without looking up, his deep voice resonating throughout the room.
“Morning,”
I replied, hesitating as I entered the room. The tension in my chest tightened like a vise or a noose. The man had forced me into this marriage, yet here he was, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He finally turned to face me, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Did you sleep well, principessa?”
I folded my arms. “Not exactly.”
His smile remained steady. “That’s unfortunate. I had a wonderful sleep.”
I bristled at his words but stifled the retort that threatened to escape. Instead, I walked over to the counter and poured myself a cup of coffee. The silence between us was heavy, yet Conall seemed completely unfazed by the awkwardness of the moment. He leaned against the counter, watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. I didn’t know how to act around a husband in my morning space.
“Come here, Francesca.”
His words were steely and commanding. I watched him intently but crossed over to him without complaint, placing my coffee cup on the counter. His calloused fingers tangled in my hair as he freed it from its ponytail holder. His thumbs glided over my ears, touching the shells and massaging each lobe. I was close enough to smell his cologne and feel the warmth radiating from his body, yet I simultaneously wanted to curl into him and move away as he draped my hair over my shoulders. A shiver of need went through me. He was looking down at me with hunger burning in his eyes, his cock hard against my stomach.
“I like it better like this.”
I considered arguing, but what was the point? I preferred it down, as it hid the bruises. It was a win-win situation.
Leaning forward, he kissed my lips softly. His lips barely parted enough for his tongue to glide forward and brush against mine before he withdrew. I let out a huff of disappointment. I noticed him eyeing the scarf, but he didn’t mention it. I was sure he understood why I wore it. Thankfully, he cleared his throat and gestured toward the countertop.
“I have some things for you,”
he said. A stack of papers was neatly arranged on the kitchen counter. It appeared to include a copy of the marriage license and the drawn-up contract. “Here’s the banking information I provided yesterday, along with our license. I thought it best to be thorough: name change, etcetera.”
My back stiffened. A name change? Of course, he’d require me to change my name. I didn’t know why I was surprised by that. All these mob men were old-fashioned. There had never been any way I’d keep my maiden name. I wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. My father had been a jackass. There were several cards in my name: Francesca O’Kelly.
“Why are there so many?”
I ground out, irritated beyond belief, when I spotted a new name badge on the counter. There was no need to ask if he had gone through the hospital system to have them change my name. It was clear he’d already done that. I could even see a driver’s license. Ask a mob boss if something could be done, and the answer was … obviously.
“Cards or your license?”
he asked silkily, watching me closely as he adjusted the coffee canister. “You’re flushed.”
Those fingers reached out and brushed my cheek, burning me.
“Cards,”
I replied. “They look like credit cards.”
“This one is the bank card for our joint account. This one is an unlimited credit card.”
He held each one up in turn. I could now see that they were issued to Francesca & Conall O’Kelly. “This is your bank card for your account, but I’d prefer you to use ours.”
“Hmm,”
I murmured noncommittally, picking up the cards while deliberately sifting through the papers and then leaving them on the counter. As expected, he re-stacked them. I wasn’t sure I cared about his preferences.
“I thought we might take a tour of the building this morning,”
he said casually as if it were any other morning between a husband and wife. “You should get familiar with your new home.”
“A tour?”
I asked, raising an eyebrow
He nodded. “The building is secure, but there are many areas to explore: offices, meeting rooms, and the gym.”
“I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
I said, my voice sharper than I’d intended.
Conall’s expression hardened slightly, but he kept an even tone. “No, Francesca, you don’t. But I promise you’ll feel more comfortable once you’ve seen everything.”
Comfortable. Right.
He pushed away from the counter and gestured toward the door. “Come on. We’ll start upstairs.”
I followed him reluctantly, clutching my coffee cup like a shield. Conall guided me through the building, his voice calm and steady as he explained each space: the private gym outfitted with state-of-the-art equipment and the offices where he conducted “business.”
As we descended to the main floor, I hesitated. “Conall,”
I said, pausing in the hallway.
He turned, one eyebrow raised. “What is it?”
I took a deep breath, a sour taste lingering in my mouth. My brother was going to be so angry. “I need to tell Angelo. About us. About this.”
His expression stayed the same. “I texted him this morning.”
“He’s my brother,”
I stated firmly. Ugh. He made me so mad. I should have been the one to let Angelo know. “And he won’t simply accept this without an explanation from me.”
I swallowed hard. “We didn’t even get married in a church.”
It was foolish. Even though we weren’t exactly practicing Catholics anymore, I felt kind of ashamed of how the ceremony unfolded. Did my brother even voice an objection? That — more than anything — made me irrationally upset. I wanted to know what Angelo said to Conall. Had he been furious? Or had he not cared?
Conall stepped closer, his presence overwhelming my senses. “He understands how it is.”
I swallowed hard. The finality in his tone left no room for argument. “He won’t be pleased.”
“He doesn’t have to be happy,”
Conall replied smoothly. “However, he will respect it. He will respect our relationship, especially if he values peace.”
The implication was clear, sending a chill down my spine. Conall might be my husband now, but he was still a mob boss, willing to do whatever it took to maintain control. They had always been friends, hadn’t they? I shot him a sidelong glance. Was he bluffing right now? Would he break that friendship if Angelo and Remo disapproved?
We proceeded down the hallway in silence until Conall halted before a heavy set of wooden doors. “One more introduction,”
he said, pushing them open.
The space appeared to be a kind of lunchroom—a cafeteria? There were clusters of serving areas, trays of hot food, a salad bar, and all the usual amenities. Tables were organized in groups against windows that overlooked the East River.
Throughout the building, Conall greeted each of his soldiers, introduced me along the way, and explained the different areas and their functions. The entire building was impressive, and it was clear that Conall took pride in it and his men. It was also clear that his men respected him—adored him, really.
“It seems like you thought of everything.”
I nodded to the men and smiled during introductions as we wove through the tables.
Conall clearly had someone specific in mind as he moved purposefully toward a man sitting at a table in the back, reading. The man’s sharp blue eyes scanned me quickly when he looked up from his book. “Boss.”
Rising from the table, I noted that he was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing tactical gear and maintaining a stiff and professional posture.
“This is Finn,”
Conall said. “He will be your bodyguard and accompany you wherever you go.”
I blinked. “Great. Alright, it’s nice to meet you, Finn.”
Bodyguard. I suppose I should be grateful that Conall agreed to provide just one bodyguard. Finn might not perfectly blend into the background, but at least Conall agreed he wouldn’t be on my floor while I worked.
Conall nodded, his expression determined. “You’re my wife now, which makes you a target. Finn is one of my best. You’ll be safe with him.”
Finn stepped forward, his voice low and polite, tinged with a hint of an Irish accent. “Mrs. O’Kelly, it’s a pleasure.”
I managed a faint smile. “Thank you.”
Conall’s hand rested briefly on my lower back, guiding me out of the room. “You’re not scheduled at the hospital today,”
he said as we walked. “But if you want to go anywhere, Finn will take you wherever you need to go. This is your home now, and you’re free to explore within reason.”
The phrase burdened my chest. My new reality was sinking in, piece by piece, and I wasn’t sure I liked what I heard.
But Conall? He seemed perfectly at ease, with every movement and word reminding me that this was his world. And now, whether I liked it or not, it was mine as well.