CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
conall
I exhaled sharply as I stepped out of the elevator, rolling my shoulders as if I could shake off the tension from the day. My penthouse—my sanctuary—was just a few feet away, but Finn’s earlier message had put my nerves on edge.
Me: Status update on my wife.
Finn: Theodosia Anthakos visited. They stayed at the penthouse for a while and are now shopping.
Me: Shopping for what?
Finn: Tons of shit, boss. Girl shit. Plants and pillows.
Me: Stay close.
Finn: Always.
I needed to have a serious conversation with Maxim and Ilias. I didn’t think there was any way to control Ilias’s sister, but she should definitely have a bodyguard right now. That girl was trouble. I almost felt sorry for Angelo, but then I stopped myself and grinned with laughter. Damn. They were going to kill each other. It was going to be fun to watch.
Flicking my fingers across the screen, I sent a message to our group chat.
A-Hole Chat
Me: We need to talk about protection.
Maxim: You need to talk about the birds and the bees?
Ilias: You need extra small condoms? I’ll pick you up a box.
Angelo: For fuck sake, you assholes. I hate you all. He’s married to my sister. Can we not talk about his dick?
Maxim: Married?
Ilias: You got married, you dick? Without us? Wow. You are an asshole.
Me: Two hours.
Me: Stop talking about my dick. That’d be extra large.
Ilias: You know you need to work on your communication. We don’t know what two hours means. Two hours until it’s time to bring you your extra small condoms? I’m not sure I can find ones that small that soon. Two hours until … what …
Me: Shut up. Be here in two hours so we can meet and go over protective detail.
Ilias: See. You just need to use your words, big guy.
Me: Just fucking be here in two hours, you eejit.
Ilias: Roger
I clenched my teeth and practiced my breathing, holding for four counts and then releasing for three. Sometimes, they were infuriating.
As I finished my work downstairs, I tried not to dwell on the implications of Francesca and Theo shopping. I battled the unease curling in my gut at the thought of changes being made to my space. I organized my world to function exactly as I needed it to—streamlined, controlled, and immaculate.
And now, I was on the verge of walking into the unknown.
Finn stood at his post by the door, arms crossed and his expression unreadable. “Boss.”
I squinted. “How serious is it?”
Finn tilted his head, considering. “Depends on your definition.”
I clenched my jaw. “Define it for me, then.”
Finn’s mouth twitched. “Let’s just say that Francesca has a vision, and Ms. Anthakos is encouraging it.”
I exhaled through my nose. “And?”
Finn shrugged. “And it’s… different. I’m not sure you’ll like it very much.”
His shoulders hunched in discomfort.
A headache throbbed at my temple as I gazed at the closed door, steeling myself. “Tell me there aren’t flowers.”
Finn hesitated.
I muttered under my breath as I stepped inside. With two hours until my meeting, I hoped to find some peace and quiet before heading back to the conference room.
My world tilted on its axis the moment I stepped into the penthouse.
Gone was the crisp, minimalistic haven I had crafted. Instead, I was assaulted by texture, color, and clutter. The pristine lines of my furniture had been softened—violated—by throw pillows in velvet and embroidery, their patterns chaotic and mismatched. The cool, sleek surfaces of the living room were now littered with candles, some already burning, their scents clashing with one another. Photos were scattered across the surfaces and the walls. My black-and-white landscapes were gone, replaced by candids in random formations.
Plants—God help me, plants—were everywhere. Real ones, with actual dirt. They were potted on tables, lined along the windows, and worst of all, hanging. Their unruly tendrils spilled down in wild, undisciplined tangles. My fingers twitched with the urge to tidy them, to bring them under control.
My gaze flicked to the coffee table, where a jumbled pile of books rested, some stacked and others leaning precariously. I gritted my teeth, every instinct urging me to straighten them, to impose order where there was none.
Then I heard them.
Francesca and Theo were laughing in the kitchen. Their laughter should have softened my irritation, but when I stepped further inside, I saw the grocery bags.
So. Many. Grocery. Bags.
My brothers, Paddy and Brody, were there too, helping with the unloading, although ‘helping’ felt like a generous term. Paddy grinned as he rummaged through one of the bags, already unwrapping something that looked suspiciously like imported chocolate and marshmallows. Meanwhile, Brody seemed somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food being unpacked.
Francesca turned just in time to notice my expression. “Conall! You’re home!”
Home. The word should have felt comforting, but I could only stare as she held up a package of organic something-or-other with a bright smile. “We’ve stocked up. I’m making dinner tonight.”
Theo snickered. “You should have seen Francesca. She has enough candles to start her own church.”
I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When I opened them, Francesca was watching me intently, her expression perceptive.
I exhaled slowly. “I see that.”
Paddy clapped me on the shoulder. “She’s making this place a home, brother. It could really use that.”
My gaze flicked to Francesca again, and I was drawn to the warmth she had brought into my once-sterile space. It made me feel uncomfortable, itchy, and unsettled.
Francesca, completely unfazed by my tension, turned back to the groceries. “I was thinking of making osso buco tonight,”
she said, pulling out a package of beef shanks. “Steamed veggies with saffron risotto. It still fits into your ‘my body is a temple’ lifestyle.”
She winked at me. “But I’ll be baking a cake for the boys.
Paddy let out a low whistle. “Wow, Francesca, you’re already part of the family. That sounds like a lot of work, but we approve.”
Brody, who had just pulled out a baguette and was currently sniffing it as if he hadn’t eaten in a week, nodded. “I don’t even know what osso buco is, but it sounds like a fantastic upgrade from whatever takeout we usually end up with."
Francesca laughed. "It's comfort food. Perfect for a night like this.”
I crossed my arms, watching her navigate my kitchen as if she belonged there. As if she had always belonged there.
"This whole... transformation," I said, gesturing vaguely at the plants, the pillows, and the candles still flickering like some kind of séance was about to begin. “This isn’t permanent, is it?”
Francesca smiled slowly and knowingly.
Paddy snorted and nudged Brody. "He's already lost."
I scowled. "I heard that."
Brody just smiled. "Yeah, and?"
“Are you done for the day? Dinner will take a couple of hours,”
she scrunched her nose at me. “I wasn’t sure what your schedule was. I just want to time it right. It’s flexible, though, if you have something going on.”
“I have a quick meeting downstairs in two hours with the guys. That’s all. It should take about half an hour at most.”
I glanced at my watch. It cut right through the typical dinner hour, making me feel like a bit of an arsehole.
“No problem at all. It’ll work out great.”
She flashed me a shy smile that sent an electric jolt to my cock. I suddenly wished we weren’t surrounded by so many people.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the necklace. It was simple—gold, delicate, and adorned with a small charm that might appear meaningless to anyone else. However, within that charm was something far more significant.
“A gift,”
I said, offering it to her.
Francesca accepted it without hesitation, gliding her fingers across the cool metal. “It’s beautiful.”
I leaned forward, watching her expression closely. “It’s more than that.”
She nodded, already aware. “The tracker? I agreed to it.”
A voice from the doorway broke the silence. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
Theodosia glared with her arms crossed, her dark eyes brimming with exasperation. “You’re already pulling this possessive shit? Couldn’t you at least wait a week?”
Francesca glanced between us, caught between amusement and something more thoughtful. “I agreed to it,”
she said, fastening the necklace around her neck. “If it means he can worry less, I’ll wear it.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Frankie. That man will always worry,”
Brody said, shoving a marshmallow into his mouth. I cringed at the thought of all the processed sugars in that thing. What was Francesca doing with marshmallows?
Theo scoffed. “That’s not the point, sweetheart. The issue is that if he’s putting a tracker on you now, what’s next? A curfew? A security detail you’re not even aware of?”
She shot me a pointed look. “You already have Finn.”
I didn’t bother to deny it. “She’s important. I won’t take any risks.”
Theo sighed, rubbing her temples as if she were dealing with a particularly thick-headed child. “Conall, she married you. She didn’t enter some goddamn witness protection program.”
I smirked. “Not much difference, really.”
Looking over at Theo, I couldn’t help but add, “You’re in the same boat, you know. Angelo will be putting a ring on that finger sooner rather than later.”
Her mouth tightened with anger, and I regretted bringing it up. The last thing I wanted was to start a fight with Francesca’s best friend.
Francesca shook her head, but I detected a hint of a smile. “I appreciate your concern, Theo, but I was already aware of it and the security measures. We made some compromises in that area.”
She offered her friend a sympathetic glance, yet I could see that she understood Theo’s complaints.
Theo muttered something under her breath and flopped into a chair at the kitchen counter. “Fine. But if you start demanding that she check in every hour, I’m staging an intervention.”
I leaned back, feeling satisfied. “Noted.”
“I think it suits me.”
I reached out, gently brushing my fingers over hers. “It does.”
Theo groaned. “I hate both of you.”
Francesca laughed, and for a moment, the tension dissolved. Yet, the reality lingered beneath it. This was more than just a piece of jewelry. A boundary had been established between what I could control and what I couldn’t. In my world, control meant everything. I wasn’t sure how I could cope. I already had a headache.
Still, I glanced at the penthouse and noted the changes she had already made, realizing that control was relative. Francesca had completely transformed the space and had been here for less than twenty-four hours.
**
Francesca’s melodic laughter floated from the kitchen, sharply contrasting with the tension I couldn’t shake throughout the day. The scent of something rich and savory intensified, enveloping the penthouse in warmth. I inhaled, counting to four, then slowly exhaled, repeating the process twice. The steady rhythm calmed me, but only slightly.
Stepping forward, I caught sight of the kitchen, and my pulse skipped uneasily. The counters were cluttered with ingredients, flour dusted the surface, and a few stray vegetable peels rested near the sink. I curled my fingers into my palm. It wasn’t dirty—Francesca was meticulous—but it was chaotic. I clenched my jaw, reminding myself that this was her home, too, and that I didn’t need to reorganize everything back into its rightful place. My days of living in a place where rodents were common were long gone. I repeated that thought in my head twice, just to make sure it stuck.
I turned away from the sight and focused on the sound of voices drifting from the kitchen.
Theodosia’s voice was low yet firm, as always. “Frankie, you need to be careful. You’ve been safe, but you can’t assume that will last forever. This proves it.”
Francesca’s response was softer and more measured, yet just as resolute. “I’m not going to be scared, Theo. They’ve got nothing. We were careful.”
What the hell?
I paused, my fingers brushing over the doorframe of my office—a ritualistic reassurance that at least this space remained untouched. Francesca’s redecorating spree hadn’t extended to my sanctuary or the bedroom, and I was endlessly grateful for that. No candles, no plants, no decorative pillows with ridiculous tassels—just the precise order I required. The books on the shelf remained alphabetized, my desk perfectly arranged, and the door slightly ajar, exactly as I had left it.
However, the conversation in the kitchen was anything but orderly, and my gut tightened as I listened.
“But,”
Theo pressed, her voice laced with frustration. “After what happened at the hospital…”
There was a pause before Francesca’s voice returned, quieter this time. “We managed it, didn’t we? If it happens again, we’ll handle it just as we did before. Well, perhaps not exactly like that.”
“I’m not sure we should be going around killing people, should we?”
Theo’s question was a sharp whisper, and Francesca must have silenced her with a glance because the next sound I heard was a quiet, unsteady breath—Theodosia’s.
My heart stilled, but I tried to remain calm. Were they speaking metaphorically? Going around killing people?
I stepped into the kitchen just as Theo hugged Francesca tightly. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,”
Theo murmured, her voice thick with a mix of worry and affection.
“Always.”
Francesca’s hands lingered on Theo’s shoulders as they separated, her smile soft and reassuring as ever. It was a look capable of convincing anyone that everything was fine — almost anyone.
Theo’s eyes flicked to me as I approached, her expression tightening slightly. I offered her a small nod, deliberately unreadable, and she stepped back, smoothing a hand over her coat. “Conall,”
she greeted, her tone clipped. “I was just leaving.”
“Were you, now?”
I asked, keeping my voice casual as my gaze shifted to Francesca. She was back at the stove, stirring something in a pot as if nothing had happened.
“Yes,”
Theo replied tersely, slipping past me toward the door. “Have a nice dinner.”
I watched her leave, her departure swift and purposeful, before turning my attention back to Francesca. She hummed softly with her back to me, reaching for hot pads as a timer rang out.
“Theo’s worried about me,”
she said before I could ask, her tone light and matter-of-fact. “You know how she gets. Oh, and your brothers will be back for dinner.”
She pulled out what seemed to be cake pans from one of the ovens and set them on the racks.
I stepped closer, studying her profile as she worked. There was no tension in her movements, no sign of the conversation I had just overheard. Yet, the knot in my stomach tightened anyway. “She mentioned the hospital,”
I said, keeping my tone steady.
Francesca glanced at me briefly, her expression carefully neutral. “She’s still shaken up, that’s all. We’ve all been on edge since… well, you know.”
“Murder, Francesca? Seriously?”
I watched for her reaction.
I studied her. Her chin tilted slightly higher, and her fingers clenched the counter behind her. Defiant, yet not defensive. Not yet.
“I have no idea what you mean, Conall. Me? Kill someone? That’s absurd.”
“And what about the attack on the hospital? Was that random, or should I be looking at someone specific?”
Her eyes flickered with something—perhaps uncertainty or guilt—before she shook her head. “I don’t know. It could be Vallone, or it might be nothing. I’m not hiding anything from you, Conall.”
She conveyed it with such conviction that, for a moment, I almost believed her. However, I then remembered how Theo had hugged her and what she had said, “We’ll handle it like we did before.”
What was she hiding from me? And why did it feel like this was about something very specific, leaving me floundering in the dark? I didn’t like that at all.