Chapter Eleven
Ronin
Danny flags the bartender for another round as he wraps up the last of the business he wanted to go over.
So far, he hasn’t brought up a single thing Da couldn’t have handled while I’m gone.
But because Alannah and I leave tomorrow and I’ll officially take over from Da when we get back, I bite back the urge to cut him off and let him finish.
I glance at my watch. I hate that I’m sitting here dealing with this shit instead of being with Alannah, especially today of all days. Another five minutes, ten at most, and I’m going back to my wife.
My wife. Christ, I like the sound of that.
I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of Alannah walking down the aisle toward me out of my head.
She looked so damn beautiful, so happy. And the way she kept her eyes on mine the whole way, like I was the only thing in that church worth looking at?
There isn’t a luckier bastard alive. I promised myself then and there I’d give her every reason to keep looking at me that way for the rest of our lives.
The bartender sets the drinks down, and I tip my head in thanks before taking a drink. Danny keeps talking, and I check my watch again. An elbow catches me in the side. I look over at him, and he lifts a brow. “You planning to listen to any of this?”
I shrug. “I’ve got a wife to get back to.”
“I’m almost done.” His mouth curves into a grin. “Then you can get back to her. Married five minutes and already whipped.”
I laugh. “Yeah. Guess that’s how it goes.” Still smiling, I take another drink and look around the bar. It’s nearly empty now. Most of the guests must’ve gone back to the ballroom. We should be heading back too.
I’m about to say as much to Danny when I see her.
Alannah stands just inside the entrance, her red-rimmed eyes staring at me like I’m a stranger, tears running down her cheeks. My stomach drops. Who the fuck made my wife cry on our wedding day?
I set my glass down and start toward her, expecting her to come meet me, but she doesn’t move. Her gaze drops from mine to the floor as I approach, and the way she won’t look at me puts me on edge. “They’re ready to announce us,” she says when I reach her, then turns to leave.
My hand closes over her shoulder before she can get away. “Why are you crying? What happened?”
She wipes at her face and draws in a shuddering breath, but she still doesn’t turn back to me. “Lana.” When she doesn’t answer, I step around in front of her, but she keeps her eyes lowered. I soften my voice. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
Her face crumples, and she finally looks up at me. “I met Kitty.”
The blood drains from my face. I stare at her, certain I heard her wrong. “What?” My voice comes out rough.
Kathleen shouldn’t be here. She has no business being anywhere near this place. Why the fuck was she talking to my wife?
“Kathleen, I mean.” Alannah’s voice pulls me back. “I met her. She told me she wanted us to get along—”
Jesus Christ. This isn’t happening. Not today. How is she even here?
Then it clicks—Sully. He’s one of Da’s guys, so of course he was on the list. Which means Kathleen must’ve tagged along with him. And she chose today of all days to corner my wife and run her mouth. On my goddamn wedding day. My jaw clenches hard enough my teeth ache.
Alannah’s blue eyes stay on mine, wet with tears and full of hurt. When she speaks, the word comes out like a plea. “Why?”
I open my mouth. The words are right there—crowding my tongue. I want to tell her that Kathleen was a mistake—someone who never really mattered. I want to tell her she’s the only thing that does. That I’ll be faithful, that I’ll never look at another woman as long as I live.
I just need to get the words out.
I can fix this. I have to fix this—if I can just—
A scoff sounds behind Alannah. My eyes flick past her and land on Danny. I hadn’t even registered him moving. I’d been too caught up in how upset Alannah was. He’s close enough to have heard our conversation. Maybe not every word—but enough.
He meets my gaze, his upper lip curling as he slowly shakes his head, then walks past us and out of the lounge—and something in me snaps.
I was ready to crawl. Ready to beg Alannah to forgive me for a mistake I never meant to make, to say whatever I had to say to fix this.
The guilt I’d been choking on twists hard and fast until it turns bitter. Ugly. I feel my face redden in anger.
My wife shouldn’t be standing here questioning me like this. Not today. Not in front of my men.
After everything I’ve done.
After marrying her.
After giving her this day.
This is how she thanks me. Something hard settles in my chest.
I’m talking—I know I am—but I couldn’t tell you what I’m saying. The words come fast and sharp, piling over each other, and I don’t stop to check if they land. She’s still crying, and when she speaks, all I hear is accusation.
Before I know what I’m doing, my hand is on her wrist, tightening, and I pull her forward.
She stumbles once, then keeps pace, whether she wants to or not.
I don’t slow down. I don’t look at her. All I can feel is the pressure building inside me, thick and urgent, like if I stop now it’ll spill out.
The music grows louder as we reach the ballroom doors—upbeat, the kind of noise meant for a celebration. Laughter carries into the hall, chairs scrape, and voices rise over the band.
The doors swing open. Light hits us, bright enough to make me squint, and the room turns toward us all at once. Faces lift. Smiles widen.
The bandleader’s voice carries over the music. “Mr. and Mrs. Byrne—”
Applause erupts. Cheers. Someone whistles.
I keep pulling her forward until we reach the bandstand. I let go of her wrist only long enough to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her tight against my side.
The clapping doesn’t stop all at once. It falters.
Some people trail off, then the rest follow.
The band dies away with it, and the low murmur moving through the room fades until the ballroom falls silent.
Everyone is staring now, taking in the tears on my wife’s face, the way she isn’t smiling, the hard set of my jaw.
I catch sight of Da and Seamus on their feet beside their table, confusion on both their faces as they look between us.
I glance down at Alannah. Her head is bowed. Tears keep falling, and she makes no move to wipe them away. She should be smiling beside me, not standing here crying for the whole room to see. She knows better than this, and it only pisses me off more.
I lift my head. “Everyone,” I say, my voice carrying across the ballroom, “if I can get your attention, please. My new bride and I would like to thank you all for being here to celebrate with us.” My fingers tighten at Alannah’s hip. She trembles in my hold, but I keep her pressed against me.
“This is a day my wife and I will carry with us for the rest of our lives. And since it’s something we’ll never forget, it seems fitting that a lesson be learned here too, in front of everyone who matters to us—right at the beginning of our life together.”
I scan the crowd until I find Kathleen sitting off to one side beside her da, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of wine in her hand. Her painted lips curve into an amused smile as I hold her gaze. “Kathleen O’Malley,” I say clearly. “If you’d come up here, please.”
Kathleen sets down her glass and rises slowly. A ripple of unease passes through the room as heads turn to follow her across the ballroom. She stops in front of us.
Beside me, Alannah is still crying, pale and frozen in place. I release her waist and take Kathleen’s hand instead, threading my fingers through hers in full view of everyone. The gesture is deliberate, possessive, leaving no room for anyone to misunderstand what I’m doing.
Gasps break out across the room as I raise our joined hands for everyone to see. I smile at the shock on their faces. “And what I see fit is to spend my wedding night with someone who knows how to please me.”
I give the room a curt nod. “Excuse us.”
With Kathleen beside me, her hand locked in mine, I push through the doors. Behind us, the ballroom erupts into a roar of voices. I don’t stop until we’re through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk.
I yank her toward me and bend close to her ear. “I’ll only say this once,” I tell her quietly. “You crossed a line today. Going anywhere near my wife was a stupid decision.”
Her eyes widen as the smile falls from her face, and she jerks against my grip, trying to pull free.
I haul her back against me. The stupid bitch actually thought I was choosing her, as if she could show up at my wedding, throw what happened between us in my wife’s face, and expect me to reward her for it.
“I suggest you steer clear of both of us from here on out,” I say, my voice low and hard.
“Because one more wrong move, and I’ll have the boys drop you over the Summer Street Bridge.
And I know for a fact the Channel’s got plenty of room for one more piece of trash. ”
She starts to speak, but I don’t give a shit what she has to say. I drag her to the nearest cab waiting at the curb, wrench open the rear door, and shove her inside. “Go home,” I say. “And think very carefully before you pull something like that again.” I slam the door shut.
The cab pulls away, and I look back at the hotel. Alannah and I were supposed to spend our wedding night here, in the honeymoon suite, before leaving for Italy tomorrow.
I could go back inside. Go straight upstairs and wait for her in our room. I nearly do.
But if I go back now, she’ll think she can question me in front of my men and I’ll still go running after her. No. She needs to learn that isn’t how this works.
I turn away from the hotel before I can change my mind and start down the street.
I keep walking with no real destination, the neighbourhood growing rougher with every block.
A narrow bar wedged between two brick storefronts catches my eye, its painted sign faded and its front window dulled by grime.
It looks like the kind of place where nobody asks questions and everyone minds their own damn business.
I step inside and take a seat at the far end of the bar. I’m not in the mood for conversation. But I sure as fuck need a drink.
I signal the bartender. “Jameson,” I say. “Leave the bottle.”