35. Malachi
Chapter 35
Malachi
The ring glints in the dim light as I turn it over between my fingers, the engraved CM catching against my thumb. It’s heavier than it should be, pressing into my palm like it holds more weight than just silver.
Because it does.
I swallow hard, staring at it, remembering this morning—waking up in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, surrounded by him.
The heat of his body pressed against mine, the lazy drag of his fingertips down my spine, the quiet “ Mine” he’d murmured into my skin before kissing me breathless all over again.
Connor has been my first for everything.
My first kiss.
My first time.
My first fucking everything.
And now, as I lay here, staring at the proof of what he’s given me, of what he’s claimed, I can’t lie to myself anymore.
I’m in love with him.
The thought makes my chest ache, makes something inside me twist painfully because I know— I know —that this isn’t as simple as it feels when it’s just us, when it’s just Connor and Malachi.
Outside of these walls, outside of his bed, there are consequences. Because our love isn’t safe, it’s fucking dangerous. But with Connor, it feels inevitable. Like he was always meant to be mine. Like I was always meant to be his.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the ring to my lips as if that’ll somehow keep the thought from swallowing me whole.
And that’s when the door opens. I jolt upright, my heart slamming into my ribs as my gaze snaps toward the entrance and my fist curls around the ring.
The second I see who’s standing there, my blood freezes.
Declan Cunningham. What the fuck, I thought Connor said he was in the States?
He steps inside with an easy, almost lazy grace, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just studies me, those sharp green eyes— the same fucking shade as Connor’s —piercing through me like he already knows every fucking thought in my head.
“Merry Christmas, lad,” he says, his voice smooth, edged with something unreadable. He cocks his head slightly, his eyes scanning me like he’s cataloging every detail, every weakness.
“Mr. Cunningham,” I say, keeping my voice steady.
His lips twitch slightly like the formality amuses him. “Ah, now. No need for all that.” He steps further inside, looking around my room as if it’s the first time he’s seeing it. “We’ve been livin’ under the same roof for a while now, haven’t we?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
Because every instinct in my body is screaming at me that this isn’t just a casual visit. The head of an Irish Mob syndicate, Declan Cunningham is not a man who wastes his time, and right now he’s wasting it on me.
“I think it’s time we had a chat, lad.” His voice is steady and casual, but there’s something underneath it, something I can’t fucking place but feel in my gut.
A warning.
A threat.
I tighten my fingers around the ring in my hand, forcing my expression into something neutral. “A chat,” I repeat, my voice steady despite the fact that my pulse is a goddamn wreck.
He nods and walks over to me, his boots barely making a sound against the floor. “Aye. Thought it was about time.”
A cold sweat breaks out across my skin, but I keep my face blank. “What do you want to have a chat about?”
Declan smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Now, Malachi. No need to play dumb. You’re a smart boy.”
I grip the ring tighter in my fist, my pulse thrumming like a fucking war drum in my ears. Then he exhales slowly, taking a few unhurried steps closer, his hands clasped behind his back.
“I’ve been watchin’ you, y’know,” he says and a chill runs down my spine. “You’ve settled in well. Better than I would’ve expected for a man in your position.”
I swallow hard, keeping my breathing even. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, I suppose you didn’t.” He studies me for a moment, then hums. “But I can’t help but wonder… have you gotten too comfortable?”
My stomach turns because I know what he’s saying. What he’s implying, but his next words have my heart stilling. “Connor’s got a soft spot for you, that much is clear.”
Declan steps even closer, coming to a stop just in front of me and tilting his head. The man smells like cigars, whiskey, and expensive cologne—a lethal combination.
“See, lad… Connor’s my son and only heir. He’s got responsibilities. A legacy to uphold. And you…” He lets the word linger, his gaze dropping briefly to my closed fist before flicking back up. “Well. I wonder if you understand your role in all this.”
A sharp spike of something terrifying twists in my gut and I look up at him, forcing my voice to stay even. “And what role would that be, sir?”
He smiles again, but this time it’s slow and calculated. Then he reaches out and taps the fist I have clenched around the ring. “The one my son has foolishly given you.”
My heart slams against my ribs. There it is. The confirmation I never fucking wanted.
Declan Cunningham knows.
I’m as good as dead.
My chest tightens, my mind racing a mile a fucking minute, trying to figure out what he wants from me, where this conversation is going, and how much he knows. But this man is impossible to fucking read.
He takes a step back and slips his hand into one of the pockets of his trousers, tilting his head. “Y’know, my son’s always been a stubborn one,” he muses, his voice smooth, thoughtful. “Headstrong. Reckless. But he’s also loyal. When he decides somethin’ is his, he doesn’t let go.”
I swallow hard, my throat like sandpaper. Declan’s gaze lifts back to mine, and there’s no question in his eyes now. Just knowing. “And it seems he’s decided you’re his.”
My breath shudders and the air in the room shifts, the walls closing in as I fight to keep my expression neutral, to keep my fucking cool. Because he might not be raising his voice, he might not be holding a gun or making outright threats. But I can feel the warning like a blade pressed to my throat just waiting for the wrong move.
I sit up straighter, forcing myself to keep my voice calm. “Is that a problem?”
He exhales slowly, like he’s bored and this is nothing more than a minor inconvenience to him. But his eyes… his fucking eyes are a different story.
“I wonder,” he says, his voice dipping lower. “Do you think it’s a problem?”
I hesitate. Because that’s the thing—I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck he’s getting at, what he really wants from me. But I know this man didn’t become who he is by playing fair.
“You’ve got my son twisted up over you and he’s makin’ moves he would never have entertained before,” he murmurs. “That’s not somethin’ I take lightly, lad.”
I hold his gaze, my jaw tight. “I didn’t ask him to want me.”
“That’s not the point, boy. He does want you. And that makes things complicated because you’ve already got his heart wrapped ‘round your fuckin’ finger.” He tilts his head. “Some would call that a direct weakness.”
I stare at him, my heart pounding. What the fuck does that mean?
Declan steps back, glancing at my fist once more before leveling me with a look that sends a shiver down my spine. “Enjoy your gift, Malachi.”
Then he turns and walks out, leaving the door open behind him.
I don’t move. I can’t fucking breathe, because that wasn’t a warning, it was a test I don’t know if I just passed or fucking failed.