38. Connor
Chapter 38
Connor
The second I close Malachi’s door behind me, I know there’s no turning back. My feet move on instinct, each step heavier than the last, the weight of what I’m about to do pressing down on my fucking chest like a goddamn vice.
But I don’t stop. I can’t. Not after what I saw. Not after running my hands over the bruises someone put on my fucking Malachi. Not after knowing exactly who the fuck ordered it.
The hall is dark and silent, the rest of the house dead asleep, but I know he’s awake. He always is. My father doesn’t sleep much—comes with the territory of ruling a goddamn empire. And tonight? He sure as fuck ain’t going to be getting any rest.
By the time I reach his office, my heart is hammering, my blood running hot and my jaw clenched so tight it aches. I don’t bother knocking. I shove the door open, stepping inside, slamming it shut behind me.
Da looks up from where he’s sitting behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in one hand, and a stack of paperwork in the other. His brow furrows slightly, his green eyes flicking over me like he’s assessing the situation—like he already knows something’s coming.
But he doesn’t say a word. Not yet.
“Don’t you fuckin’ look at me like that,” I snap, the words flying out before I can stop them. My voice is rough, edged with something dangerous, something close to breaking.
Da leans back in his chair, his expression giving nothing away. “Like what, lad?”
“Like I’m about to waste your fuckin’ time.” I take a step forward, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “You knew, didn’t you?”
His gaze sharpens. “Knew what?”
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’re a fuckin’ bastard, you know that?”
“Aye, I’ve heard that once or twice,” he says with a shrug. “What’s this about?”
I bark out a humorless laugh, shaking my head, my stomach twisting with rage. “Don’t play dumb with me, Da. You knew what they did to him.” My voice cracks slightly, but I don’t stop, don’t fucking care. “You let it happen.”
He sighs through his nose, setting his glass down on the desk with a quiet clink. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about, Connor, but I suggest you slow down and—”
“Slow down?” I cut him off, stepping forward again, my entire body coiled tight, like if I don’t let this out now, I’ll fucking implode. “You ordered them to hurt him, didn’t you?”
He frowns at my words and narrows his eyes. Why the fuck does he look confused? “Who?”
I let out a shaky breath, dragging my hand through my hair, gripping the back of my neck as I try to keep myself from fucking losing it.
“Don’t,” I grit out. “Don’t fuckin’ sit there and act like you don’t know exactly who the fuck I’m talkin’ about.” I slam my hands down on the desk, my chest rising and falling too fast, too hard. “You ordered Malachi to be beaten. You had your men hurt him just to send a fuckin’ message to me. And I swear to Christ if you try to deny it—”
Da’s chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, his expression still flat, but now there’s something harder in his gaze. “Breathe.”
I blink, thrown off by the sudden shift.
“What?”
He steps around the desk, coming to stand directly in front of me. “You’re not makin’ a lick of sense, boy. So before you go accusin’ me of things I didn’t do, you’d best take a fuckin’ breath and think.” His hands settle heavily on my shoulders, his grip firm but not rough, like he’s trying to ground me. “Now. Slowly. Tell me what you’re talkin’ about.”
I swallow hard, my throat tight, my pulse hammering in my ears. But he’s right. I’m spiraling, letting my rage take the wheel. And my father? He’s not a man you face half-cocked.
I force a breath out through my nose, steadying myself before I meet his gaze again. “Malachi was beaten while I was gone. Someone roughed him up badly, Da.”
I keep going, barely breathing between words, too far gone now to stop. “What was the goal? Huh? To prove that I’m betrayin’ you? To make me pick between him and you?” My voice cracks slightly, and I fucking hate it. “Because if that’s what you wanted, congratulations.” I let out a ragged breath, my hands curling into fists. “You win.”
Still, my father doesn’t move.
“I don’t know what to do, because I know— I know —feelin’ this way means I’m betrayin’ you, but I don’t care.” I press my hands into my face, trying to breathe, trying to think. “I can’t care, because if I do, if I listen to all the reasons I shouldn’t love him, then what’s left of me?”
Silence.
I inhale sharply, exhaling through my nose, my vision clearing just slightly. Da studies me for a long moment, his hands still on my shoulders. Then, finally, he steps back, folding his arms across his chest.
“And you think I ordered Malachi to be roughed up?”
I glare at him. “Didn’t you do it to get to me?”
His jaw tightens and he shakes his head. “I didn’t order a fuckin’ thing.”
The answer is quick. Immediate. And I know my father well enough to know he isn’t fucking lying. I stare at him, my pulse still pounding, but now with something else. Something more uncertain.
“Then what the fuck happened?” I demand.
Da tilts his head slightly, his lips pressing together. “That, my son, is the question of the fuckin’ night.”
I stare at him, my mind running a hundred miles an hour. I walked in here, ready to rip him apart, ready to burn every fucking bridge if I had to. But now? Now I’m standing in front of my father, watching him study me with that calculating gaze, and I feel like the ground’s been yanked out from under me.
Now that my rage has somewhat dissipated, I realize something.
Declan Cunningham doesn’t let things happen in this house without his say-so. If he wanted Malachi beaten, he’d fucking say it to my face. He wouldn’t need to sneak around, wouldn’t need to let some nameless bastard do his dirty work.
But someone did.
The confusion knots tighter in my chest, twisting into something sharp and uneasy. “So what the fuck does that mean?” I ask, my voice lower now, my anger simmering but still very much there.
Da holds my gaze for a beat, then turns, moving toward the cabinet in the corner where he keeps his best whiskey. “I’ll check the surveillance,” he says, grabbing the bottle and pouring himself another glass. “If someone touched him under my roof, I’ll deal with it accordingly.”
My breath stutters just slightly. Of course. Of course, there are fucking cameras in every corner of this house. Every hallway, every entrance, every room that isn’t a personal living space. My father might have been letting Malachi rot here, but he still watches everything.
Something in my chest eases, but not by much.
Then he turns back to me, fixing me with a look that flays me open. “Now, lad. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”
My pulse fucking stutters.
He’s looking at me like he already knows and the anger that was keeping me upright fucking vanishes as something much worse replaces it.
I shift on my feet, suddenly feeling like a goddamn teenager again, standing in this same office after getting caught sneaking out for the first time. But this is so much worse.
My father is not a man you lie to.
So what’s the fucking point in hiding now?
I exhale, dragging a hand down my face. “I’m in love with him.” The words leave me in a rush, my chest suddenly too fucking tight, like saying it out loud makes it more real than it’s ever been. “I didn’t mean to, Da. I swear, I didn’t mean to.”
Da watches me for a long moment, then sighs and shakes his head. “Ah, shite, Connor.”
My stomach fucking drops. “I’m sorry,” I say immediately, my voice rough and desperate. “I know it’s a betrayal. I know I’m not supposed to—”
“Shut your mouth.” I blink and Da rubs his temple, his expression somewhere between exhausted and amused. “Christ, lad, you act like I’m about to put a fuckin’ bullet in yer head.”
I stare at him, thrown completely off balance. “Aren’t you?”
His lips twitch slightly, then he takes a slow sip of whiskey. “Your Ma and I figured it out a long time ago. Was just waitin’ for you to say it.”
My mouth goes dry. “You knew?”
He raises a brow. “Course I fuckin’ knew. You’re my son, Connor. I know you better than you know yourself.”
I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “So what? You’re just okay with it?”
He sighs, setting his glass down before meeting my gaze. “I won’t lie to you, lad. It’s complicated. You fell in love with a man who should be nothin’ to you. That’s not easy for me to overlook.”
A lump forms in my throat when Da exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw and blinking like he’s got a headache forming behind his eyes.
I hate that fucking sigh. Hate the weight of it, the disappointment laced through it, the way it settles in my chest like I’ve just fucking failed him.
I never wanted to disappoint him. Not him. Not my Da.
Guilt crashes into me like a fucking train, and before I can stop myself, the words tumble out of my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
He lifts a brow, giving me a look that tells me he’s not impressed by the sudden apology. “What exactly are you sorry for, Connor?”
I open my mouth, then close it, because fuck if I know where to even start.
For disappointing him?
For falling in love with the enemy’s son?
For not regretting it?
I swallow hard, raking a hand through my hair, my pulse hammering. “I don’t know. I just—” I inhale sharply, forcing myself to look at him, to face him. “I hate that you’re disappointed in me.”
Da studies me for a long moment, then shakes his head, muttering something under his breath and I stiffen. “What?” I snap.
He exhales through his nose, leaning back against the bar, arms crossing over his chest. “I’m not disappointed in you, Connor.”
I blink. “But you sighed.”
He chuckles dryly, shaking his head. “Christ, lad, if I sighed every time you did somethin’ reckless, I’d have dropped dead of exhaustion years ago.”
I stare at him, my mind scrambling to catch up. “So you’re not disappointed?”
Da lifts a brow.
Fuck.
I groan, dragging both hands down my face, my pulse still fucking racing. “I don’t know what the fuck to do, Da.”
He hums, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “You already made your choice, lad.”
I look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
His green eyes fixate on me, sharp as ever. “You chose him.”
It’s not a question or a guess. It’s a fucking fact, and we both know it.
I don’t say anything. I just nod once, my jaw locked tight. He watches me for a moment longer, then exhales again, shaking his head. “It’s never easy, fallin’ for the wrong person.”
I huff a humorless laugh. “Understatement of the fuckin’ year.”
He smirks slightly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Then, after a moment, he tilts his head slightly, studying me like he’s about to drop something big. “You ever wonder how I met your mother?”
I frown, thrown off by the sudden shift. “You met her at a ballet.”
He laughs. Actually laughs, the bastard, like I just said the funniest shit he’s heard all fucking year.
I glare. “What?”
He shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his jaw, still chuckling. “That’s what she told you?”
I shift on my feet, confused as all hell. “Aye.”
His smirk widens, but there’s something in his eyes now, something deeper. “She leave out the part where I was sent to kill her?”
I stare at him, my stomach turning to fucking stone. “What?” I exclaim, as disbelief courses through me.
He exhales, shaking his head like he’s lost in some long-buried memory. “I was sent to kill her,” he repeats.
I gape at him. “Da—”
“She was married at the time,” he continues, his voice softer now, “to the head of a rival family.”
The fuck?
“That’s not—” I break off, shaking my head, trying to piece my fucking reality back together. “That’s not what she told me.”
Da chuckles again, but it’s quieter this time. “Aye, well. Not the most romantic of stories to tell your children, now is it?”
I stare at him, my thoughts racing, my entire fucking understanding of my parents’ relationship cracking like shattered glass. I shake my head, completely fucking lost. “What the fuck do you mean, you were sent to kill her?”
He breathes out a long sigh and, sets his glass down. “She was married to Michael O’Connell. Head of the O’Connell family.”
My stomach fucking drops.
O’Connell.
A rival family.
A dead rival family.
I’ve heard the stories—how they were wiped out years ago, how no one even dares to mention their name anymore. I just never fucking knew why. Or that my own mother had been married to the fucking head. Da watches as I piece it together, his green eyes sharp and knowing.
“She was the enemy’s weakness,” he says simply. “And I was sent to put a bullet in her head.”
My pulse thunders in my ears, and my breath comes a little too fast. “But… you didn’t.”
He shakes his head, a small, almost wistful smirk tugging at his lips. “No. I couldn’t .”
I swallow hard, my mind still struggling to fucking comprehend. “Why?”
Da tilts his head slightly. “Same reason you can’t let go of Malachi.”
His words slam into me, knocking the breath right out of my chest. I open my mouth, then close it, shaking my head. “That’s not—”
“It is,” he cuts in, his voice firm. “You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t recognize what’s happenin’ to you?” He exhales sharply, his gaze turning more serious. “I’ve been there, Connor. Standin’ in front of a person I was supposed to end, feelin’ my whole fuckin’ world shift beneath my feet, knowin’ that if I walked away, I’d be changin’ my whole goddamn life.”
I stare at him, my chest tight, my heart pounding. I always knew my parents had a story. I just never knew it was this one.
He shakes his head, rubbing at his jaw. “I took her and ran. The O’Connells never forgave her. My own fuckin’ father didn’t speak to me for years. But I knew. I knew if I walked away, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”
My throat feels dry, my hands clenching at my sides. “And you don’t regret it?”
He looks at me, his expression softening just slightly. “Not for a single fuckin’ second.”
I exhale sharply, my whole body tight with something I don’t even know how to name. I don’t know what I expected when I came here. I don’t know how I expected my father to react. But this? This wasn’t it.
He leans against the bar, watching me closely. “So, tell me, son. Before you stand there and tell me I wouldn’t understand, ask yourself this.” He pauses, his voice dropping lower. “Are you ready to do the same?”
I inhale slowly, exhaling through my nose, my mind racing.
Am I? Am I ready to risk everything for Malachi?
I already fucking know the answer.
I chose him.
And I’d choose him again.
The second I walked into Malachi’s room and saw those bruises on his face, the second I knelt at his feet and held onto him like he was the only thing keeping me fucking sane—
I chose him.
I lift my chin slightly, my jaw locking. “Yeah.”
Da studies me for a moment, then nods. “Go on, then. Go back to him.”
I hesitate, my jaw clenching. “And what about everything else?”
His lips twitch slightly, but it’s not in amusement. It’s something darker. “Let me deal with that, son.”
I hold his gaze for a second longer, then nod once, turning on my heel and walking the fuck out before I lose my goddamn mind.