11. Ronan
11
RONAN
T he morning is serene, the kind of quiet I don’t get often. I sit on the couch, the steaming hot coffee mug grounding me as I take another sip, staring out the window at the still-dim sky. It’s a rare day for me to be home, but today, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I don’t want to think too deeply about the reason for staying but I know the truth.
Tessa.
My wife.
She’s still upstairs, likely curled up in bed, unaware that she’s why I haven’t been able to focus for days on anything other than her.
I’m not sure what it is about her, but she’s gotten under my skin like no other woman has before. I keep telling myself it’s because of our past. Pulling her out of that cell changed me. Changed my entire heart and soul. At the time, she was seventeen. A minor. I didn't think of her in any way other than my sister’s best friend and a girl who had been part of our lives for a long time.
But now, she’s very much an adult. Too much of an adult. Too serious. Too guarded. And I want to change that. I want Tessa to be able to be carefree and happy no matter where she is or what she’s doing.
The sound of light, hesitant footsteps pull me from my thoughts. I glance toward the doorway just as Tessa appears, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She’s still in her pajamas—an oversized shirt that drapes over her frame and shorts that leave just enough of her legs exposed to make my throat tighten. Those scars make me feel murderous, and it fuels me even more to find Smoke. Everything points to him as the man who kidnapped her and put her through that nightmare. God help him once I find him, and find him I will. Even if I have to spend the rest of my time on Earth searching.
I can’t help but stare at her. Her silky hair falls in messy waves, a riot of softness framing her face, and her eyes are heavy with sleep. She looks… beautiful.
She stops when she sees me, her expression a mix of surprise and something softer. “You’re here?”
“I live here,” I reply, smirking over the rim of my mug.
She rolls her eyes, a soft breath of laughter escaping her lips. “You know what I mean. You’re usually gone by now.”
“I took the day off,” I say simply as she moves further into the room. She sinks into the armchair across from me, tucking her legs under her and pulling the hem of her shirt over her knees. The sight of her like this does something to me. Something primal. I want to peel away all her clothes and kiss every mark on her skin.
“Oh,” she says, glancing at me with a shy smile. “That’s… nice.”
The way her smile lingers, the way her shoulders relax as she settles into the chair—it’s clear she’s happy I’m here. That realization sends a warm rush through me, something deeper than pride. I take another sip of coffee to distract myself, to keep from staring at the curve of her lips.
“Do you want some coffee?” I ask, nodding toward the kitchen.
Her face lights up, and I feel a ridiculous sense of satisfaction at being the one to put that happiness there.
“A man who knows how to keep his wife happy,” she says, giggling softly.
My cock jumps against my slacks at the sound. There are so many things I’d like to do to keep my wife happy. I keep that to myself, though.
I set my mug down and head to the kitchen, pouring a cup and adding a ridiculous amount of creamer, just the way she likes it. I should probably book her a dentist appointment to make sure her teeth aren’t rotting from all the sugar.
When I hand it to her, our fingers brush, and the small spark lingers, sending a buzz through my entire body. Her eyes flick up to mine for a split second, her cheeks coloring faintly before she looks away.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, cradling the mug in her hands like it’s precious to her.
For a while, we sit in a comfortable silence, the only sounds the occasional clink of her mug and the soft rustle of her shirt as she shifts in her seat. But eventually, I can’t stay quiet any longer. I want to hear her sweet voice.
“Did you like living in Ireland?”
It’s a basic question, but I figure it’s a safe one.
She smiles and nods. “I did. It’s so beautiful there. In a way it felt like the Pacific Northwest because of how green it is, so it gave me the feeling of home. I felt safe there.”
I stare at her, my jaw flexing. I lean forward and put my coffee mug on the coffee table. “Do you not feel safe in Seattle?”
Keeping her eyes averted, she swallows. “I feel safe here with you on the estate.”
That answer won’t do. My wife should be able to feel safe anywhere . This is our city, and the fact that she only feels safe on this estate is unacceptable.
“I’ve assigned you three bodyguards who are available to you at all times when you leave this property. They’ll be coming to meet you tomorrow.”
Her eyes widen. “Ronan, you don’t have to give me bodyguards. You’ve already done enough for me.”
It’s adorable that she thinks that.
“You’re getting bodyguards. Every wife of a mafia member has them. Have you already forgotten you married someone in the top seven? Maybe I need to get you a giant diamond that weighs your hand down instead of that simple band so you don’t forget.” I wink at her and smirk, hoping to lighten the mood.
It works, and she rolls her eyes at me. If I were her Daddy, I’d playfully scold her, but we don’t have a dynamic like that. As much as I’d like us to.
“What about you?” she asks eventually, tilting her head as her gaze meets mine. “What’s it like… working in the mafia?”
I chuckle, leaning back against the couch. “It’s not as glamorous as people think,” I say, keeping my tone light. “A lot of it is business—boring meetings, negotiations, making sure everything runs smoothly. But there’s also… the less boring stuff.”
“Less boring?” She cocks her head, her eyebrows pinched in confusion. “That’s a very vague way of putting it.”
I shrug. “Some things are better left vague.”
Her lips press together, and she’s fighting the urge to ask more. Instead, she nods, her expression softening. “But you’re good at it.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. “It’s what I do. What I’m built for. I protect what’s mine.”
Something flickers in her expression. The air shifts between us. The tension that’s been simmering all morning bubbles to the surface, but neither of us acknowledges it. Instead, we fall back into comfortable small talk about her paint night with the girls, the jobs she’s been applying for, and other random stuff that seems pointless but gives me a glimpse into Tessa.
By midday, we’re sprawled out on the couch, watching a rom-com, which she insists is a “must-see classic.” I don’t argue, even though it’s not my usual kind of movie, because the sound of her laughter is better than anything on the screen.
Paige texts me to tell me she’s spending the day at Declan’s and will probably stay the night there. Part of me wonders if she’s making herself scarce because she has hopes of something happening between me and Tessa. Whatever her reasoning, I appreciate the space she’s giving us.
When Tessa says she’s going to get some popcorn, I wave her off and go to the kitchen, making it for her without hesitation. Later, when we switch to an action movie, I put together sandwiches, bringing hers out with the crust cut off because I’ve noticed that’s how she likes them. The way her eyes light up when she sees the plate makes the effort worth it.
The hours slip by, the tension between us never quite dissipating. She stays in her pajamas all day, and it pleases me immensely. I love seeing her so comfortable. I catch myself watching her too often, my eyes lingering on the way she tucks her hair behind her ear or bites her lip when she’s focused on the movie. Every look, every laugh, every small, unconscious gesture pulls me deeper under her alluring spell.
More than once, a thought creeps into my mind. She could actually be mine. Not just in the way she already is, on paper. But in every way. I’ve been a Daddy Dom for as long as I can remember, but I’ve never wanted to take care of a woman like I want to her.
By the time the last movie ends, she’s curled up on the couch with her head resting against the armrest, her eyes heavy with sleep.
“You should go to bed,” I say softly, rising to take her empty glass to the kitchen.
She mumbles something incoherent, stretching as she stands. She pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking back at me with a sleepy smile that feels far too intimate for what we are.
“Thanks for today, Ronan,” she murmurs. “It was… really nice.”
As she disappears up the stairs, her words linger in the air like a promise. Nice. That’s one way to describe it. But as I stand there, the echo of her laughter still ringing in my ears, I know it was more than that. Much more.
I t’s nearly midnight by the time I make my way upstairs. As usual, Tessa’s door is open a few inches and there’s a dim lamp illuminating the room. Paige mentioned a few years ago that Tessa always slept with a nightlight because she was afraid of the dark after what happened. I guess that fear hasn’t gone away.
As quietly as possible, I peek into her room. The door is open, so it’s not a creepy thing to do. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
The covers are pulled up to her chin as she lies on her side facing the door. I stare for a few seconds, and just as I'm about to step away, her wide blue eyes pop open.
“You’re still awake. Why aren’t you sleeping, Little one?”
She gives a small shrug. “It usually takes me a while to fall asleep.”
I nod toward the edge of the bed. “Mind if I sit?”
She shakes her head, her expression soft but curious. The mattress dips slightly under my weight, and the sweet scent of everything Tessa surrounds me. I think she uses a mix of vanilla and coconut body products, but whatever it is, she always smells like dessert.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. I glance at a book on her nightstand, some romance novel with a cheesy cover, and I can’t help but smirk.
“That’s what’s keeping you up?” I tease, nodding toward the book.
Her cheeks flush, and I almost feel bad for embarrassing her. “It would be better than staring at the ceiling all night, but no. It’s my thoughts that keep me awake. Memories.”
“I understand that.” I turn toward her. “I’m assuming not the good kind.”
She hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Not usually.”
I study her for a moment. I want to take those memories from her, to give her the kind of peace she clearly hasn’t felt in a long time.
“Come here,” I say gently, patting the mattress beside me. “Scoot closer.”
Her brows furrow, but she does as I ask. Slowly, I reach out, my hand brushing against her hair.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“I’m giving you something else to focus on,” I tell her gently, my fingers threading through the soft strands of her hair. “Trust me. Close your eyes and just feel, baby girl.”
She hesitates for a moment longer, but then her eyes flutter shut as I continue to stroke her hair. My movements are slow, deliberate, and the tension in her face melts away bit by bit. Her breathing starts to slow, and I have to resist stretching out next to her.
“Better?”
“Mm-hmm.”
For a while, I just sit there, running my fingers through her hair, watching as she drifts closer and closer to sleep. It’s a quiet, intimate time, one that feels more special than anything else we’ve shared so far. I should go and leave her to sleep but I can’t find the strength to pull away.
“Ronan.”
“Hmm?”
Her eyes open, and she looks up at me sleepily, a softness in her gaze. “I’ve thought of you every single day since you saved me.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of my lungs. I stare at her, my hand stilling in her hair.
I want to say something, to tell her what her words mean to me, but it’s too late. She’s already asleep, her expression peaceful, and I hope she’ll be able to get some good rest.
I sit there for a moment longer, my hand still resting lightly against her hair, my thoughts a tangled mess. Her words play on a loop in my mind.
Before I leave, I lean down and brush a kiss on her forehead.
“Sleep well, baby girl,” I whisper.
All this time, I’ve told myself my trips to Ireland were to make sure Tessa was safe, but in that time, I’ve developed feelings I didn’t expect. Feelings I don’t think I can deny any longer. I want Tessa, but I want her to choose me because she wants me, not because she was backed into a corner.