21. Ronan
21
RONAN
I sit in the armchair, my gun resting on my lap, and watch Tessa sleep. The soft light overhead casts a warm glow on her face, but it does nothing to erase the tension lingering in her features. Even in slumber, she’s not free of him. Smoke. The name alone makes my blood boil.
I pull out my phone, my fingers moving quickly over the screen as I text Declan.
Ronan:Smoke’s in Vegas. Tessa spotted him tonight. I need you and the others here. Bring everything.
The message is delivered, and almost immediately, the screen lights up with Declan’s reply.
Declan:Fuck. We’re on it. First flight out.
I exhale sharply, my jaw tightening as I think about Smoke being so close to her again. The bastard has managed to evade us for years, and now, somehow, we’re in the same city at the same time. In a way, it’s a blessing because this time, there’s no way I’m letting him slip through my fingers.
Next, I text Cash, his number is now saved in my contacts after Tessa’s interview.
Ronan: This is Ronan Gilroy.Need your help. A man was at your restaurant tonight. He kidnapped Tessa six years ago, and we’ve been hunting him ever since.
It takes a few minutes for Cash to reply, but when he does, the message is clear.
Cash:Anything you need. Tell me when and where.
Ronan:Tomorrow morning. The Velvet Sands. I need to see your surveillance.
Cash: See you there.
I set my phone down, leaning back in the chair, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease. My eyes flick to Tessa, curled up in the bed, her breathing even but her movements restless. She murmurs something in her sleep, her face scrunching like she’s fighting off a nightmare, and it makes me want to tear the entire world apart. And I’m going to if that’s what it takes to find this piece of shit.
Smoke has haunted her for too long. I promised her safety, and now I’ve failed her. I should have already had him wiped off the face of this earth. But I’ll make it right. I’ll find him. And I’ll kill him.
The hours tick by, each dragging slower than the last. I don’t move from my spot, my hand resting on the grip of my gun as I keep watch. There are a dozen bodyguards between the elevator and this bedroom to stop any possible intruders, but that doesn’t matter. I need her to feel safe, and if that means sitting here with my gun, so be it.
The room is silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning and Tessa’s soft breaths. My mind races, planning, calculating, replaying every detail of tonight over and over again. There’s no doubt she saw him. And yet somehow, he was gone when I turned around, like a fucking ghost. The only thing that gives me a little bit of relief is knowing that every inch of these hotels and casinos are covered by surveillance, so there’s no way he could have evaded being caught on camera.
Maybe Cash Savage will become an ally. Even if that’s the case, I’ll never trust him to be alone with my girl. Fucking asshole. I saw the way he looked at her before he knew who I was. Not that I blame him. Every man she passes looks at her that way. And I want to kill every one of them. One man at a time, though. And right now, Smoke is at the top of my list.
I stay lost in my thoughts for hours, adrenaline keeping me wide awake and ready for anything. Then, in the dead of night, Tessa cries out.
I’m on my feet instantly as her screams pierce the air. She thrashes against the covers, her hands clutching the sheets as tears stream down her face.
“No!” she sobs. “Please, don’t… don’t…”
“Tessa.” My voice is firm but gentle as I kneel by the bed, taking her trembling, clammy hands in mine. “Tessa, wake up. Baby girl, it’s a nightmare.”
Her eyes snap open, wild and unfocused, and she gasps like she’s drowning. I pull her into my arms, holding her tightly as she sobs against my chest. “Shh, I’ve got you,” I murmur, stroking her hair. “You’re safe. It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe.”
Her fingers clutch at my shirt, her whole body sweaty and shaking as she tries to catch her breath. “He was there,” she whispers hoarsely. “He was going to take me again. I couldn’t stop him.”
I tighten my hold on her, my jaw clenching so hard it aches. “That’s never going to happen. Do you hear me, baby? Never again. I’ll find him, and I’ll end him.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her tear-filled eyes searching mine. “You promise?”
“I promise. I’m going kill him for what he’s done to you. For everything he’s done. He’ll never hurt you again.”
She nods slowly, her breathing still uneven as she leans into my chest. I hold her for a long time, whispering reassurances until her trembling subsides and her breathing evens out. When she finally drifts back to sleep, I lay her down gently, tucking the blankets around her before returning to my chair.
The gun in my lap feels heavier now, a physical reminder of the promise I’ve made. Smoke doesn’t know it yet, but his time is up. And when I’m done with him, he’ll wish he’d never laid eyes on Tessa.
For the rest of the night, I sit there, my eyes never leaving her. She’s my world, and I’m going to avenge her. It’s going to be long, slow, and painful, and I’m going to enjoy every bloody second of it.
T he energy in Cash Savage’s office is tense but focused. It’s large and sleek in here, overlooking the Las Vegas Strip, but the luxury feels irrelevant given the task at hand.
Declan stands at my side, his arms crossed over his chest, a picture of calculated intensity. Killian, Bash, Kieran, Grady, and Patrick are spread out around the room, their postures rigid. Declan kept the girls on the estate, surrounded by a few dozen bodyguards. If I didn’t know my brother so well, I would have laughed when he told me that, but it’s Declan. There’s no doubt at least forty guards keeping the girls barricaded into his house where they are totally safe.
The Italians, who also came to help, Alessandro and Luciano, lean casually against a table, but there’s nothing relaxed about their sharp gazes or how they keep their hands close to their weapons.
Cash Savage leans back in his leather chair, his tattooed arms resting on the armrests. His brothers—Beckett, Kian, and Xander—flank him, their expressions hard and angry. For having a bunch of mafia leaders in their space, they don’t seem at remotely concerned. There’s a shared understanding in the room, a silent agreement that we’re all here for the same reason.
Cash turns on a wall of flat-screen TVs. “You’ve got a name and a sighting. That’s a start. Let’s figure out where the bastard’s hiding.”
“Start with the restaurant,” I say, my tone clipped. “He was there last night.”
Cash nods, spinning his chair toward the screens. “Already ahead of you.” He nods to Beckett, who types something on a keyboard, bringing up a split screen of the restaurant’s security cameras from the night before.
I watch intently as the footage plays, my muscles coiled tight. There he is. Smoke . I know it’s him the second I see him. The bastard’s image flickers on one of the cameras as he enters the restaurant, his movements casual, like he has no idea he’s walking into my crosshairs. My fists clench at my sides, a deep, simmering rage boiling in my chest.
“That’s him,” I say, pointing at the screen. “Pause it.”
Beckett zooms in on the feed, the grainy image sharpening to reveal Smoke’s face. The sight of him—so close, so real—makes my blood run cold.
“We’ll cross-reference this image with the footage from the rest of the properties,” Beckett says, already typing again. “If he’s staying at one of our hotels, we’ll find him.”
Minutes stretch into what feels like hours as the footage is scanned, cameras from every angle of the property combed through. Finally, Xander straightens, his voice cutting through the tension. “Got him. He’s staying at The Empire Hotel. Checked in two days ago. Room 1402.”
Cash doesn’t hesitate, pulling out his phone and dialing a number. “I need confirmation on a guest. Room 1402. Name doesn’t matter; just tell me if he’s still on the property.”
The rest of us fall silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on the room. Cash taps his fingers against the desk, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Finally, he gets the answer he’s waiting for and hangs up.
“He’s still there,” Cash announces. “Security saw him in the lobby about thirty minutes ago.”
Declan turns to me, his jaw tight, waiting for my instructions. He might be the leader of the Irish mafia, but he knows I’m taking the lead on this, and he respects that.
“We’ll need to grab him clean,” I say, my mind racing. “Minimal public exposure. Take him somewhere isolated where we can handle this without interference.”
“A warehouse would be ideal,” Kieran adds. “Do you have one we can use?”
Cash raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching in amusement. “Do I look like I run the mafia? Why the hell would I have a warehouse?”
The room falls silent for a beat before Beckett snorts, and even Killian lets out a dry chuckle.
Cash rolls his eyes, holding up a hand. “Fine. Yes, we have a warehouse. No, it’s not for sketchy mafia business, but you’re welcome to use it for your, uh… extracurricular activities.”
He scribbles an address on a piece of paper and slides it across the desk. “Here. Knock yourselves out.”
“Appreciate it,” I say, pocketing the paper.
“What’s the plan?” Bash asks, his tone all business now.
“We’ll send a small team to The Empire to secure him,” Declan says. “Once he’s in custody, we take him to the warehouse and deal with him there.”
I nod, my focus narrowing. “We don’t let him get away this time. This is the closest we’ve been to him. We can’t make a single fucking mistake.”
The room hums with agreement, every man present, ready for what’s to come. Smoke has eluded justice for years, but his time is up.
Cash leans back, watching us with a wry grin. “You guys really know how to throw a party.”
“This isn’t a party,” I say darkly, meeting his gaze. “It’s an execution.”
A s we step inside, the lobby of The Empire Hotel is quiet. Declan, Killian, and Kieran flank me while Bash, Grady, Patrick, Alessandro, and Luciano spread out, keeping a low profile. Cash and his brothers hang back near the entrance, scanning the space for any sign of trouble.
We head straight to the elevators, our steps purposeful, our presence commanding enough to make the hotel staff keep their heads down. Room 1402. That’s where Smoke is supposed to be.
But when we reach the door and use the key card Cash provided, we’re met with nothing but an empty room.
“Damn it,” I hiss, storming inside. The bed is unmade, and the faint scent of cologne lingers, but there’s no sign of him. He was here—and recently—but he’s gone now.
Cash steps into the room behind me, his phone already in hand. “I’ll get the footage from security.”
“Hurry,” I snap, pacing the room.
My fists clench and unclench, the rage simmering just beneath my skin. He was right here . So close.
Within minutes, Cash has the footage pulled up. He turns it so we can all see. The time stamp shows Smoke leaving the room not even an hour ago, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He moves fast, heading through a side exit instead of the lobby. The footage ends with him climbing into a black SUV that peels away from the hotel.
“License plate?” I ask, my voice sharp.
Cash shakes his head. “It’s either fake or covered. No plate.”
“We’ll follow the direction he went,” Declan says, already moving. “He can’t have gotten far.”
“I’ll have my IT team search the footage from all our properties to see if they can figure out if he’s still in the city,” Cash says before he steps out and starts barking instructions into his phone.
We pile into our SUVs, the mood grim but determined. Cash and his brothers follow while we head in the direction Smoke’s SUV was last seen.
The desert stretches out before us, endless and unyielding, the barren landscape a stark contrast to the neon chaos of Vegas.
“Turn left up there,” Killian says, his phone up to his ear with Cash on the other end. “They aren’t far ahead of us.”
I grind my molars, my hands gripping the wheel tightly as I focus on the desolate road ahead.
“There,” Kieran calls from the passenger seat, pointing. “Black SUV.”
I press the gas pedal harder, the engine roaring as we close the distance. But before we can get too close, gunfire erupts from the SUV’s back window. Bullets ping off the hood, shattering the windshield of the Escalade behind us.
We swerve our vehicles, spreading out to avoid being easy targets. Kieran leans out of the passenger window, returning fire with calculated precision. More bullets fly, the sound deafening in the open desert air. Bash opens the sunroof and wedges himself through it with an assault rifle. As soon as he pulls the trigger, bullets hit with supreme accuracy, flattening the tires and breaking the windows of Smoke’s vehicle.
Smoke’s SUV veers off the road, kicking up a cloud of dust as it barrels toward a ditch. I slam on the brakes, skidding to a stop as the other SUVs form a semicircle around us.
The black SUV hits the ditch hard, flipping onto its side with a sickening crunch of metal. Smoke and his men spill out, armed and firing.
I duck behind my open door, taking cover while shooting with every chance I have. The others do the same, returning fire with practiced ease. The air fills with the smell of gunpowder and the sharp crack of gunfire.
Smoke makes a break for it, sprinting toward the desert.
“I’m going after him,” I shout, already moving.
“Ronan, wait—” Declan starts, but I don’t stop.
Adrenaline surges as I chase Smoke through the sand, the uneven terrain slowing us both. My expensive dress shoes aren’t made for this shit, but luckily, Smoke is wearing something similar.
My breath comes fast and heavy, but I don’t let up, my focus locked on the bastard just ahead of me. He turns to shoot at me, which is a rookie fucking error on his part because it slows him down enough that I gain ground as the bullets whiz past me.
Finally, I catch him. I tackle him, sending his gun flying, the impact knocking the wind out of both of us. He scrambles to his feet, trying to reach for a knife at his belt, but I jump up and grab his wrist, twisting it until the weapon falls uselessly to the ground.
“You don’t get away this time,” I snarl, punching him in the jaw. He grunts, his head snapping back, but he doesn’t go down easy.
He fights like a cornered animal, his fists flying and his movements wild. I block a few hits, taking a glancing blow to the ribs before slamming my elbow into his gut. He stumbles, but I don’t let up, driving him back until he’s pinned beneath me on the ground.
“You thought you could hide forever?” I hiss, my hand fisting in his shirt as I glare down at him. “You thought you’d get away with hurting my girl?”
His lips curl into a defiant sneer, blood dripping from his face. “Fuck you. I should have fucked her virgin cunt and killed her.”
My vision blurs as rage cuts through me like a hot knife. This motherfucking bastard. Cocking my fist back, I use my other hand to grab him by the throat, pressing down to crush his windpipe. Then I hit him, over and over, my years of rage, regret, and determination keeping me going until he’s unconscious and Declan and Bash are pulling me off him.
Grady and Patrick yank Smoke up, his head lolling back as he slowly comes to. As he looks around at the dangerous mafia men surrounding him, Smoke groans and drops his head. He’s a dead man, and he knows it.
As we drag Smoke back to the swarm of SUVs in the middle of the desert road, Cash and his brothers watch with interest. That’s when I notice all four of them have guns tucked into their waistbands. They may not be mafia blood, but I have no doubt they’re just as unhinged and dangerous.
“And you said this wasn’t a party.” Cash smirks. “Seems like a fucking banger to me. I can hardly wait for the after-party.”
For the first time since yesterday, I chuckle and raise my chin at him.
“Thanks, man,” I say as I pass him.
“No thanks needed. Just clean up your mess when you’re done.”
Oh, we will. Because it’s going to be messy.
T he warehouse is cold, the concrete floors slick. The air reeks of sweat, blood, piss, and desperation; a stifling cocktail that only fuels the fire burning inside me. Smoke and his men are restrained, bound to chairs, their shoulders slumped forward in defeat. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a stark glow, illuminating every detail of their bruised and bloodied faces.
I stand in front of Smoke, my fists clenched at my sides as I study him. He’s already taken a beating from several of us—his lip split, one eye swollen shut, blood trickling down his temple. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
Declan leans against a table nearby, his arms crossed, a grim look on his face. Killian and Bash are stationed at the edges of the room, their eyes sharp and unyielding. Kieran, Grady, Patrick, Alessandro, and Luciano are scattered around with their weapons visible, a silent promise of what’s to come.
Smoke lifts his head, his one good eye meeting mine with a flicker of defiance. It’s weak, but it’s there, and it’s enough to make my blood boil.
“You’ve got guts,” I say, my voice low and cold. “I’ll give you that. Coming back into the US.”
He spits blood onto the floor, a weak grin tugging at his lips. “Fuck you and your girl.”
I move so fast that he doesn’t see it coming. My fist connects with his jaw, the crack of bone echoing in the room. His head snaps to the side, and for a moment, the only sound is his labored breathing.
I start slow, dragging the blade across his forearm, carving deep, jagged lines into his skin. He hisses, jerking against the restraints, but there’s nowhere for him to go. Blood wells up, dripping onto the floor, pooling at his feet.
“What’s the matter, Smoke?” I ask, my tone mocking. “You seemed so confident earlier. What happened to all that bravado?”
He glares at me, his chest heaving, but he doesn’t respond. I keep going, making each cut deliberate, precise. His grunts of pain turn into muffled screams, and I don’t stop until his arm is covered in blood, the flesh raw and exposed.
The next few minutes are a blur of violence and screams. I’m methodical, calculated, making sure every second is as agonizing as possible. I slice into his flesh, break his fingers one by one, and use a hammer on his knees until the joints shatter. His other men watch in silence, their faces pale, their resolve crumbling with every agonizing sound Smoke makes.
Eventually, I step back, my chest heaving, my hands coated with blood. Smoke slumps in the chair, barely conscious.
“You don’t look so tough now,” I say, my voice dripping with disdain. “This is what happens when you hurt what’s mine.”
I grab him by the hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. The others watch in silence, the tension in the room thick and oppressive. Without hesitation, I drag the blade across his neck, the steel biting deep. Blood pours out, a crimson river running down his front.
Smoke gurgles, his eyes wide and unseeing as his life drains away. I hold him there, watching as the light fades and the fight leaves his body.
When it’s done, I let him slump forward, his head hanging lifelessly. The room is silent for just a moment before I pull out my gun and put a bullet in the heads of each of Smoke’s men.
As I lower my hand, satisfied with the scene before me, the weight of what I’ve done settles in my chest. Smoke is gone. My girl is safe, and she’ll never have to worry about this bastard hurting her again.