Chapter 22 #2
“Adriana, Mr. Molloy is waiting in the conference room. He's been here for almost an hour and he's getting... impatient.”
I give a tight nod. “Okay, send him in, please.”
Jayne disappears and a moment later, Eamon Molloy strolls into my office like he owns every square inch of it.
He's wearing a charcoal suit that probably costs more than most people's monthly rent, and his silver hair is slicked back. Everything about him screams control and power, but there’s also a danger that lurks beneath his polished exterior.
I look up from my computer but don't stand up to greet him. This isn’t a social call.
“Adriana.” He settles into the chair across from my desk without waiting for an invitation, crossing one leg over the other like we're old friends catching up over coffee. Like he doesn’t know…
or care… that I think he’s a piece of shit who uses people as pawns to get what he wants. “Thank you for making time for me.”
“I wasn’t aware I had much choice, since you took over my conference room.” I fold my hands on my desk and meet his gaze with a steely one of my own. “What do you want, Eamon?”
“Direct. I've always appreciated that about you.” He adjusts his cufflinks, taking his sweet time before responding. “Frankly, I'm here because I'm concerned.”
“Concerned about what exactly?”
“About you. About this situation you've found yourself juggling.” He waves a hand vaguely around my office. “Running a consulting empire while simultaneously managing a crime family is no small feat. I wanted to check in and see how you're holding up.”
“I'm holding up just fine.” As if I’d ever admit anything to the contrary to you.
“Really?” His eyebrows lift in a way that makes my skin prickle like suckling leeches are slithering all over it.
“Because I just heard you lost the Henderson account.
Forty-million dollars, wasn't it? That's quite a significant blow for your company. Imagine what the industry will have to say when it becomes public.”
My jaw tightens so hard my teeth ache. How the hell does he know about that already? The email came in less than an hour ago. But slimy bastards like Eamon Molloy always know things before everyone else. Knowledge is power and leverage, and Eamon loves both.
“Business deals fall through sometimes,” I say, careful to keep my voice neutral. “It happens to everyone.”
“Of course it does. But it seems to be happening a lot more frequently since you took on your father's responsibilities, don’t you think? You have disgruntled clients, too, from what I’ve heard.
” He pauses, letting that observation sink in like poison seeping into a wound.
“Wolfe also intercepted some Russian communications this morning.
They're planning another move against your family's interests. Soon.”
An imaginary icy hand clutches my stomach and squeezes. “What kind of move?”
“We're not entirely sure yet. But it's significant enough that I felt you should know immediately rather than hearing about it secondhand.” He narrows his eyes at me, and I suddenly feel like a bug being sizzled under a magnifying glass in the hot sun.
“I considered telling Lochlan first, but I thought you'd want to hear it directly.
Since you're the one supposedly in charge.”
There's something in his tone that makes my skin crawl. Supposedly. What a condescending prick. Like he thinks he can wrap it up in all his bullshit concern and pull the wool over my eyes.
Fuck off, Eamon. I see you.
“Why are you really here, Eamon? Because I find it hard to believe you’re here to express concern over matters that don’t affect you.”
He spreads his hands wide, the defeated look on his face almost making me sort of laugh. “I told you already. I'm concerned about you. You have an enormous amount on your plate right now. Maybe it’s too much for any one person to handle.”
“I can handle it fine.”
He leans forward slightly, his eyes sharpening into something predatory.
“This isn't a part-time job, Adriana. It's not something you can squeeze in between board meetings and client calls when it's convenient for you.
People's lives are at stake. Their businesses.
Their families. Everything they've built depends on strong leadership.”
His voice hardens just enough to make my spine stiffen.
“If you can't dedicate the effort and energy this role truly requires, maybe Lochlan and I should step in and take some of the burden off your shoulders. Help you manage things properly until your father recovers.”
My jaw drops like he just smacked me across the face. I stare at him, my pulse thudding loud in my ears, my fingers curling into fists beneath the desk where he can't see them.
“Is that a threat?”
“It's simply an offer of support from your family.” He stands up and buttons his jacket.
“Just think about it. I only want what's best for everyone involved.” He pauses at the door and looks back at me over his shoulder.
“Including my son. I'd hate to see Lochlan caught in the crossfire if things fall apart because you couldn't handle the pressure.”
He leaves without waiting for a response, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft click.
I sit at my desk, his words echoing through my skull like clanging cymbals. The Henderson email is open on my computer screen. My phone buzzes with messages I don't have the energy to answer.
Maybe he's right.
The thought sneaks in before I can stop it, curling around my brain like toxic smoke.
Maybe I really am in over my head. Maybe I can't do both jobs.
Maybe I'm just fooling myself into thinking I can run a legitimate business empire and a criminal one at the same time without everything crumbling around me.
I lost a forty-million-dollar deal today because I wasn't paying enough attention.
The Russians are planning another attack, and I had no idea until my asshole father-in-law waltzed in here to deliver the news.
Eamon Molloy looked me dead in the eyes and told me I'm not good enough to handle what my father left behind.
My hands shake. I press them flat against the cool wood of my desk.
No. I refuse to let him in my head. This is exactly what he wants. He wants me to doubt myself. He wants me to crumble. He wants me to step aside and hand over control to him and Lochlan like a good little girl who knows her place.
I want to say, “fuck that,” but the doubt lingers, like a tiny hairline crack in my boss bitch armor that wasn't there when I woke up this morning.
I pick up my phone and stare at Lochlan's name in my contacts. My thumb hovers over the call button. I should tell him what just happened. I should ask him what the hell game his father is playing.
But something stops me cold. And the doubt sprouts in my mind.
What if Lochlan has been reporting back to Eamon this whole time? What if everything between us, all those moments I thought were real, is just part of some larger game I don’t know the rules of?
I swallow hard and put the phone down.
I need to think. I need to figure this out on my own before I say something I can't take back, something that might destroy whatever fragile thing we've been building together.
Turning in my chair, I watch the late afternoon light move across the buildings. How many other women are sitting in offices right now, questioning everything they thought they knew about their lives?
Probably more than I'd guess. But probably none of them are married to a Molloy and running a mafia empire they never wanted in the first place.
I grab my bag and stand up from my desk. My legs wobble and I hold a hand on the back of my chair to steady myself.
I need to go home. I need to see Lochlan's face when I tell him about his father's little visit.
And I need to figure out whether I can still trust the man I'm falling in love with.