Chapter 27
LOCHLAN
Cillian texts me to meet him at the gym a few days later.
My gut clenched when I saw the text. It shouldn’t have. We spar a couple times a week. It’s a good way to blow off steam. After the past few days, I need it.
But those assholes who jumped G are still out there. Maybe Wolfe has the names and Cillian wants to plot out our revenge plans. He was supposed to have the info a couple of days ago, but I haven’t heard anything yet. Christ, I’d love to put my fist through their throats.
And speaking of putting a fist through someone’s throat… I can’t stop thinking about Ronan and our last conversation. The look on his face when I told him he wasn’t my brother anymore. How he just stood there without flinching. Like we were talking about the fucking weather.
Bastard.
I pull into the parking lot and grab my bag from the trunk. The gym’s a no-frills MMA spot in Dorchester that reeks of sweat and feet. It’s got the basics—mats, bags, cage. Cillian found it years ago. There’s no Molloy name on the door. No one gives a shit who we are when we step inside.
Wolfe’s car is here. I furrow my brows as I pass it. Weird. He doesn’t train with us.
I push through the door and stop short.
Ronan stands by the cage with his arms crossed and jaw tight.
My stomach drops. Then anger kicks in.
I twist toward Cillian. “What the fuck is this?”
“An intervention,” Wolfe says from the corner. His laptop is closed, for maybe the first time ever.
“Nope.” I swivel around, heading for the door.
Cillian blocks me. “You two have been at each other’s throats for too long. Gavin’s on his couch with stitches in his head. This family’s falling apart. I’m not watching it happen without trying to stop it.”
“I didn’t start this.”
“I don’t care who started it. Talk. Or fight. But you’re not leaving until something gets resolved,” Cillian says. “We’re all we have.”
I narrow my eyes at Ronan. He hasn’t moved, just watches me with that vacant expression I fucking hate. Like he’s above all this. Like he’s got better places to be.
My hands are already curling into fists, tingling with the urge to lay him out on the mat.
“Fine.” I drop my bag and pull out my hand wraps. “Let’s do this.”
Ronan walks toward the cage, his hands already wrapped tight. “I didn’t ask to be here either,” he mutters.
“Then why’d you come?”
No answer. He just ducks through the chain door and waits.
I follow him in, my pulse throbbing against the side of my throat. Shit, I’ve waited for this chance for a damn long time. I always thought if I could beat the asshole out of him, we could get back to where we were such a long time ago.
I guess we’re gonna find out if that can happen.
We circle each other, the mat squeaking under our feet.
Ronan throws the first punch.
I slip around to avoid it, barely. Then I counter with a jab to his nose.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch. He just comes back with a hook to my ribs that pushes the air out of my lungs.
I double over. He grabs the back of my head and drives his knee toward my face.
I twist away at the last second so it barely catches my shoulder.
This isn’t sparring. This is years of shit finally boiling over.
I launch myself at him with a low roar and tackle him against the side of the cage. The chain-link rattles as his back slams against it. I get two shots to his body before he shoves me off to create space. Then the dickhead hits me with an uppercut that makes my teeth crack together.
Good. I want to feel something besides this sick churning sensation in my gut every time I think about him.
We keep trading blows but they’re sloppy now, both of us running on rage more than power and technique. He catches me with an elbow that stings like hell. I get him with a knee to the stomach that folds him in half.
He goes down. I grab his head, line up another knee, and—
He shoots forward and sweeps my legs. I hit the mat hard. Then he climbs on top of me, his fists raining down punches. I cover my face with my arms and roll out from under him. I use my leg to knock him off balance and shove him back down to the mat before getting in a few more good punches.
He kicks me off of him and we scramble up, gasping.
The taste of metal fills my mouth. I use the back of my hand to wipe my face, streaks of blood staining my wraps. Ronan glares at me, his breathing ragged. His lip is split, eye swollen.
“Had enough?” I grunt.
“Fuck you.”
He charges me, ready for a takedown. I sprawl on the mat, loop my arm around his neck, and flip him around so his back is to my chest. I squeeze. His face floods red. He claws at my arms, but I don’t let go.
He finally taps out.
I let go and shove him away. We’re both on our knees, gasping for air.
“Feel better?” Cillian calls out from outside the cage.
“Fuck off,” we both say.
I stagger to my feet and wipe blood from my nose as I stare at Ronan.
My stomach turns looking at him. Not from the blood, from the emptiness behind his eyes. Even now, beaten and bleeding, there’s nothing there. No remorse. No guilt. Just cold calculation. I can see him already planning his next move.
It makes me sick to my stomach.
“Why didn’t you come to the hospital?” I say, leaning over, still struggling for breath.
He spits blood onto the mat. “Gavin’s fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I had things to handle.”
“What things?”
His jaw tightens. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“The hell you don’t. Our brother was in a hospital bed with his head cracked open. You owe all of us an explanation.”
“Gavin wouldn’t have cared.”
Bullshit. I saw the look on Gavin’s face when we were all together in that hospital room and he realized Ronan wasn’t coming. The way Cillian said he tried to play it off like it didn’t matter. It fucking mattered.
“You’ve had a pole up your ass even more than usual since the wedding. What’s your problem?”
Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone before I can read it.
“You want to know my problem?” His voice chills my bones. “Watching you waste the opportunity of a lifetime. You’re married to the DiMicheli heir and you’re dicking around and playing house instead of positioning us to take control.”
“Take control? She’s my wife. This arrangement wasn’t a hostile takeover.”
“She’s a liability. Her company’s struggling. The capos barely respect her. Russians are edging closer. And instead of stepping up, you’re following her around like a fucking teenage kid who just got laid for the first time.”
Jesus Christ. That’s what this is about. He looks at Adriana and sees a business opportunity. A stepping stone. Another fucking power play.
It makes my skin crawl.
“You don’t know anything about her,” I say through clenched teeth.
“I know enough. When this arrangement goes up in smoke… and it will… we need to be ready to absorb everything. Territory, businesses, connections. That’s the smart play. That’s what you can’t see because you’re thinking with your dick.”
“You know Francesco woke up, right?” I ask.
Ronan blinks, and it’s the first genuine reaction I’ve seen from him.
“What?”
“Yeah. Day before yesterday. He’s awake and responsive. The doctors say he’s going to recover.” I watch his expression harden. “So much for absorbing everything. The DiMichelis aren’t going anywhere.”
His eyes spit flames. “That doesn’t change—”
“It changes everything. Your whole takeover fantasy? Dead. Francesco’s going to get better. He’s going to take back control of his family. And Adriana—” I stop before the words can hit air.
Because I haven’t let myself think about this part.
What happens when Francesco recovers? The marriage contract was about protecting the DiMicheli empire while he was incapacitated. If he’s back, if he’s running things again...
Does she still need me?
That thought hits harder than any of Ronan’s punches.
“And Adriana what?” Ronan asks. There’s a smile playing at his busted lip. Like he can see exactly where my head just went. “Starting to realize your little arrangement has an expiration date?”
“Shut up.”
“Face it. You were a placeholder. A warm body to keep the seat filled until Daddy got better. Now that he’s awake, how long before they decide they don’t need a Molloy in their bed anymore?” He steps closer. “I guess we both have some things to think about, yeah?”
I want to hit him again. So fucking badly. I want to beat that smug ass look off his face until there’s no trace of it left.
But I can’t. Because some part of me is terrified he’s right.
“That was never me, Ronan. The power plays, the schemes. That’s why I left the Molloy organization. And Dad. I don’t want any part of this shit.”
“Yet here you are. Married into another crime family because Dad gave the order.” A sharp laugh pierces the air. “You can pretend all you want, but you’re one of us.”
“No. I’m nothing like you,” I say.
I really look at him, trying to find something… anything… worth fighting for. Not against.
But I can’t. There’s nothing there beyond cold ambition masked by my arrogant brother’s face. He looks at family and sees leverage. Looks at Adriana and sees an asset to be controlled.
He’s exactly what our father raised him to be. And it disgusts me.
“We’re finished here,” I say to Cillian and Wolfe.
“Running away again?” Ronan taunts.
“Nope, I’m just done pretending there’s something left.” I duck out of the cage and grab my bag. “You made your choice.”
“Lochlan, wait,” Cillian starts.
“I’ll be outside,” I say.
I shove my hands against the door, pushing it open. Early evening air hits my face, the sharp sting of the cuts making me wince. I lean against my car and press the edge of my shirt to my eyebrow, trying to stop the bleeding while my thoughts spiral, plaguing me.
Francesco’s awake. Adriana doesn’t need me anymore.
What if I lose her?
I press my hands to my temples.
Fuck, I can’t lose her.
A few minutes later, Cillian and Wolfe come out. Ronan’s not with them.
“That went well,” Cillian says, his voice laced with sarcasm.
I don’t answer.
“Hey.” He leans against the car next to me. “Whatever he said in there… you know it doesn’t mean shit. He’s just angry and jealous. He’d have said anything to piss you off.”
“Well, he’s definitely right about one thing,” I say, my voice hollow. “The contract was about protecting her while Francesco was down. Now he’s awake. So what the hell happens to me?”
Cillian’s quiet for a second. “You really think she’d cut you loose just because her dad is awake?”
“I don’t know.” And that’s the worst part. I really don’t know. “The marriage was an arrangement. A business deal. What if that’s all it ever was to her?”
“Is that all it is to you?”
“No. And I don’t want to let her go,” I say. “I don’t give a damn about the contract or the territory or any of that shit. I just... I don’t want to lose her.”
Wolfe tilts his head. “Have you told her any of that?”
I shake my head. I haven’t. I’ve shown her, or at least, tried to. But I’ve never actually said the words.
“Come on.” Cillian pushes off the car. “You need ice cream.”
We end up at a 24-hour ice cream parlor near the harbor. Three grown men hunched over a small table, eating bowls of mint chocolate chip. My nose stopped bleeding, but my ribs ache every time I breathe, and I remember Ronan’s cold and distant glare every single fucking time.
“He’s always been like this, hasn’t he?” I say. “We just didn’t want to see it.”
Cillian taps his spoon against the side of his bowl. “He was always Dad’s. Even when we were kids. He always tried to impress him, always looked for his approval. The rest of us figured out pretty quick that Dad’s approval wasn’t worth chasing. But not Ronan.”
“And now they’re fucking clones,” I mutter before shoveling another bite into my mouth.
“Maybe he always was and he just hid it better when Mom was around.”
I think about that. Mom died when I was seventeen. Ronan was twenty-one, already deep in Dad’s world. Maybe she was the only thing keeping him human.
“I can’t save him,” I say. “Can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”
“No,” Cillian agrees. “You can’t.”
My phone buzzes. I pick it up from the table and see Adriana’s name flash on the screen.
Everything okay? You’ve been gone a while.
I stare at the screen, Ronan’s caustic words looping through my mind.
Placeholder. Expiration date.
Then I think about the way she looked at me this morning. The way she wore that dress because she knew I needed something good today. The way she said, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Fuck Ronan. He doesn’t know her. He doesn’t know us.
This thing between us is real, contract or no contract. At least, it is to me.
And there’s only one way to find out if she feels the same way.
I shoot off a response to her.
Yeah. With Cillian and Wolfe. Be home soon.
She responds right away.
Okay. I’ll be here.
I slip the phone into my pocket.
“I need to talk to her,” I say. “About what happens next. About what we are.”
Cillian nods. “Probably a good idea.”
We pay and head to the parking lot. When we get to my car, Cillian claps my shoulder. Wolfe gives me a nod.
“Good luck,” Cillian says.
“Thanks,” I say, getting into the driver’s seat.
I drive home with dried blood caked on my shirt and Ronan’s voice thundering between my ears. Placeholder. Expiration date.
He’s wrong. He has to be wrong.
But I won’t know for sure until I ask her.
I pull into the garage and sit there for a minute after I shut off the engine, trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to say to my wife.
Sucking in a breath, I finally get out and take the elevator up to the penthouse. To the woman who texted to check up on me. To the woman who wants to share in the things I love and the people I love. To the woman who told me she’s not going anywhere.
And now I need to know if she meant it.