Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Ronan
Consciousness clawed its way up from thick darkness, and my left shoulder felt like someone was dragging a saw back and forth through it. I gasped, but my throat was bone-dry. Even swallowing brought a tearing pain.
I forced my eyelids open. The air reeked of rubbing alcohol and iodine. I looked around. Small room, bare-bones setup. Not a hospital—more like a makeshift sterile space. The curtains were drawn tight. No way to tell if it was day or night, or how long I'd been out.
Worst of all? The room was empty.
Cold sweat broke across my skin as I twisted toward the nightstand, searching for my phone. Nothing. Drawers, surface—all empty. I tried to call out for Marco, for Declan, hell, for any damn security guard, but all that came from my parched throat was a weak, wheezing rasp.
"Ryan..."
Four years ago, she'd watched me blow Dustin's brains out, then vanished without a trace.
And hours ago, or days ago, I'd butchered people right in front of her like some kind of demon.
She'd seen it all again. Seen the most savage, bloodthirsty part of me.
That promise about "living in the light"? I'd shattered it myself.
She must have left again. Taken Pedro, maybe Rose too, and run from the monster I was.
"Fuck..." I couldn't let her go. Even if I had to crawl, I'd find her.
I gripped the bed frame and hauled myself upright, ignoring the searing pain as my wound split open. Everything went black. Stars exploded behind my eyes. Cold sweat soaked through my shirt.
Gasping, I swung my legs over the edge, bare feet hitting the freezing floor. Sharp pain shot through the back of my hand—blood immediately seeped through the clear tape, dripping onto the white sheets.
Didn't matter. I braced myself against the nightstand and stood. Gritting my teeth, I shuffled toward the door.
Just as I reached for the handle, voices came from outside.
"The intersection needs twenty-four-hour surveillance. Not even a fly gets through. Shift changes every four hours. Any scheduling issues, go straight to Marco for authorization."
Ryan. She hadn't left!
My heart, which had nearly stopped, slowly began to ease. I leaned against the doorframe, peering through the crack.
The hallway was brighter than the room. Ryan stood less than six feet away, wearing a sharply tailored khaki trench coat. Her long golden curls, usually loose, were pulled back in a severe knot.
She faced three people—two top-tier family security guards and Roy, looking exhausted.
"Yes, ma'am." The two guards didn't hesitate. Backs straight, they nodded in unison.
"Good. Go." Ryan waved them off. They turned and strode toward the far end of the hall.
Rapid footsteps echoed from the other direction. Marco appeared, looking frantic, his face etched with tension and aggression, his clothes still stained with blood that hadn't quite washed out.
"Ma'am! This is a complete mess! New York's running headless, Declan's trapped on Wall Street dealing with those damn accounts, I don't have enough people, and if the boss doesn't wake up soon, this—"
"Marco. Shut up. Breathe. I need you to do three things."
"First, contact the relevant people immediately.
Tell them to hold steady and lock down the funds.
Second, split your team in half and send them to protect Declan.
The accounts are the lifeline. Nothing goes wrong there.
As for the rest, let them tear each other apart. We'll clean it up when Ronan wakes."
"Yes, ma'am. Right away."
Marco turned and strode off.
I leaned against the wall behind the door, watching through that narrow gap as Ryan turned to Roy, speaking quietly.
A fire burned in my chest. Fierce pride.
My woman. She hadn't run. When I went down, she stepped up and took control of everything. My Ryan was born to stand beside me, at the top of this empire.
Relief washed over me. I turned back toward the bed and lay down.
The door handle turned softly. The door opened.
"You're awake!"
She hurried to the bedside, those blue eyes bloodshot, dark circles clear beneath them. She obviously hadn't slept.
She noticed the blood on my hand and immediately bent down, peeling away the crooked tape, her brow furrowed.
"What were you doing? Roy said they put over twenty stitches in you. Nearly hit your heart."
After Roy came in and fixed everything, she sat down, leaning close. She closed her eyes and pressed her smooth forehead gently against mine. The warmth of skin on skin, her unique scent—it flooded through me. I drank in her warmth, tried to speak.
"You..." That was all I could manage. I wanted to ask why she hadn't left. Why she'd stayed in this dangerous vortex.
Ryan understood my struggle. She slowly lifted her head, looking deep into my eyes. She pulled out a piece of paper—the note I'd left on her nightstand four years ago.
Ryan held it up in front of me and tore it apart. The note became confetti.
"Ronan Valerius, listen carefully. From now on, I decide when I leave. You don't get to decide what's 'for my own good.'"
"I'm staying. Right here beside you. Forever."
My eyes burned like they were on fire. I wanted to speak, to tell her how ecstatic I was, how grateful, but my throat felt stuffed with soaked cotton. No sound would come. She bent down again, tears sliding down her cheeks, dropping onto my nose.
"I saw it, Ronan." Her voice was soft. "I saw everything you did for me. I saw you clumsily learning to be a father. I saw you fighting to control your killer instincts. And I saw you willing to abandon every boundary you had to protect me. Willing to die for me."
"It's enough. All of this is enough to prove your love is real, Ronan. I will never run again."
"Ryan..." I trembled. "I love you..."
"I love you too, Ronan. From the beginning, I've only ever loved you."
Foreheads pressed together, we breathed each other in—this completeness we'd earned through life and death.
The door cracked open carefully.
Rose peeked in, her face instantly blooming with joy.
"Daddy!"
Rose called out happily, then turned and led in a small figure from outside. Pedro. His sister guided him into the room. When he saw me, the little guy stopped.
Those big blue eyes went wide. Tears streamed down like broken pearls. Rose crouched beside him, whispered something gentle in his ear, then gave his small back a soft push.
Pedro sniffled and let go of Rose's hand. Step by step, he walked to my bedside.
He looked up, his little face covered in tear tracks. He stared nervously at the bloodstained bandages on my body, then looked at my eyes with hope. He reached out his chubby little hand and carefully grabbed the hem of my shirt.
"Daddy..."
"Daddy... does it still hurt?"
My heart melted completely. My vision blurred with tears.
"Not anymore... It doesn't hurt at all."
Fighting the pain, I reached out with my left arm—the one without the IV. Ryan saw and immediately came closer, eyes red, carefully supporting my shoulder.
I pulled Pedro's small, warm body tight against me, burying my chin in his soft curls.
Rose stood by the bed, watching us hold each other, her eyes filling too. Then she stepped forward and opened her arms, tucking herself into the embrace.
Ryan laughed. She opened her arms wide and pulled all three of us into her embrace, gentle and unwavering.