Chapter 21
LEILA
For a moment, it doesn’t even occur to me that it could be because of something bad.
All I feel is that thrill of desire as I see his lean, muscled body draped in a tailored suit step out of the car, see a breeze shift his reddish-brown hair, catch sight of his chiseled jawline.
I hear my mother chuckle next to me, and I look over at her sharply.
“What?” I ask, more defensively than I mean to, and she laughs.
“You’ve got it bad for your husband.” She laughs again, patting my hand. “I know you said it’s just an arrangement. But it’s clear there’s something there.”
I bite my lip, looking away, but all that does is give me another glimpse of Ronan as he says something to one of his security guards. Then he looks up, catching sight of our car, and I think I see a twitch of a smile at his lips.
When I slide out of the car, giving my mom space to get out with Colin’s help, Ronan crosses the gravel to where I’m standing.
“How did it go?” he asks, and I swallow hard, trying to regulate my breathing.
It’s as if my body has taken off now that he’s standing here—my pulse is racing, my skin tingling, and I wonder if this is what it’s like to really want someone.
I’ve never experienced it with anyone else before.
“It went well,” I manage. “Dr. Flannery is good, my mom likes him. It seems promising.”
“Good.” Ronan’s eyes meet mine, and I feel that familiar electric current run between us. "How are you feeling?"
The question seems loaded somehow, like he's asking about more than just my general well-being. "I'm fine," I say, which has become my standard response to him.
His eyes linger on my face for a moment longer than necessary, and I have to resist the urge to fidget under his gaze.
He's wearing a dark suit that fits him perfectly, and his hair is slightly mussed like he's been running his hands through it.
There's something about seeing him on this estate, in his element, that makes him even more attractive than usual.
And apparently, twenty-four hours away from him has my hormones racing.
This is dangerous.
“You’re back so soon,” I blurt out, then quickly realize that it sounds as if I don’t want him here, at his own house. “I mean—I just didn’t realize… not that you shouldn’t be—”
Ronan chuckles. “It’s fine. I was going to text you, but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that I wouldn’t get held up, so I thought it was better to just see if I made it. I didn’t want to leave you here alone longer than necessary.”
“We’re fine,” I say automatically, and he smiles.
“Of course you are. It’s cold out. Let’s get inside. I have some calls to make before I can settle in.”
I go upstairs with my mom to make sure that she’s alright, and then go to change into a pair of leggings and a long cashmere tunic sweater, tossing my hair up in a messy bun. As I come downstairs and head toward the kitchen in search of a snack, I hear Ronan’s voice coming from his office.
He's on his phone, speaking in low, tense tones to someone about schedules and security protocols. I catch fragments— "...not until we know for certain..." and "...double the detail on Annie..." and "...Tristan needs to stay put for now..."
My breath catches. Have things gotten worse? Before I can stop myself, I test the doorknob to his office. It turns, and I walk in, seeing Ronan’s head snap up immediately as he sees me enter.
“Yes. I’ll get back to you. Thanks.” He hangs up, his eyes narrowing in on me. “Do you need something, Leila?”
There’s an unusually frosty note to his voice that tells me he doesn’t like me walking into his office uninvited. But I’m too worried about what might be happening to care.
"Everything okay?" I ask, hearing the slight tremor in my voice.
He considers the question for a moment, and I can see him deciding how much to tell me. "Just coordinating some business."
I press my lips together. "Business that involves my safety?"
Another pause. "Everything involves your safety now, Leila. That's the point."
There's something in his tone that sends a chill down my spine. "What aren't you telling me?"
He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "It's nothing you need to worry about—"
"Don't." The word comes out sharper than I intended.
"Don't do that. Don't treat me like I'm some delicate flower who can't handle the truth.
This is my life we're talking about. My mother's life. I deserve to know what's happening. I’m all the way here, in Ireland, because I trust you. You need to trust me, too, Ronan. I haven’t given you any reason to think you shouldn’t. "
He studies my face for a long moment, and I can practically see the internal debate playing out in his head. Finally, he sighs.
"Rocco's made some moves," he says quietly. "Nothing direct, nothing we can't handle. But he's testing boundaries, seeing how far he can push before we push back."
My stomach tightens. Just hearing his name makes my skin crawl. "What kind of moves?"
"Business disruptions. Encroaching on territory that's been ours for decades.
Spreading rumors about weakness in our organization.
" His jaw clenches. "He's trying to make it look like marrying you was a sign that I'm going soft. As if the fact that we put down ten of his men in that church isn’t the exact fucking opposite. "
"And is it?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Ronan draws in a breath, his eyes locking onto mine for a moment before he drops the phone onto his desk and looks out the window that overlooks the estate. “Maybe,” he says flatly. “But if refusing to turn a woman over to be sold and raped by a stranger is soft, then that’s what I’d prefer to be.”
My stomach jolts at his frankness. “I’m glad you’re not hard, then.” I bite my lip, a shaky laugh coming out at the unintended double entendre, and Ronan’s gaze flicks to mine again. Something heated flashes in his eyes, and the moment stretches out a beat too long.
“This isn’t something to joke about,” Ronan says reprovingly, and I bite my lip.
“Yeah. But sometimes joking is all you have.” I manage a smile.
“When things are bad, all you can do is laugh at it, right? And honestly…” I look around the room and back at him.
“It’s not all that bad right now. Yeah, my mom’s sick, and there’s a psycho mob boss that wants to kidnap and sell me, but I’ve seen firsthand how all of that could actually, surprisingly, be a lot worse. ”
Ronan studies me for a long moment. “You’re astonishingly optimistic,” he says finally, and I shrug.
“What else am I supposed to do? I’d have collapsed months ago, if not.”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine, and I feel my stomach quiver.
This man is still an enigma to me. He’s gentle and caring, never pushing me to do anything I don’t want to, getting my mom the best medical care money can buy, spoiling me endlessly despite the fact that I’ve upended his life and caused him more trouble.
But he’s also a man who tortures and kills, who violently ended a man’s life for his crimes against me, who will do the same to another.
He’s a mob boss, a man who ignores laws and enacts his own rules, a man who is feared and dangerous.
He’s a man with secrets, and a marriage he won’t talk about, a man who obviously wants me as much as I want him but forces himself not to touch me.
There are layers and layers of complications I can’t begin to dig through, and I’m in no way equipped to try to find my way to the bottom of all of this.
"What about your father?" I ask, changing the subject before I say something I'll regret. "Does he still..."
"Still think I should have handed you over to keep the peace?" Ronan's laugh is bitter. "Oh, yes. Padraigh's made his position very clear. He thinks I'm letting emotion cloud my judgment."
“And what does that mean for us… for me, I mean? And my mom?” I talk quickly, not wanting him to think that I meant ‘us’ as in me and him… but maybe I did. At least partially.
The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications. Ronan's expression goes carefully blank.
"My father sees things in black and white," he says finally. "Always has. In his world, you do what's necessary for business, and you don't let personal feelings complicate things."
I nod, biting my lip. “But he can’t do anything now that we’re married.”
“He can’t force me to give you back. He can…” Ronan blows out a breath. “It’s complicated. He’s still alive, so I’m not the last word on everything. He could force me to step down. But it would cause upheaval in more ways than one, so he hasn’t… yet.”
“This all sounds really complicated,” I murmur, and Ronan nods.
“It is. But I’m going to keep you safe, Leila. I promise you that.”
The rest of the day and the next pass in a blur of quiet domesticity that feels dangerously normal.
Ronan works from the estate office, taking calls and video conferences with his siblings and various business associates.
Sometimes I catch fragments of conversation through the heavy wooden doors—discussions about shipping schedules and territory disputes and financial arrangements.
My mom spends her time exploring the grounds with Mrs. O'Brien and me on the unseasonably warm day that follows, learning about the garden, helping in the kitchen, and generally acting like she's on the vacation of a lifetime. Which, in a way, she is.