Chapter 29
RONAN
Imust have dozed in the uncomfortable hospital chair, because I woke to the feeling of fingers brushing against mine.
For a moment, I think I'm dreaming—that my desperate need to feel her touch again has manifested in my sleep-addled mind. But then I hear the sound of her voice, and I’m instantly awake.
"Ronan."
My eyes fly open as I lean forward, seeing her looking at me, tired but awake at last.
“Hi,” I whisper, my throat tight. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got shot." Her attempt at a smile is weak, but it’s there. "But alive.”
It feels like a hundred emotions surge through me all at once. I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "God, Leila, I thought I'd lost you. I thought I'd lost both of you."
She swallows thickly. "The baby—"
"Is okay. The doctor says the baby is okay." The relief in my own voice is palpable. My worst nightmare has dissipated, and all I can think about is making sure that this never happens again. That Leila and our child are safe, always, no matter what I have to do to ensure that.
I don’t want to let her out of my sight ever again. And I hope that she doesn’t want to go, despite everything.
“Oh my god.” She looks at me, smiling with a look of utter relief on her own face. “Oh god, I was so scared. But we’re both okay.”
I nod, my fingers lacing with hers. “Yes. And I’m going to keep it that way.”
She lays her head back, her expression softening. "I heard you talking to me,” she whispers. “While I was drifting off… after. I thought I heard you say you loved me."
My chest tightens with a surge of emotion. “I do,” I say without hesitation. I’m not going to lose the chance to tell her again. I look at my wife, the woman that I almost lost, and I say the words that I’ve never spoken aloud before.
“I love you, Leila. I should have told you before. I knew… but I couldn’t find a way to say it. I was terrified to say it, and I was a fool. Nothing could ever be as frightening as almost losing you. And I should never have been such a coward.”
Her fingers tighten around mine, a soft smile on her lips.
“I love you, too,” she whispers, and I feel dizzy with an emotion that’s still so unfamiliar it’s startling.
“And I was afraid, too, Ronan. Afraid of what being in love with you meant, of the world that you live in, and what it would mean to stay there.
But I should have told you sooner, too. I love all of you, Ronan.
The dangerous parts and the gentle parts and everything in between.
" She takes a slow, shaky breath. “Maybe we can be afraid together, and then it will all be okay.”
I feel my eyes burn as I look down at her—my brave, strong, beautiful wife. The kind of woman I never imagined I’d be fortunate enough to marry, who came into my life at the most unexpected time. Who, it feels like, was always meant to be mine.
I lean down and kiss her softly, careful of all the wires. “We’ll figure it out, Leila. I promise you. I’ll keep you safe. We'll find a way to make it work."
She tilts her head up, kissing me again gently. "Together?"
"Together,” I promise. And I’ve never meant anything more in all my life.
Before I can say more, Dr. Walsh appears in the doorway, her expression brightening when she sees Leila awake and alert.
"Mrs. O'Malley, how are you feeling?"
"Sore. Tired. But better." Leila's voice is getting stronger with each word she speaks. "The baby—you said the baby would be all right?"
"All indications are positive. The ultrasound shows a strong heartbeat, and there's no sign of injury to the fetus from the trauma.
" Dr. Walsh moves to check the monitors.
"You'll need to take it easy for the next few weeks, avoid stress, and get plenty of rest. But barring any complications, I expect both of you to make a full recovery. "
Leila closes her eyes, and I can see the relief wash over her features. "Thank you. For everything."
"You're very welcome. I'll want to keep you for observation another day or two, just to be safe—"
"Actually," she interrupts, her voice stronger now, "how soon can I be up and around? My mom is here, and I need to go see her. At least for a few minutes.”
Dr. Walsh frowns. " I really don't recommend—"
“Please.” Leila looks at her plaintively. “I need to see her. I need to know she’s okay.”
The doctor lets out a breath. “Rest. I’ll see about arranging a visit later today. If you are still doing well by tomorrow night, I’ll see about releasing you, only if there are no complications, no signs of infection or internal bleeding.”
Leila nods, looking relieved. “Alright.”
"And absolute bed rest once you get home. No stress, no excitement, no—"
"I understand," Leila interrupts, "I'll do whatever you think is best for the baby."
After Dr. Walsh leaves, Leila turns to me, more alert now. "What happened after they took me to surgery? You look like you haven't slept.”
"I haven't." I consider how much to tell her about what happened, including my father’s part in it all. "Rocco is dead."
It’s in that moment that I know that Leila will be fine in my world, married to a mafia boss. The same look that I saw on her face the night I came home after killing Neil Sawyer is there again, a look of relief and satisfaction. She smiles, tension visibly leaving her body. "Good."
"And my father..." I pause, not sure how to explain what comes next. "There are things I need to handle. Family business."
Leila frowns. "Bad things?"
"I… yes." I lean forward, taking her hand again. "Leila, what happened to you—the attack on the house—it wasn't random. My father set it up. He used you as bait to draw Rocco out."
Her eyes widen. "He what?"
"He fed information to Rocco through contacts of ours, made sure he knew where to find us. He wanted Rocco in Dublin, away from his main forces, so we could end this war on our terms." The words taste bitter on my tongue. "He didn't care if you got caught in the crossfire."
Leila looks at me, understanding dawning in her face. "And you have to… handle this?"
“I’ll take it before the Dublin council. They’ll issue a verdict on how this is to be handled. They need to know what he did." I squeeze her hand. "I need to make sure something like this never happens again."
She presses her lips together. "Will you be safe? Will you be… okay?"
I know she’s asking about more than just my physical well-being.
She’s asking about what she’s realized might be the outcome of this.
For the second time in the last few minutes, I’m struck with surprise at how much more well-suited Leila is to this life than she probably ever guessed she would be.
How much more perfect she is for me than I could have ever dreamed.
"I'll be fine. These are the rules of my world. And my father has overstepped too far." I kiss her knuckles again. "I'll be back before you know it, and then we're going home. When your mother is ready, back to Boston.”
Leila nods. She squeezes my hand, her eyes meeting mine. “I love you, Ronan O’Malley.”
I lean in and kiss her gently, once more, before I leave to break ties with my father. To make what he did right, one way or another.
“I love you too, Leila O’Malley.”
—
The Irish council meets in a nineteenth-century mansion in an old Dublin neighborhood, a place that's seen generations of business among the Irish families who held power here and overseas.
The mahogany-paneled room is decorated with oil portraits of long-dead patriarchs, a dark wooden table at one end, lined with seats for the council elders.
This room has seen deals and death sentences, and today, I have a feeling it will be the latter.
I take my place at the head of the table, a position that should belong to my father but that I'm staking my claim to today. The five council members watch me, concerned and wary.
My father sits at the far end of the table, flanked by council security.
He’s no longer restrained, but he's outnumbered and outgunned. More importantly, he's outranked. I’ve brought my grievance before the council, and unless they find him justified in his actions, he won’t leave this room.
I’m no longer the only one who will see to that.
Connor McBride, the eldest of the council members, leans forward. "This is highly irregular, Ronan. Your father is the—"
"My father," I interrupt, "conspired with our enemy to use my pregnant wife as bait in a trap that nearly killed her and my unborn child."
A heavy silence falls across the table. The men in this room have seen violence and blood and done both personally, but my father has crossed a line that can’t be tolerated.
"That's a serious accusation.” Liam Fitzgerald’s face is grave as he looks at me, then at Padraigh. “And it carries serious consequences.”
"It's the truth." I look directly at my father as I speak.
"Padraigh O'Malley fed intelligence to Rocco De Luca, ensuring that De Luca would know where to find my wife.
He sacrificed her safety— and the safety of the next generation of O'Malleys—to enact a plan that I neither knew about nor agreed to. Nor would I have," I add.
"Is this true, Padraigh?" McBride's voice is carefully neutral.
I’ve wondered if he would deny it. If my father will try to take me down, claim I’m a liar, blame this all on me. But instead, he meets the elders’ gazes coldly.
"I made a strategic decision to end a conflict that was being dragged out by my son’s poor choices.
Sometimes leadership requires sacrifices.
" Padraigh sits stonily still. “I wanted to teach my son a lesson and end De Luca in one move. My son required a firm hand to bring him back into line, worthy of the position he inherited.”
"Sacrifices," I repeat, standing slowly. "My wife is lying in a hospital bed because of your 'strategic decision.' The mother of your grandchild nearly died because you decided she was acceptable collateral damage."
"She's not one of us—" Padraigh begins, but I cut him off.
"She's my wife!" The words explode from me with enough force to make every man in the room flinch. "She carries my child—your heir—and you used her as bait!"
"Ronan." My father's voice is cold, dismissive. "You're thinking with your heart instead of your head. It's made you weak."
"Has it?" I walk around the table toward him, my footsteps echoing in the heavy silence. "I killed Rocco De Luca while you were kept under guard in my manor. I found him and put an end to him while you used a pregnant woman as a lure. Which one of us is weak?"
For the first time, uncertainty flickers in his eyes.
"You taught me that family comes first," I continue.
"That we protect our own above everything else.
But you don't see Leila as family, do you?
You see her as an outsider, a temporary inconvenience.
" My voice sounds tight, laced with pain as I look at the man I once respected above all else in this world.
"You couldn't stand that I found something more important than your approval.
Couldn't stand that I might choose my wife and child over your plans for revenge. "
"I've served this family all my life," Padraigh snarls, his voice tight with fury. "I've made sacrifices you can't imagine, built an empire you're not worthy to inherit—"
"Then you should have thought of that before you put my family at risk.
" I step back, addressing the council directly.
"Padraigh O'Malley violated the most sacred rule of our organization—he put his personal desires above the protection of this family.
He endangered the life of my wife and my unborn child for his own ends. "
"And what are you asking of us?" Fitzgerald's voice is low and calm, but I can hear the weight behind the question.
"I'm asking you to recognize that I am now the head of this family. That my father's actions have forfeited his right to leadership." I pause, letting the implications sink in. "And I'm asking you to judge him by the same standards we'd judge any other member who betrayed us."
The silence stretches for what feels like an eternity. These men have known my father longer than I've been alive, have followed his leadership and profited from his vision and business savvy. But he’s violated our laws, our traditions. And I know he would do the same to me if I were in his place.
McBride speaks first. "It’s clear that Padraigh O’Malley acted in his own self-interest. And endangering his own family breaks our laws beyond repair."
Fitzgerald nods. "Using a pregnant woman as bait is unconscionable."
One by one, the other council members voice their agreement. When the formal vote is called, it's unanimous.
My father is sentenced to death.
He looks at me, and for a moment I no longer see the cold patriarch who raised me, but an old man who realized his empire is crumbling around him. The man I once looked up to, who I wanted to please above all else, whose pride in me and approval mattered more than anything else, is gone.
All I see is the man who almost got my wife and child killed. Who wanted to hand her over to serve his own ends. Who would have let her suffer the worst fate imaginable so that we could have a better position to end Rocco?
"You won't do it," he says quietly. "You don't have the spine for patricide."
"I wouldn’t have thought so." I draw my gun, the weight of it familiar in my hand. "But I have the spine to protect my family."
The muffled sound of the silenced shot is a hard thump that I feel between my ribs as the bullet flies.
My father slumps forward in his chair, and I feel something break inside my chest. This was necessary, but there’s also something in me that will never be the same now.
I feel grief well up in me—not grief for the man sitting dead across from me, but for the man I lost when my father proved he wasn’t the man I believed he was.
The council looks to me. I’m now the patriarch of my name, the highest authority in the O’Malley family. The seat I’m in now belongs to me, unquestionably.
“I’ll be at the next meeting,” I say flatly. “But for now, I need to go and see my wife.”
I’m silent on the drive back to the hospital. I've just killed my own father, crossed a line I never thought I'd have to cross, and I'm not sure who I am on the other side of it. But I have time to find out.
And now, I’ll have the woman I love by my side to remind me of who I am, if I’m ever in danger of losing sight of it.