Chapter 13 Ronan
THIRTEEN
Ronan
“I’ve got bad news.”
They’re the first four words out of Killian’s mouth as I answer the phone in the middle of my lunch with New York State Gaming Commissioner Dale Qualley.
We’re eating at some breezy restaurant next to the horserace track in Brooklyn. It might look like a normal luncheon between pals, but it’s really all about making some new deals under the table while we eat greasy chicken fried steak and pretend to talk about thoroughbreds.
I excuse myself from the table and head outside onto the patio.
“What kind of bad news?” I grit out.
My mind automatically jumps to Simone. Killian was tasked as her security today. He was supposed to take her shopping. If something’s happened to her—
“The ogre motherfucker made an appearance,” Killian says, interrupting my thoughts.
My shoulders tense, my grip tightening on the phone. “Where?”
“SoHo. She was browsing at a boutique when she snuck away for a moment—”
“You mean you let her sneak away,” I growl.
“I don’t know what else to tell you ’cept that when your wife is determined, there’s almost no stopping her. She found the 0.5 seconds I took my eyes off her, then wandered off. As soon as she did, Dren’s enforcer Amar showed up and threatened her.”
I have no response other than the way my teeth grind together and tension locks my jaw. “What did he do?”
“He cornered her. Grabbed her and told her Dren’s decided to send a message through her. Then maybe you and Langston’ll listen. She’s real shaken up.”
A long moment passes where I say nothing. Heavy silence falls between us as Killian awaits my response, but I’m too busy processing what I’ve been told.
Someone put their hands on my wife. Someone threatened her. Fucking used her to send me a message.
To say I’m pissed would be the understatement of a century. A line was crossed, and there’s no going back.
“Ronan?” Killian pipes up eventually. “You there?”
“Time to send our own message. It seems Dren thinks he’s a bigger deal than he is. Where is she now?”
“Home resting. She wanted to be alone.”
“Stay where you are. I’ll be there shortly.”
I hang up on him and shove my phone into my pocket. I’m eerily calm despite the fact my insides are clenched with fury. If anybody were to look at me the wrong way right now, they’d probably be on the receiving end of a knife to the throat.
That’s how fucking livid I am.
Calm on the outside, nothing but pure rage on the inside.
I stride back over to the table where Dale’s cutting into his chicken fried steak, gravy and grease pooling on the plate. He sops it up with a rock-hard biscuit and looks up as I approach, his bushy brows lifting.
“Everything okay, partner?”
“I have to go,” I say curtly. “There’s been an emergency.”
A toothy grin lights up his face, revealing uneven, nicotine-stained teeth. “Sure hope that doesn’t mean somebody’s about to have their kneecaps busted.”
“Something like that,” I say vaguely, my dark expression speaking volumes.
“Well… count me as thankful it’s not me this time!” he laughs.
I turn and stride out of the restaurant. The men accompanying me today immediately flank me. Sean, Fionn, and Cian fall in line with me, picking up on my angry energy.
“Where we headed, boss? What’s going on?” Sean asks, coming up on my right. He’s got orange hair and freckles and tends to be my righthand when Killian’s not around.
“Home,” I answer. “We’re headed home… for now.”
We arrive at Callahan House no less than half an hour later. I’m out of the Escalade before it’s fully stopped, my boots hitting the pavement hard as I march through the front doors. The staff that are in the foyer scurry to tend to me, asking if there’s anything I need, but they go ignored.
I pass Oona on the second-floor landing. She’s carrying a basket of fresh linens, and when she sees me, her expression tightens.
“Ya shouldn’t go disturb the poor girl if you’re just gonna upset her more,” she says, her Irish accent thick with disapproval.
She gets ignored too. I press on, taking the stairs two at a time. Nobody’s about to tell me how to handle this situation; nobody’s about to calm me down or censor the moment.
I burst into the bedroom, the door swinging open in a wide arc. I pause footsteps in at what I find.
Simone’s curled up on the bed, her body tucked into itself like she’s trying to disappear. Her face is tilted downward into her pillow, her dark hair spilling across the white thousand-thread-count sheets.
She’s still wearing the clothes she left in this morning—a maroon sweater and gray skirt—but she looks small and fragile.
Vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen her before.
My wife, who’s had so much fire from the moment I met her. Who’s been nothing but a mouthy thorn in my side, constantly challenging me, defying me, refusing to bend.
Now she’s curled up like a kitten, processing what must’ve been a traumatizing moment for her. Even as the daughter of a weapons dealer, it’s not every day she’s accosted and threatened by gangsters.
That’s part of the genius of a man like Malcolm Langston—he’s both a businessman and a criminal himself. But he’s a civilized man, striking the perfect balance and thus shielding his wife and daughter from the grimy parts.
For as defiant and opinionated as Simone is, she’s still deeply sheltered. She really is basically a princess.
I tamp down on my temper for once, forcing myself to take a breath. Reminding myself I’ve got to cool it and find a way to get her to open up to me.
Get her to see I’m livid on her behalf. She needs to understand… she needs to know…
This kind of shit will not be tolerated.
I shrug off my long black coat, letting it fall to the accent chair in the corner, and roll up my shirt sleeves to the elbow.
Then I approach her side of the bed and lower myself down to sit beside where she’s laying, the mattress dipping under my weight.
Her eyes open slowly, looking up at me. They’re red rimmed and tired. She’s been crying.
“How’re you feeling, princess?” I ask, my tone softer than usual.
She blinks, then her expression hardens slightly. “It’s none of your concern.”
“How do you figure?” I counter. “You’re my wife.”
She rolls over, giving me her back, mumbling, “It doesn’t matter if I am.”
I realize what she means. We’ve been at each other’s throats from the moment we were forced to marry. We’ve detested each other and fought constantly, making each other’s lives miserable.
She’s obviously assuming that means I’ll let shit like this fly.
I’m never gonna let anybody hurt her. Regardless of what problems we’ve got with each other.
I reach out and stroke her shoulder. “Hey. Look at me.”
She doesn’t move, stubbornly staying put.
“Simone, look at me.”
Finally, reluctantly, she glances at me from over her shoulder. Her hazel eyes are darker than usual, full of wariness and hurt. She searches my face like she’s trying to figure out if this is some trick.
My hand travels from her shoulder up to caress her cheek. I go slow, being as gentle as a brute gangster like me can be, showing her I come in peace. I hold her gaze the entire time, letting her see how serious and sincere I’m being.
“We’ve got our differences. We might fight like fucking cats and dogs,” I say, “but we’re still husband and wife. That means something, princess. Nobody—and I mean nobody—messes with you. They mess with you, they’re messing with me. Got it?”
Her lips part, surprise flickering across her face. It takes her a couple seconds longer, though she slowly nods, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.”
She pushes herself up, some strands of hair slipping into her face. Exhaling a deep breath, she pauses as if to collect her thoughts.
“It happened so fast. I had just snuck off for a moment so I could have some space. I was looking at dresses in the mirror, and then…” She swallows hard, her throat working.
“It was like the air shifted. Like I could feel something was wrong before I even saw him. Suddenly I look up, and there’s this huge hulking man standing behind me.
As soon as I looked at him… I knew he was up to no good. His eyes were cold. They were dead.
“I froze up. I couldn’t even bring myself to scream.
My brain just… stopped. He stepped closer.
He reeked like cigarettes and was so big—” she breaks off, her eyes squeezing shut.
“He told me that Dren’s realized it’s most effective to send a warning through me.
Then maybe… maybe my dad and you will listen. ”
She pulls back the sleeve on her sweater and reveals a deep blue and purple bruise on her wrist.
We both stare down at it for a second in heavy silence. Simone drawing another shaky breath. Me with a fresh wave of rage surging through me.
“He grabbed my wrist,” she whispers. “Really hard. He kept squeezing it, and he wrenched me closer and said to stop fucking with their business. Then he just… let go and left.”
I touch my fingers to the bruise, studying how the damage purples her beautiful brown skin. Marring it in this way is like desecrating a priceless work of art in a museum.
He not only grabbed her—he fucking bruised her.
“He’ll never come near you again,” I say simply. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She can hardly contain her relief. “You mean that?”
“I swear it. I’ll handle it, alright?”
What I do next, I don’t give any thought. It’s natural instincts and urges taking shape. My hand reaches out and pushes her hair behind her ear. Then I lean forward and press my lips to her brow. She goes still as soon as I do, clearly thrown by the gesture.
I am too—I’ve never done anything like that before. Never kissed her so softly and tenderly, damn sure not on her forehead.
She’s startled by it as I pull back and clear my throat.
“Get some rest.”
I turn and walk toward the door, my heart beating harder than it should.