Chapter 16 Simone #2
Finally, Dr. Hino straightens up and packs his tools back into his bag. “All good. Bullet is out. Thigh was only grazed—fragments removed. Stay out of trouble.”
Ronan manages a half-grin, wan and exhausted. “I’ll give it my best shot.”
Dr. Hino simply nods, his bag in hand as he promptly pivots and then marches out the door.
Silence settles over the apartment in his wake. I’m still standing in the corner, thrown by how abrupt and efficient he was.
All with no questions asked or information requested.
“You wondering why I called him instead of letting you dial 911?”
I glance over to find Ronan’s vivid emerald gaze on me, tired but alert.
“I guess… it makes sense. He didn’t ask questions. Which I’m guessing is a good thing to you. But the cops—”
“The cops are useless,” he interrupts. “I never go to them. Why would I? I’m a gangster, Simone. I show up at a hospital with bullet wounds, suddenly me and my whole family are under an even bigger microscope than we already are. Besides, when have the cops ever really helped somebody?”
“Our vacation home in the Hamptons was robbed once. The local police solved the case within forty-eight hours—”
“I mean people like me,” he cuts in. “Hardened criminals. Gangsters. Not respectable families like yours.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.”
“I’ll have you know we’re still Black,” I say indignantly. “It’s not as if historically the police didn’t—”
“I know that you and your family are Black. I’ve got eyes,” he says bluntly.
“But in case you haven’t stepped outside your bubble, you’re treated as part of the elite echelon in Manhattan.
Your father’s respected, and that comes with perks, even with his complexion. Then there’s crime families like mine.”
I fold my arms and stay mute, debating if I want to even attempt to counter what he’s said. He seems to sense where my headspace is, because his eyes gleam like emeralds, the corner of his mouth slightly quirked.
“Besides… we’ve got more in common than you think, princess—the Irish weren’t exactly welcomed with open arms in this country,” he points out.
“We were treated as less than for decades. We were looked down upon as dirty and impoverished. Our family rose above that and proved those cocksuckers wrong. Something tells me your family has a similar history, does it not?”
He’s right, though I’m a little too stubborn to let him know.
Dad built his empire after growing up in poverty and experiencing hardships and discrimination. He vowed he would find a way to provide his future wife and children a better life.
Hungry for success, he found a way to make it happen. He did so growing up at a time where opportunities weren’t always available for a man of his complexion…
Before our conversation can continue, there’s heavy pounding at the door. Nothing like the single sharp knock of Dr. Hino. This is aggressive and demanding, the kind of knock that expects immediate obedience.
I freeze, staring at the door like it’s a ticking time bomb. Ronan attempts to push himself up. His thigh gives out and he collapses back with a curse.
“Don’t move,” I say. “I’ll… I’ll get it.”
“Simone, check the peephole!” he grits out. “Don’t you answer that door ’til you see who it is.”
I creep toward the door, pressing my eye to the glass. My stomach drops at the sight of the man standing on the other side of the door.
“Um, it’s... it’s your father.”
Ronan scowls. “Open it.”
The instant I prop the door open, Seamus Callahan bulldozes his way inside. He’s flanked by enforcers in long black coats that ripple like capes when they move.
Nobody spares me so much as a glance. I might as well be invisible the way they stride into the apartment, already in formation.
Seamus leads the pack, his white hair and beard striking against his weathered face, mouth pressed into a severe line that suggests he’s never smiled a day in his life.
He stops in front of the couch where Ronan lies and stares down at his son with cold, assessing eyes.
“I heard about the shooting,” he says with no concern. “Who was responsible? Did you get a look at the rider?”
Ronan gives a shake of his head. “It happened too fast. I couldn’t see who it was. He wore a helmet and rode off as soon as he opened fire. But I’m assuming it was Dren and the Albanians. Revenge for Amar.”
Seamus grunts out a cold laugh. “Don’t be so sure. We have enemies everywhere.”
As if suddenly aware of my presence, his gaze swings over in my direction. He glares at me for half a second as if I’m who he’s speaking of. Then he turns his back on me again and continues.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be going on pointless little excursions with her,” he says icily. “This isn’t some Disney fantasy, Ronan. This is our empire I’m entrusting you with. I expect you to conduct yourself accordingly. Lochlan would never lose focus like this.”
Ronan clenches his jaw, teeth gritted. “I’m not Lochlan, Dad. Nor will I ever be. Best for everybody if you accept that, don’t you think?”
Seamus has no answer to his question, merely glaring disapprovingly a second longer. Then he’s turning with a swish of his long black coat and striding back out. His men promptly follow, quick to shadow their leader out the door.
It slams shut with a finality that makes me flinch.
The silence that follows is even heavier and tenser.
I’m still in the corner of the room, unsure what to think about tonight’s turn of events. Ronan’s scrubbing a hand down his face as if irritated by it all.
One thing is clear: my father-in-law obviously hates me. But more than that, he even seems to consider my family to be the enemy. He damn sure implied we were when he was asking Ronan about the shooting.
His suspicions make no sense.
I was in very real danger out on the promenade. If Ronan hadn’t pushed me down, those bullets would’ve hit me.
It seems Seamus Callahan doesn’t give a fuck about details like that. He’s made up his mind he’s going to hate and distrust me and my family regardless. Even though I’m now married into his family and taken the name…
“Princess,” Ronan says suddenly. “Come here.”
He’s pushed himself into a more upright position on the couch, patting the cushion beside him.
I double blink, startled. “Errr… what?”
“You heard me. Come over here and sit down. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
I hesitate for a second or two, then drift across the room and sink onto the spot next to him. The cushions are musty and uncomfortable, but I’m too exhausted to care.
Seconds go by where neither of us speaks. We’re both cognizant of how strange it is that we’re even seated like this, as if we actually like and tolerate each other.
Ronan heaves a deep breath and then says, “Don’t take my father’s coldness personally. I told you he’s like that with everybody. Especially anybody new to the family.”
The nod I give is tight, my throat thick enough to prevent swallowing.
“He treated Cara like crap for years,” he continues. “Still does actually. That’s what sorta man my father is—he’s even like that with my mother. They’ve never been lovey dovey. You’ve probably noticed how she’s always gone on spa retreats?”
“Um… yeah…” I murmur. “I think I’ve seen her twice in the last month since we’ve married.”
Ronan shrugs. “He’s old school. Thinks women should be seen, not heard. Sometimes he doesn’t even think they should be seen.”
“That’s… reassuring…”
My sarcasm is followed by a pit sensation in my stomach.
I’ve already figured these things out, but hearing Ronan acknowledge them adds a new depressing layer.
I’ve married into a horribly misogynistic, patriarchal family. Even worse than my own. The men absolutely run things in the Langston family, but at least Dad has always made me and Mom feel valuable and protected.
It seems Seamus Callahan doesn’t even think women like me are worth the scum on his shoe.
The thoughts spiral, infecting my brain like poison. I’m so lost in them that it takes me half a second to recognize the warmth of Ronan’s touch.
His hand has covered mine.
My gaze drops. I look down at our hands then up at his face and find him watching me with an intensity that makes my heart flutter.
His stare is unblinking and certain and piercing. As if he sees right through me and knows exactly what’s on my mind.
“Remember what I told you, princess,” he says. “Nobody’s gonna fuck with you. That includes my father.”
I draw a startled, sputtering breath, both brows rising high. “Oh… um… I…”
“You’re right to be concerned,” he admits. “But take me at my word. I’ve got you.”
“You proved that tonight. You took those bullets. You pushed me out of the way. If you hadn’t…”
I trail off, allowing the insinuation to speak for me.
He squeezes my hand, his lips quirking into a familiar darkly amused grin. “Look, I might be a fucking asshole. You might hate my guts. But I’m still your husband, princess. And you’re still my wife.”
My heart gives another flutter as our gazes hold, his hand still covering mine.
“I’d take a hundred bullets for you if I had to,” he finishes. “Know that.”
His declaration is spoken in earnest. He’s completely serious, making me feel safer than I’ve ever felt before.
…which is strange considering I was shot at only an hour ago.
I can’t bring myself to answer him as I shyly glance down at our hands and then give another little nod.
We fall silent, the two of us sitting on the dusty couch in the apartment above a laundromat. The sounds of the city play out for our ears, filling the blank space with the honking horns of traffic and drunken screams from the streets below.
I’m caught up in my head, processing what’s happened.
I don’t know what any of this means. Everything feels so overwhelming it’s impossible to sort through it all.
But as Ronan’s hand stays warm over mine and my heart flutters inside my chest, one truth emerges above the rest.
I don’t hate him. Not entirely. Not anymore.
In fact, my feelings for him have become so complex it’s the most terrifying thing of all.