Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Simone
For the first time since I married Ronan Callahan, I actually feel like his wife.
Not his prisoner or some reluctant partner in an arrangement neither of us wanted. Not even the enemy he was forced to share a bed with.
In the days following the confrontation with Dren, I start to actually step into the role of Ronan Callahan’s wife. No longer simply accepting I am but genuinely feeling it.
I never imagined being the wife of a mobster. Certainly not some Irish gangster with a body full of tattoos and who doesn’t blink twice at violence and bloodshed.
But as Ronan and I move on from the ordeal we’ve survived together, I realize life doesn’t always turn out how you imagined.
My curated little world where I was essentially a princess, spending my days protected from the grim realities around me wasn’t real.
It was a manmade existence designed to keep Daddy’s princess safe and sheltered. Those walls were always going to come crashing down.
It wasn’t a matter of if but when. I just never expected them to be knocked asunder by a man like Ronan.
We’ve bled for each other now. Fought others to the death for each other.
Through that violent turmoil we’ve forged a stronger connection than any vow we exchanged at the altar.
The bruises on my face have faded to faint yellow smudges that disappear even more under a thin layer of makeup. Ronan’s injuries are healing too, though he still moves with a slight stiffness when he thinks I’m not watching.
Seamus is out of the hospital, grumpy and demanding and very much alive despite taking a bullet to the chest. Ronan joked that his father was too stubborn to die.
I’ve concluded he’s right—Seamus Callahan would rather cling to life than ever let himself be taken out by a rival’s bullet.
My father-in-law and I haven’t spoken. There’s still tension and uncertainty that lingers as the family finds its footing. I’m in no rush to pretend everything’s picture perfect.
The way I look at it is that if I’m meant to bond with my in-laws, it’ll happen naturally over time. Not necessarily out of obligation like the arranged marriage first was.
But tonight… Ronan and I are celebrating.
Privately, just the two of us, of course. The Callahans don’t throw victory parties or announce their wins to the world. It’s not their style to be flashy or verbose. Instead Ronan told me to put on something nice, the look in his vivid green eyes making my stomach flutter.
It happens again as I stand in front of the huge mirror in our his-and-her closet, modeling the sleek maroon dress I’m wearing, hair in loose waves around my shoulders, and Ronan comes up from behind.
The way my stomach ripples you’d think a thousand tiny butterflies were trapped inside. My gaze meets his in the reflection, and I pick up on the spark of desire he has when he looks at me.
I’ve always known Ronan was very attracted to me on a physical level.
He made that clear from our very first meeting. But a couple months into our marriage, as we’ve gradually taken to each other, there’s another layer added to his desire.
It’s as if the spark in Ronan’s eye is now a desire that burns deeper than physical.
Life is strange. Love is stranger.
Another realization I’ve come to, even as I’ve resisted using the L word. I’m not sure how much longer I can put it off with the way Ronan’s been making my nerves flutter and my skin flush.
“Ready, princess?” he asks, stopping directly behind me. His hands come to my waist. His lips drop a few kisses on the side of my throat.
I instantly close my eyes at the feel. Then I remember to answer. “Yes… you said to doll myself up.”
“You never need much,” he replies bluntly, squeezing my hip. “You’re naturally a knockout and you know it.”
I take the compliment with a small smile quirking my lips then let him lead me from our room.
Ronan’s decided on a dark blue dress shirt with slacks. The deep shade makes his reddish brown hair stand out more than it usually does.
My husband is still naturally rough around the edges, even in fancier clothes. It’s the very aura he gives off as he helps me slide into my coat and then dons his long black one.
“So where are you taking me?” I ask as we settle in the backseat of the Rolls-Royce we’re riding into Manhattan.
His lips curve into a smirk. “You’ll see.”
The chilly winter weather has eased up some tonight, though it wouldn’t matter either way. In a city like Manhattan, the streets are always glittering with life.
We pull up outside a Japanese establishment called Katsu-ya.
The exterior is elegant but modern, the inside giving the same vibe with its dark wood and mood lighting.
The hostess greets Ronan by name and leads us to a private table in the back, tucked away from prying eyes. The space is intimate and warm, the decor minimalist in a way that still feels luxurious. A single orchid sits in the center of our table, its white petals luminous against the dark wood.
We order omakase and a bottle of sake, and as the courses begin to arrive—expertly prepared slices of sashimi, impeccably seared wagyu, handrolls bursting with fresh crab and tuna—I find myself relaxing more than I have in weeks. Maybe months.
The sake helps. It’s smooth and slightly sweet, warming me from the inside out, loosening any leftover tension I didn’t realize I had.
“You’re smiling,” Ronan observes, his chopsticks pausing halfway to his mouth.
“Am I not allowed to smile?”
“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.” He pops the piece of yellowtail into his mouth and chews, watching me with his irreverent and intense green eyes. “I’m just not used to seeing it. I’m talking the real one. Around me of all people.”
I swallow another sip of sake, more warmth spreading through me. “Maybe I haven’t had much to smile about lately.”
“And now?”
“Now... I don’t know. Things feel different,” I say, pausing to meet his gaze. “We feel different.”
“Then it’s a good kinda different if it makes you smile the way you are. But you’re right—things are different now. We’ve been through some shit.”
I laugh at his bluntness. “Shit like being held hostage by an Albanian crime lord?”
“Having my ass kicked by his men.”
“Throttled by a traitor cousin in our family.”
“Putting some bullets in the assholes.”
“Who can forget Dr. Hino’s visit?” I tease. “Let’s hope we won’t be seeing much more of him.”
“Oh, we—I—will be. He’s used to patching me up by now.”
“Maybe so, but I’d like my husband to live a long and fruitful life.” My brows quirk at him as I finish my sake and redirect my focus on the sashimi. “Don’t make me a young widow, Ronan. Behave yourself.”
“I’ll behave myself in public. For now. But you already know what comes later.” His knee nudges mine under the table and warmth involuntarily floods my cheeks.
We finish dinner and step back out into the cool night air, the city buzzing with energy around us. Ronan’s hand finds the small of my back as we walk, a casual possessive gesture that sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.
We’re passing by Lincoln Center when I spot the fountain.
Jets of water shoot up into the night sky from the massive stone structure, catching the light in a dazzling display. I’m three cups of sake deep by now, feeling pleasantly floaty, and before I can think better of it, I’m tugging Ronan toward the fountain’s edge.
“What are you doing?” he asks, slightly amused.
“Making a wish.” I dig into my clutch and produce a coin, holding it up triumphantly. “Don’t you know the rules? You throw a coin in a fountain and make a wish. It’s tradition.”
“Says who?”
I press the coin into his palm. “Come on. Humor me. It’s your job as my husband, Callahan.”
“Princess, I’m a gangster. We don’t make wishes in fountains.”
“Tonight you do. For me.” I kiss the edge of his jaw then close my eyes once I’ve pulled a second coin from my clutch purse.
My mind drifts to our marriage and the intense things we’ve already been through only a couple of months into it.
Then I make a wish I never saw myself making the night I got engaged to Ronan Callahan.
I wish for many, many more to come.
The coin leaves my fingertips as I toss it into the water with a plink.
For all his griping, Ronan follows suit. He closes his eyes for a quick second and then hurls his coin into the water after mine.
“What did you wish for?” I ask.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” he points out with a crooked grin. “Ain’t that also part of the rules?”
I laugh, nodding my head and conceding his point.
We make our way to the theater, more excitement thrumming through the air. We’ll be seeing Moulin Rouge.
Ronan bought the tickets admittedly unsure if it was a show I’d want to see. Luckily, he guessed correctly since I’ve only ever seen the early 2000s film and enjoyed it.
Our seats are some of the best, close enough to see every detail of the ornate costumes and vivid sets but far enough to take in the full spectacle of the production.
The lights dim as the music starts, and I shiver in anticipation.
Ronan almost grins again as if amused, his hand coming to rest on my thigh. I lean into him slightly, letting my shoulder press against his arm, and lose myself in the story unfolding on stage.
It’s how we remain for most of the show.
It’s both romantic and tragic all at once. Even more so than the movie.
When it ends and the lights come back on, I have to blink away the moisture in my eyes. Ronan notices with a cock of his brow.
“You crying, princess?”
“It’s a sad ending,” I say defensively, dabbing at my eyes with the back of my hand. “They don’t end up together.”
He leans in close, his lips brushing my ear. “We’re not them. Our story is—and will be—different.”
The promise causes my heart to flutter, making me feel even closer to him than when the evening out began.