Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
Ronan
“There you are. Wasn’t sure if you’d meet me here,” Dad says.
I’m standing by the window, staring out at the gray January sky when he turns up in the den. He settles into one of the armchairs with a grunt of discomfort. He’s moving slower in the wake of the Dren conflict, relying heavily on a cane to get around.
The gunshot wound to his chest nearly killed him. Doctors say most men his age wouldn’t’ve survived. But Seamus Callahan has always been too hardheaded to die on anyone else’s terms.
Still, there’s no denying he looks older than ever, more signs of aging appearing.
Deeper lines in his face and the thinning out of his white hair.
A frailer shape to his overall build. It’s like my father who was once the kind of ruthless bastard to strike fear in people with a mere look is gradually withering away.
First the colon cancer. Now the stressors of losing a son and sustaining a near-fatal gunshot wound.
It’s a reminder that, at the end of the day, he’s mortal. He’s just a man. We all are, and men don’t last forever.
“Well?” he says gruffly. He gestures to the armchair opposite him. “Sit down. You’re making me uneasy, hovering like that.”
I turn from the window and acquiesce him by lowering myself into the other armchair. The fireplace sits between us, flames crackling away and warming the room.
A brief moment goes by where neither of us speaks.
The silence is familiar, thickened by all the things we’ve never said and probably never will. My father has never been one for heart-to-heart conversations. He loves through duty and expectations. It’s a brand of tough love most people can’t stand, but it’s the only language he knows.
“I owe you an apology,” he starts, his tone matter-of-fact.
Certain I’ve misheard him, I cock my head to the side. “What?”
“For what’s gone on,” he answers, scrubbing a hand at his white beard. “I didn’t trust you. Frankly, I didn’t think you had it in you to lead the clan.”
That’s nothing new. I’ve always known I was the spare. The leftover son.
I had long ago accepted that I was. But in thirty-one years what I’ve never expected is an apology or admission I was seen as inferior…
“I was wrong about you. I know that now. In my eyes, Lochlan was always supposed to be the one,” he admits.
His voice sounds gravelly even against the crackle of the fireplace flames.
“He was groomed from the time he could walk.
Taught him everything I knew. But then..
. he made choices. Bad choices for the clan that landed him behind bars.
“Contrary to what Eddie believed, I wasn’t happy about it.
I wasn’t relieved to have my son take the fall.
I tried everything. Every damn thing I could think of.
Threats. Intimidation. Bribes. Offered the judge enough money to retire three times over.
Fucking wanker refused.” He lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head.
“None of it worked. They wanted to make an example out of a Callahan, and Lochlan was the one the feds pinned down.”
“None of us saw it coming…” I say.
“But I was his father. I was the fucking patriarch that should’ve steered him better.
Now I have to live whatever cursed days I have left knowing I couldn’t save my boy.
” He sighs deeply, his eyes closing for a second as though pained.
“So when I found out what was happening with Dren—when Raguzin came to me with intel about Eddie’s betrayal—I made damn sure you had help.
I wasn’t going to lose another son. I’m a cold bastard, yes, but even the devil has his limits. ”
I’m not sure how to respond. It’s as about as much of an apology or admission of guilt as it gets with Dad. About as much as he’s capable of.
It means a hell of a lot even if he might not know it.
“I appreciate that,” I say. “The vote of confidence you’ve got. The backup you provided. I sure as hell needed it.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me. I did what needed to be done.” He pauses, studying me with his usual cold eyes. “But you handled yourself well, Ronan. Better than I expected. You’ve got more of me in you than I gave you credit for.”
Coming from my father, that’s practically a damn declaration of love.
“Which brings me to the point of this conversation.” He sighs again, straightening up in the armchair, the light from the fire only illuminating more lines on his face.
“I’m done, Ronan. The cancer, the shooting, all of it.
.. I’m tired. Too bloody tired to keep running this family the way it needs to be run.
The clan is yours now. Officially. I’m stepping back, and you’re stepping up.
You’re the head of this family. The captain.
Whatever you want to call it. It’s yours. ”
I’ve known this was coming. Ever since Lochlan went to prison and my father’s health started to decline, I’ve known eventually the mantle would pass to me.
It was solidified when Lochlan’s life was permanently cut short.
But hearing him say it out loud, making it official... it makes it real.
There’s no turning back now.
A few months ago, this was the last thing I wanted. I didn’t ask to be the heir. Nor did I want the responsibility, the fucking pressure and weight of an entire criminal empire on my shoulders.
I was content to be the warlord, getting my hands dirty and never having to play underworld politics. That was more Lochlan’s wheelhouse.
That was before. A hell of a lot has changed since then, including the arranged marriage and the woman I now call my wife.
It was all before I realized maybe I’m capable of more than I ever gave myself credit for.
“I’ll do my best,” I say. “Keep the clan prosperous. Rule the New York underworld.”
My father gives a firm nod, his expression vaguely proud. “That’s all I ask. It’s the Callahan way.”
The door to the den creaks open, and we turn to see Simone wandering in. Her eyes widen with surprise. She was obviously looking for me but didn’t expect to find me having a private talk with my father.
“Oh,” she stammers, starting to back up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s alright, Simone.”
Dad’s risen to his feet with the help of the cane. He’s lost the roughness about his tone, for once calling her by her actual name.
“I was just on my way out. You can have your husband back.”
He hobbles toward the door, the vaguest smirk pulling at his mouth. As he passes her up, he gives a quick pat to her shoulder. Even Simone seems startled as she meets his gaze and then nods, taken aback by this less intense version of my father.
It’s not much. But from my father, even an inch is like a mile.
Once he’s gone, Simone turns to me with both brows raised. “Did he just... acknowledge my existence? By name? As he smirked at me and patted me on the shoulder?”
I crack my own crooked smile. “Think that means he’s accepted the fact that you’re a Callahan. You’re here to stay. But don’t get used to any smirking or grinning. That might be his quota for the decade.”
She laughs and crosses the room to sit on the arm of my chair, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder. “What was that about anyway? The two of you looked almost... civil.”
“He’s officially handing over the family.” I lean into her touch, a gesture I wouldn’t’ve allowed myself to do just a few weeks ago. “I’m the head of the Callahan Clan now. Chief. King. Whatever you want to call it.”
“King Ronan.” She tries out the words, then wrinkles her nose. “Sounds pretentious.”
“Shut up.”
She grins and kisses my temple. “Congratulations. I think.”
“You know what this means, don’t you?” I ask, cocking a brow and pulling her down into my lap. She yelps in surprise before settling on me like I’m a chair. I hold her gaze and say, “It means you’re no longer a princess, princess. It means you’re a queen now.”
“A queen of a family of Irish gangsters,” she says slowly. Then shakes her head with another laugh. “Life is wild sometimes. That’s for sure.”
My hand glides down the side of her thigh, and I draw her in for a quick kiss. “And what were you doing snooping around? You miss me that much?”
“More like I was coming to find you. Killian’s waiting outside in the Escalade. You know, for the cemetery visit…”
“Almost forgot about that. You coming with?”
Her hazel eyes flicker with warmth, more golden hued in the light of the fire. “I’m your wife, Callahan. Your queen, right? There’s the answer to your question.”
I thumb her cheek then pull her up along with me. We put on our coats and head out to the SUV idling at the curb outside Callahan House.
Simone thinks we’re headed straight to the cemetery.
I watch from the corner of my eye as she gazes out the window, her brow furrowing slightly when we take a turn that doesn’t lead toward Lochlan’s resting place. She glances at me then back at the window a few more times as the car continues on a route that doesn’t make sense unless…
Her lips part in shock the exact moment she puts two and two together.
“Scarsdale?” She turns to face me fully, surprise coloring her tone. “We’re going to my parents’ house?”
I smirk but don’t say anything.
“Ronan, why are we going to my parents’ house?”
“You’ll see.”
She narrows her eyes at me, but I just settle back in my seat and enjoy the view of her trying to figure out what the hell I’m up to. Some things are better as surprises.
The Langston estate looks the same as it did the first time I saw it—white stucco walls and manicured grounds.
Old money elegance dripping from every fucking corner.
Killian pulls through the gates and up the circular drive, and within a couple minutes, we’re being escorted through the front door by a housekeeper obviously fond of Simone but wary of me.
She’s not alone.