Page 33 of The Chief's Captive

"Is it okay if I wait? I don't mind." I fold my hands in front of myself, and she smiles.

"It's more than okay. It'll give me some company in this big kitchen." Brigid winks and sets to work collecting and preparing ingredients. I watch her mix the eggs and heat the stove top, and then I start to wonder more about her, where she came from, how she ended up in Ronan's employ. So I pry a little, not ashamed to be nosy.

"So, do you enjoy working for Mr. O'Rourke?" I use his formal name because I’m not sure how they speak of him. I don't want to seem too casual about things because I know how dangerous this family can be. I've seen it with my own eyes.

"Ronan? Oh, well I love working for the family." She smiles as she looks up at me and pours the eggs into the skillet. "Wouldn’t be the same if I had to work somewhere else."

Her relaxed, casual nature just seems so odd to me. I expected her to be here under duress or against her will like me, but she's genuinely happy. I can't understand it. How does she not see what they're about and run for the hills?

"Do you live here too?" I ask her, being nosy. I know it's none of my business, but my mind is blown by how comfortable she is with this situation.

She chuckles. "Nah, ma'am." She reaches for the peppers and onions, scattering them in the skillet around the eggs to cook, then picks up a wooden spoon and pushes them around, careful not to disrupt the omelet. "I live across town. Ronan is my boss and nothing more. If that's what yer sayin'."

"Oh, no, nothing like that." My cheeks burn. I wasn't insinuating that she was sleeping with him, which she clearly thought I was.

"Well, he's a good boss. And he's a good man. There isn't a thing he won't do for his family. The woman who nails that young man down is a lucky one. But not me. I'm married and I have a son."

She grows quiet after answering my question, and I think of what she's said. He's a good man? But doesn't she know what he does for a living? Do I know what he does for a living? My only true knowledge of Ronan O'Rourke is that he's the leader of the largest criminal organization in Dublin. I'm not sure what sort ofcriminal activities he partakes in, but he didn't get to the place he is without doing something evil.

And does that mean all of his employees are evil too? How could that even be? Not all people are like him, but he has to own businesses, and those businesses employ people. Are they aware of who owns them? Who manages them?

"You seem a bit concerned about something." Brigid seems friendly, and while I have no intention of explaining to her what I'm really wrestling with and why I'm wrestling with it, I don't mind how she seems ready to lend an ear. It's a very nice gesture.

"Yeah, maybe a bit…" I pause for a second and then sigh and continue. "Do you know what Ronan does for a living? I mean… how can you work for him when he is such a violent man?" My question hangs in the air, and she turns to fold the omelet over and add the ham and cheese. It smells delicious and my stomach is growling, but inside, I'm actually more invested in this conversation than I am the food.

My heart is tenderly seeking answers that might help me decide what I truly want in life, and it feels very scary to wait for them. Learning something I don't want to learn may tear me in two. But hearing her say something encouraging might make all the difference.

"Ms. Walsh, all I can say is that I've worked for this family for years. I knew Ronan's father. I know the sort of character they have." She turns and narrows her eyes on me in deep thought, then says, "Have you ever had someone you care about so much that you know you have to do what's right for them, even if doing what's right is actually somehow bad or wrong?"

I swallow hard, thinking again of how I'd do anything for my mother. If she were hurt or suffering, there may be a time in my life I'd steal or hurt someone to help her or protect her.

"We don’t choose what we're born to," Brigid says.

"But we can choose to continue in it or change." My rebuttal stands firm, but she's shaking my resolve. I war within myself. I want her to say he's a monster to justify my fear, but I also want her to say he's everything I've ever dreamed of to justify my love.

"Aye," she says, and she nods, removing my omelet from the pan and sliding it onto a plate. She pulls out a fork and a napkin and sets them in front of me, then turns to get a glass. As she's filling the glass with orange juice, she again looks up at me. "And if you're born to a family who might be on the path that's least moral, but you have a passion to make a difference and hold them all together, would you leave them if it meant you'd never be able to return?"

Brigid sets the answer—and the orange juice—in front of me and pats my hand. Then she walks out without saying anything else, and I'm left to try to discern what she means. Ronan isn't here. He hasn't been here in days. I'm torn up inside wondering why he has to be like this, where he's gone. I stare at the omelet which looks very delicious, and I'm left with only one assumption.

Ronan has undertaken this position as head of his family to hold them all together, and maybe he's not the horrible monster I think he is. Maybe he's actually trying to fight to turn the ship around, and maybe he won't do it in his watch, but maybe decades from now, my child could. Maybe it's what his family needs. Maybe I'm what his family needs.

I take my first bite of the omelet, and it melts on my tongue, and inwardly, I thank Brigid for being a saint sent by heaven to manifest the answers I need when I need them. I don't know how I will ever raise an O'Rourke baby and look past whatever it is Ronan has to do to protect his family and hold them together, but I’m seeing him in a new light, and I like it. I like him.

23

RONAN

This family has suffered such great loss, so many lives already, and the war isn't done yet. We still haven't smoked Eamon out. I stand at the back of the sanctuary listening to the priest pray a prayer over Aiden's cold body, and I think of everyone we've put in the ground. Benny died far too young. Dr. Butcher was a good man, kind and faithful. And now Aiden. We can't even have an open casket. There's nothing left of his face after the bullet to the back of his skull.

"And Dear Lord, we pray for those who remain, that they might feel the comfort of the holy spirit and the arms of their loved ones passed on…"

I don't bow my head because my eyes are always roaming. Eamon got the drop on Aiden when he was least expecting it. We've taken out fourteen of his men, and Aiden is the price we pay for that. Declan might have been next, but Finn's bullet ended the life of the gunman before he got a chance to fire another round. Sadly, we stand united as brothers now at the back of this sanctuary, shoulder to shoulder, mourning our friend.

"I can't stand still," Lochlan grumbles. He looks around and sighs hard. It's difficult for all of us. We're being picked off one by one, and though we're slowly making progress at ending Eamon’s reign of terror over us, we're not finished.

"Shh," I whisper, and I glance at him in my periphery. He's tense, face drawn in anger. He wants blood, and so do I, but we must pay our respects first.

His scowl deepens, and I watch Connor's head drop. Knowing two of my brothers even entertained my enemy's lies for even a second angers me, but I see how contrite they are as we bury one of our own yet again. They're informed now. They know the type of man I am—questions and answers first, blood only when it's necessary. And they're seeing firsthand what sort of leader Eamon would have been had his father convinced mine to allow him to lead.

---