Page 4 of His Possession

The soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Malachy stepped inside, his presence as rough and unpolished as ever. The enforcer didn’t bother with pleasantries; he dropped a folder onto the desk and crossed his arms.

“Kelleher’s moving again,” Malachy said. His voice was a growl, low and edged with frustration. “Picked up one of our boys near the docks. Sent him back with a message.”

Rory raised a brow, leaning forward to flip open the folder. Inside were photos of Tadhg Kelleher’s men, their faces half-lit by grainy streetlights. One photo showed a bruised McMahon enforcer slumped against a wall, his face bloodied but alive. A warning, not an execution. Tadhg was playing games again.

“Make sure our man is taken care of—physically and financially.”

“Already done,” said Malachy.

“What was the message you sent?” Rory asked, his voice calm but laced with steel.

“Stay out of the North End.”

Rory’s jaw tightened. The North End wasn’t just a valuable piece of real estate—it was a challenge to his, and more importantly, Con’s, authority. For years, the Kellehers had been testing the O’Neill grip on Galway, probing for weaknesses like vultures circling a dying beast. But Rory wasn’t dying. Not even close.

“And the docks?” he asked, keeping his tone even.

“Quiet for now, but we’re watching. They’re not stupid enough to touch our shipments.”

Rory nodded, filing the information away. Malachy was good at his job, but he wasn’t subtle. He preferred fists to strategy, a trait Rory both valued and managed carefully. There was no room for loose cannons in the O’Neill organization.

“Keep eyes on them,” Rory said, closing the folder. “But don’t move unless they cross the line.”

Malachy hesitated, his brow furrowing. “You sure? You don’t feel like that’s,” he said, pointing at the folder, “crossing the line? Feels like we should hit back now, show them who’s in charge.”

Rory’s gaze sharpened, cutting through the air like a blade. “And play into their hands? No. Let them make the first mistake. Then we’ll finish it.”

The tension in the room crackled for a moment before Malachy nodded, grudging respect in his eyes. “Understood.”

As Malachy turned to leave, Rory picked up the folder again, skimming through the photos with practiced precision. His gaze caught on a separate set of images toward the back, and his grip on the paper tightened. It wasn’t Kelleher this time—it was Maeve.

The first photo showed her walking out of the gallery, a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. The next, an image of her laughing with a man Rory didn’t recognize. But the third... The third stopped him cold.

It was Maeve with Alexander O’Connell.

Rory’s jaw clenched as he studied the image. Alexander stood close to her, his hand resting lightly on her arm in a way that suggested familiarity. Family. Rory recognized it now—he had the O’Connell look, the sharpness of their features, the way they carried themselves. Maeve’s brother knew where she was, and if he knew how long before her father knew, if he didn’t already?

It complicated things. Hell, it complicated everything. The O’Connells had been a thorn in the O’Neill Syndicate’s side for years, their reach extending from Boston to Dublin. He believed Maeve had completely alienated herself from her family. If she hadn’t, it wasn’t just inconvenient—it could be dangerous.

Rory tossed the folder onto the desk, his thoughts racing. He’d been circling her since the gallery, drawn to her fire and defiance. But this... This wasn’t just an attraction anymore. It was a liability. And liabilities had no place in his world.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, Rory knew he wouldn’t walk away. He’d spent years mastering control—over his business, his family, his instincts. Yet Maeve had slipped past his defenses, her presence burrowing into the spaces he’d kept carefully guarded. His panther growled, a low, insistent rumble that demanded he act.

A knock on the door distracted him, but only for a moment.

He couldn’t ignore her. Not now. Not when she’d already become a thread in the web of his life.

The knock came again, more insistent this time. “Everything all right?” Cormac Kelly asked as he stepped inside, his expression calm but curious. The Galway consigliere was the only person who would have opened the door without waiting for permission to enter.

Rory leaned back, running a hand over his jaw. “Depends on your definition.”

Cormac’s gaze flicked to the folder, his brows lifting slightly. “Something I should know?”

Rory didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he picked up the photo of Maeve and Alexander, holding it out for Cormac to see. The consigliere took it, his expression tightening as he studied the image.

“Alexander O’Connell,” Cormac said quietly, the word heavy with meaning.

“Maeve’s brother,” Rory confirmed. His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something darker.

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