Page 42 of Yours

“So,” I said, setting my fork down and leaning back slightly in my chair. “Are you going to tell me more about your… organization?”

Ronan arched a brow, clearly amused by my choice of words. “What do you want to know, love?”

“I don’t know,” I said, swirling the wine in my glass. “Who’s in charge of what? Do you have lieutenants or something? Or is it just you, barking orders at everyone?”

He laughed, the sound low and rich. “It’s a bit more structured than that,” he said. “We follow a traditional hierarchy—old Irish mafia roots, though I’ve modernized it where necessary. I’m the head, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I muttered, earning yet another smirk from him.

“Below me,” he continued, “are my underbosses. Two of them, specifically—Finn O’Rourke and Seamus Duffy. Finn oversees our operations in Brooklyn, while Seamus handles Manhattan. They’re smart, loyal, and they don’t make mistakes. At least, not often.”

I arched a brow. “What happens when they do?”

The look he gave me sent a shiver down my spine.

“Let’s just say I don’t tolerate mistakes, Kiera. Not from anyone.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the stem of my glass. “Got it. Don’t screw up.”

I left the fact that he’d probably spank me unsaid.

“Exactly,” he said, his tone calm, but unrelenting.

I glared back at him and nodded slowly, trying to piece it all together. “And what about… enforcers? Or, I don’t know, the muscle?”

Ronan’s lips curved into a faint smile. “We have those too. But you don’t need to worry about them. Yet.”

“Yet?” I repeated, my eyes narrowing.

“You’ll meet them soon enough,” he said simply, pushing his plate away.

His words sent a fresh wave of unease rippling through me, but before I could respond, the waiter appeared with dessert.

It was a rich chocolate soufflé, the edges dusted with powdered sugar and the center warm and molten. Beside it was a delicate flute of champagne, the bubbles sparkling under the soft candlelight. I didn’t mean to sigh as I took the first bite, but the combination of the rich chocolate and the crisp champagne was intoxicating.

“Still just fine?” Ronan teased, watching me closely.

I glared at him over the rim of my glass.

“Shut up,” I muttered, though my tone lacked any real bite.

The champagne went straight to my head, the warmth spreading through me with every sip. By the time the soufflé was gone, my limbs felt loose, my tongue a little freer, and the anger I’d been keeping bottled up all night finally bubbled to the surface.

“This is insane,” I said abruptly, setting my glass down with more force than necessary. “You show up, and punish me like I’m some misbehaving kid, and now you’re… what? Pretending this is normal? Like this is just some fancy date?”

Ronan didn’t respond immediately. He just leaned back in his chair, his expression calm, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“Are you done?” he asked quietly.

“No,” I snapped, my words tumbling out faster now. “You think you can just waltz into my life, throw your weight around, and expect me to?—”

“Enough,” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut me off midsentence.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat as he stood, his movements unhurried.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice calm, but leaving no room for argument.

Before I could protest, he stepped around the table, his hand brushing lightly against my elbow as he guided me to my feet. The touch was firm, but not rough, and I hated the way my pulse jumped at the contact.

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