Page 13 of Conall's Reign

The remainder of the day faded into a blur of activity. I moved from room to room, shadowing nurses and juggling patient needs against the constant hum of staff questions and my own lingering self-doubt. When I finally found a moment to breathe, it was well into the evening, with night settling over the city outside.

Later, as I lay on my bed in the apartment, I couldn’t help but smile at the ceiling. Today had been a good day.

“You look happy,” Theo said, leaning in the doorway while waving a takeout bag. “Come on, I’ve got sustenance.”

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?” I turned a sleepy smile toward my best friend as I accepted a hand up from the bed. “Tacos?”

“Isn’t it Tuesday?”

“No, but we’ll pretend it is.” I gave her a smile that I had reserved just for her.

CHAPTER SIX

conall

AGE - 37

The airin my office felt heavy, thick with the scent of leather and aged whiskey, even though the glass in front of me remained untouched. Not for the first time that evening, my gaze drifted to the window overlooking the city. The view outside did little to distract me. My thoughts were elsewhere, focused on Francesca Santelli.

Stuffing my hands into my coat pockets, I recalled earlier in the day when I had briefly seen her at the hospital. She took the coffee and muffin I picked up for her and then stepped into the elevator. At least I caught a glimpse of her—my fix for the day.

Francesca Santelli had driven me mad for the last seven years. I’d watched her from a distance, unable to resist, even though I knew I should. Back when she was younger, she’d followed a self-destructive path: partying hard, drinking, and clubbing as if tomorrow didn’t exist. I’d tried hard to maintain my distance from her, but a few years ago, she’d made a turnaround that even Angelo found puzzling, and I loved puzzles. This change had brought Francesca Santelli squarely into my life in a way I hadn’t expected, and now I couldn’t let go.

There was a mystery I couldn’t unravel. It represented a complete personality change. She had gone from one person and woken up the next day as another. I tried to figure out why, but I was completely unsuccessful.

She was a natural beauty with dark, expressive eyes that sparkled with joy and boundless mischief. In her younger years, Francesca wore her hair in loose waves around her heart-shaped face. Now, her eyes appeared shadowed and cautious, and she pulled her hair back tightly into either a bun or a braid. Something had fundamentally changed within her, and that change drew me to her even more than her once vibrant personality. There was a new darkness surrounding her.

My jaw tightened as I arranged the papers on my desk, making sure they were perfectly aligned. I ran my fingers along the edge of one stack, feeling the clean lines. The counting, the precision—one, two, three, four—helped. Everything was in order. I could control this. I could control myself.

But the urge to act, to intervene, always returned. I had resisted it for years, convincing myself that I was protecting her, keeping her safe from afar. However, that excuse felt weak lately. It was time to take action.

The blood oath. The thought sent a shiver through me, stirring both dread and anticipation. The pact between our families, sealed in blood generations ago, dictated that marriages would be made to strengthen alliances. It had always felt like a distant, abstract concept to me — a tradition from a bygone era. But now, it appeared to be an opportunity to obtain what I desired.

My fingers twitched. I had always dismissed the oath as unnecessary, a relic of the past. But what if I could use it? What if I could manipulate the terms? If the others on the Commission could be persuaded—and they would be—then I could position myself to marry Francesca. She would be mine.

The thought was intoxicating. Francesca, my wife, standing at my side. No longer would I watch from the shadows or silently pine away. I could protect her, guide her, and keep her safe in a way that no one else could. Her secrets would belong to me.

She had abandoned much of the principessa role that she once embraced so wholeheartedly. She left behind the parties and the superficial girl she had been. Francesca worked hard to pretend she wasn’t part of our world, keeping her expenses in check, attending school, and working diligently. Taking the subway, for heaven’s sake, and living with Ilias’s sister, Theo.

My mind raced with possibilities. The others would agree. They always did. I would frame it as a question of necessity, of strengthening our alliances in uncertain times. Although Angelo and Ilias might initially resist, Maxim would agree, and he was all I needed.

My lips curled into a slight smile as I leaned back in my chair, the tension in my chest easing a bit. It was time. I would bring it up at the next meeting and lay the groundwork. Everything would fall into place. It had to.

My gaze drifted back to the memory of her from earlier that day. Francesca had looked tired, her movements slower than they ought to have been. My chest tightened with the familiar ache of guilt and longing. Soon, I told myself. Soon, she’d be where she belonged.

With me.

?

A-HoleChat

Me: We need a plan.

Maxim: No shit.

Ilias: Genius

Angelo: Let’s meet. Fortune?

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