Page 18 of Conall's Reign

“This isn’t handled,” he snapped. “You think I’m just going to stand by while some asshole comes in here and puts his hands on you?” His hand flexed on my waist, and I could feel him nearly vibrating next to me, his stride lengthening. He’d never touched me before, and suddenly, I felt hot.

I burned.

I looked at him then, noticing the worry beneath the anger. “Conall, I’m okay. Thank you for coming.” My words came out softly, and I truly meant them. I struggled with the fact that he was here only because I wanted to keep things separate, yet his concern touched me. I felt confused, but it was sweet.

“A description,” he said, the words a growl. “What did he look like?”

“I don’t think it’ll help much,” I admitted. “Six feet, brown hair, brown eyes,” I shrugged. “Had a knife wound. It was probably my fault, honestly, Conall. I should have known better than to push so hard. It looked suspicious. Maybe some guy who robbed someone. A druggie, likely. I questioned him about his lie about a kitchen accident. I told him I’d report it.”

All of it was wrong. I could have told Conall exactly who had sent the man to attack me, but that would have led to questions.

Conall let out a chuckle. “Damn, you’ve got guts.”

“Yeah, it was stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,principessa. You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

My hand trembled as I clutched the strap of my bag, my throat still raw and tender from the man’s hold. I forced my legs to move, step by step, while Conall’s steady hand guided me out of the hospital and into the crisp evening air. God, he had complimented me, and I was lying to him. I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat, still confused about why he had come to the hospital at all.

I had always loved the night, the way the city felt quieter. Its chaos was dampened beneath the glow of streetlights. But tonight, the darkness felt oppressive, heavy with unspoken threats. And my lies.

I could still feel the man’s hands on me, his words like shards of glass lodged in my mind.We’re watching you. You’re a murderer.

My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat as the memory replayed in a relentless loop. Theo and I had worked so hard to bury that night—every trace of it—but somehow, he knew. Fausto’s brother, Cosimo, had been everywhere searching for answers about his death, creating so much noise that even I couldn’t escape. Theo had managed the security cameras, but the bartender remembered me. That left me squarely in the same location as Fausto on the night of his death. It would only take one person to come forward, claiming they saw me get into his car, and it would be all over.

Two days after Fausto’s body was discovered, Cosimo Oliveto confronted me on my way to get coffee, asking about his brother. He wanted to know if I had seen him, danced with him, and ultimately, if I had left with him. There had been a report of a dark-haired girl leaving the club with him. Something about my response caused him to tilt his head in that same predatory way his brother had. He had nothing, but still, he made me feel like he was peeling back my skull and searching my brain — as if he knew I was lying.

Since then, he’d not approached again, but I knew he hadn’t given up. Occasionally, I’d catch him following me or parked on the street watching me. He didn’t come to talk to me, but he lounged near his car as if he wanted me to know he could get at me anytime. I was shocked that he had sent a goon after me here at my workplace. If I told Angelo about it … well, that didn’t bear thinking about — right?

The guy hadn’t said Cosimo sent him … but it made sense. I tossed it around in my brain. Who else could he be? Why else would he have been there?

A few months ago, when the Vallones sent a hit squad after Maxim and shot at Conall, Theo and I had talked again about telling, but she told me she didn’t think it was connected. The don of the Vallones was as old as dirt. He had worked with our fathers and was some piece of trash still bent out of shape because he got cut out of the trafficking arrangement established by the blood oath. Too bad for him that Ilias, Conall, Maxim, and my brother Angelo had eliminated trafficking from their organizations. Apparently, he was still butthurt about it.

Cosimo Oliveto had allied with my brother and the guys against the Vallones. That meant more than ever that I needed to keep my mouth shut. It wouldn’t do anyone any good (least of all for me or Theo) to dredge up the fact that I’d killed Fausto. Nobody seemed to know about it. Suspicions were one thing — but Cosimo Oliveto had nothing.

Nothing.

Conall’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Francesca?” His tone was low, striking a careful balance between concern and restraint. Tonight, I wasn’t sure I could wear the fake smile I usually displayed.

I nodded in a reflexive gesture that didn’t match the turmoil inside me. “I’m fine,” I lied, my voice hoarse. His sharp eyes narrowed, piercing through my façade. Conall didn’t tolerate dishonesty, and I didn’t enjoy lying, but this was for the greater good.

“You’re not fine. You’re white as a sheet. Like you’ve seen a ghost.”

A ghost. That’s how it felt—a phantom from my past reaching out to remind me that I could never truly outrun the life I’d been born into. I had recognized that when I stepped into the exam room and felt it in the air around the patient. He reminded me of the mafia life. The patient reeked of danger, his presence a reminder of everything I’d tried to leave behind.

But Conall didn’t know about that night, about Fausto. I had kept it from him and everyone else for years because knowing the truth would spark a war on another front. And that wasn’t what I wanted. Not for him, not for anyone.

I slid into the car at Conall’s direction, a scent of leather and Conall’s cologne wrapping around me like a delicate shield. He climbed in after me, the silence stretching as he started the engine. My thoughts raced, each one colliding with the next. This was strange. I’d never been so alone with Conall before. He’d been around me in public or with my brother, but this was private. Even his men were in a follow car.

“You’re going to tell me everything,” he said finally, his voice tense. “Start from the beginning.”

I swallowed hard, my throat still tender. “It was just a routine case,” I began, keeping my voice steady. “Guy comes in with a cut on his forearm. I’ve already told you.” The trick was to keep the answers consistent in a lie. “I was just doing my job. It’s a busy hospital,” I deflected.

Conall’s jaw twitched. “What did he do?”

“At first, nothing. He answered my questions like anyone else. But then, he grabbed me and got upset.” I paused, carefully choosing my words. “I shouldn’t have told him I would report him.”

Conall tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “Bastard,” he muttered. “You’re not going back there. Not until this is sorted.”

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