Page 32 of Conall's Reign

I understood my bestie, though — you had to deny, deny, deny for as long as possible. Sometimes, that was all you had when it felt like your power was taken away. This was one reason Theo and I got along so well. We didn’t call each other out on insignificant bullshit. We allowed each other our petty deceptions. I didn’t acknowledge her crush on Angelo, and she didn’t remind me that I caused one of the biggest upsets in our lives.

Besties.

I reached for my phone and scanned my messages.

Theo: Tell me the details.

Me: What are you doing today? Can you come over?

Theo: Same old. Are you going to be allowed to roam free? Your new man, Conall, is a little bit of a control freak. You probably have interesting details.

Me: Text soon, and let’s coordinate. We need to cause a little chaos. We’ll talk.

Theo: Yes! I’m in.

I took my time sitting up and scanned the room. The sleek, modern décor contrasted with the heavy weight in my chest. Polished wood floors, clean lines, and neutral tones provided a sense of calm that I didn’t feel. This was Conall’s world, meticulously curated, just like him. If I were going to live here, I would need to make some serious changes to liven up this décor. Flopping against the pillows, I sighed. Well, I would have to make the best of it.

After a quick shower that must have been the most luxurious experience ever, I padded over to the closet and discovered an array of new outfits that Conall must have bought for me. I couldn’t picture him shopping for anything, let alone for women’s clothing. Dresses, blouses, skirts—most of them far fancier than anything I would choose for myself. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of my new role as Mrs. O’Kelly. Hopefully, I could transfer my belongings from the apartment so I’d have some of my own clothes. Then I’d feel a little more settled. Right now, it felt like there were cracks in the foundation of who I was, fissures that could open into chasms at any moment.

Blow-drying my hair took time, but I tried not to dwell on the moment. I was good at putting bad things in a box and closing the lid. It probably wasn’t very healthy. As I shook my long hair out while diffusing it, I focused on the heat from the dryer and how the strands slipped through my fingers. When that stopped working and my thoughts turned dark, I turned to choosing an accent color for the apartment. Mustard yellow? Maybe peach? Throw in some vibrant purples for va-va-voom. Conall would hate those. Seemed perfect.

I slipped into a soft cream sweater and black slacks, quickly brushed my hair, and tied it into a loose ponytail. There was some faint bruising around my throat from yesterday, but surprisingly, it wasn’t too noticeable unless you knew what to look for. Still, I found a silk scarf in one of my drawers and tied it around my throat in a jaunty manner.

As much as I hated to admit it, I looked the part of the mob boss’s wife: polished but not overdone, respectable yet approachable. The perfect accessory, the rings on my finger, made it official. Although I had to give Conall credit for that, the set fell within my taste while still loudly proclaiming ‘respectable.’ The eternity band was beautiful, generously adorned with vertically stacked baguette diamonds, and the thick gold band was perfect for days when I had a shift. I was not a solitaire sort of girl. He had picked well.

The hallway was eerily quiet as I made my way toward the kitchen. The building was massive—an old brownstone that Conall had gutted and modernized—and felt more like a fortress than a home. Having seen some of the floors during my previous visit, I knew a lot went on in this building. Conall’s entire Irish mob boss organization had its headquarters here. My heels clicked against the polished wood floors, the sound unnerving in the otherwise still air. I mused as I walked. Maybe a plant here, a plant there, a reading chair over there, a bookshelf? Throw pillows. Perhaps a cluster of framed pictures? I could enlist Theo’s help with that. Perhaps I could even get a dog.

When I entered the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit me first. Conall stood at the counter, dressed for the day in a crisp white shirt paired with a jacket and tie. He moved with calm confidence, pouring himself a cup of coffee as if he owned the world—because, in many ways, he did. Sour thoughts tried to seep through the cracks, but I steeled myself and forced a smile.

“Good morning,” he said without looking up, his deep voice resonating throughout the room.

“Morning,” I replied, hesitating as I entered the room. The tension in my chest tightened like a vise or a noose. The man had forced me into this marriage, yet here he was, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He finally turned to face me, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Did you sleep well,principessa?”

I folded my arms. “Not exactly.”

His smile remained steady. “That’s unfortunate. I had a wonderful sleep.”

I bristled at his words but stifled the retort that threatened to escape. Instead, I walked over to the counter and poured myself a cup of coffee. The silence between us was heavy, yet Conall seemed completely unfazed by the awkwardness of the moment. He leaned against the counter, watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. I didn’t know how to act around a husband in my morning space.

“Come here, Francesca.”

His words were steely and commanding. I watched him intently but crossed over to him without complaint, placing my coffee cup on the counter. His calloused fingers tangled in my hair as he freed it from its ponytail holder. His thumbs glided over my ears, touching the shells and massaging each lobe. I was close enough to smell his cologne and feel the warmth radiating from his body, yet I simultaneously wanted to curl into him and move away as he draped my hair over my shoulders. A shiver of need went through me. He was looking down at me with hunger burning in his eyes, his cock hard against my stomach.

“I like it better like this.”

I considered arguing, but what was the point? I preferred it down, as it hid the bruises. It was a win-win situation.

Leaning forward, he kissed my lips softly. His lips barely parted enough for his tongue to glide forward and brush against mine before he withdrew. I let out a huff of disappointment. I noticed him eyeing the scarf, but he didn’t mention it. I was sure he understood why I wore it. Thankfully, he cleared his throat and gestured toward the countertop.

“I have some things for you,” he said. A stack of papers was neatly arranged on the kitchen counter. It appeared to include a copy of the marriage license and the drawn-up contract. “Here’s the banking information I provided yesterday, along with our license. I thought it best to be thorough: name change, etcetera.”

My back stiffened. A name change? Of course, he’d require me to change my name. I didn’t know why I was surprised by that. All these mob men were old-fashioned. There had never been any way I’d keep my maiden name. I wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. My father had been a jackass. There were several cards in my name: Francesca O’Kelly.

“Why are there so many?” I ground out, irritated beyond belief, when I spotted a new name badge on the counter. There was no need to ask if he had gone through the hospital system to have them change my name. It was clear he’d already done that. I could even see a driver’s license. Ask a mob boss if something could be done, and the answer was … obviously.

“Cards or your license?” he asked silkily, watching me closely as he adjusted the coffee canister. “You’re flushed.”

---