Page 35 of Conall's Reign

He spat at my feet, a mix of blood and saliva splattering my shoes. “You’ll never find out,” he said, his voice rasping with what little strength he had left. “But it won’t matter. You can’t protect her. Not from what’s coming.”

Sean stepped forward again, but I didn’t stop him this time.

“Break him,” I said coldly, turning toward the door. “When he’s ready to talk, I’ll be upstairs.”

Sean’s grin was sharp and feral as he reached for a pair of pliers on the nearby table.

“If he isn’t ready to talk,” I shrugged. “Break him anyway. Dump him in pieces.”

“Yes, boss.” Sean’s grin was malicious.

I didn’t look back as I left the room, but his screams trailed behind me all the way up the stairs.

?

The edgeof my water glass left a faint ring on the polished surface of the conference table. I exhaled sharply, picked up the glass, wiped the ring away with the edge of my sleeve, and set the damn thing down precisely in the center of one of the wood’s intricate grain swirls. I didn’t know why that mattered, but it did.

Marriage.

The word settled over me, not like an iron shackle as some men might feel — cold and clamping tight — but comfortably.

I had done what I needed to do. I maneuvered and manipulated situations to marry Francesca, specifically and promptly. The blood oath made it inevitable, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have drawn things out or waited. However, I had grown tired of that. I liked the idea of her being bound to me. Permanently.

I ran a hand over my jaw and forced myself to focus. The door swung open, and Angelo strode in, radiating irritation. He wasn’t just angry. He was insulted. I could see it in the tight set of his mouth and the sharp, controlled way he pulled out the chair across from me and sat down. The air in the room thickened as he folded his arms, his dark eyes fixed on me as if I were a piece of shit he’d just stepped in.

Angelo had always been emotional. He fought hard and loved just the same.

We had been friends since we were boys, and I knew I had crossed a line by marrying Francesca without her brothers present, as if it were some kind of secret. Part of me was afraid to give her the chance to back out, and if I knew Angelo, he would have given her the opportunity to run.

“You have some nerve,” he said, his voice low and edged in anger. “Marrying my sister without even a courtesy call?” His mouth flattened, and he turned away from me before adding, “Without us even being there, you bastard. She was alone.”

I arched an eyebrow, reached for my drink, and hesitated when I noticed the ring of condensation forming again. I should have used a coaster. I wiped it away before meeting his glare head-on. “The blood oath dictated it. And she wasn’t alone, you eejit. She was with me.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Conall.” Angelo leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table, tension coiling within him. “The fucking oath, give me a break. Fine. You were going to marry her, but couldn’t you have called me to be there? Why did you have to marry her so quickly?” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “She deserved a ceremony, at least.”

I didn’t answer immediately because he was right. But the thing about being right is that it doesn’t always fucking matter.

“I did what had to be done,” I finally said. “I met my obligation.”

Angelo exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his mouth, his fingers pressing down as if trying to prevent himself from saying something worse. “She’s my sister, Con. My baby sister. And you, you obsessive, cold-blooded bastard, you just—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I get it. I do. But I don’t have to like it.”

I could accept that. I didn’t expect him to be pleased about it.

We sat in silence for a long moment, the city’s sounds muffled by the reinforced windows of my office. Finally, Angelo sighed and leaned back in his chair. His eyes remained sharp, but his fury was diminishing. “Are you going to take care of her?”

I nodded once. “Always.”

His jaw tightened. “That better be the truth.”

It was. Regardless of what this marriage meant or how it had come to be, Francesca was mine to protect. That was non-negotiable.

Angelo blew out a slow breath, then scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Fuck, man. You and your neat little fucking plans.”

Before I could respond, the door opened again, and Paddy strolled in, his usual smirk in place as he surveyed the tension in the room. “Ah, lovely, I see we’re all playing nice.”

Angelo gave him a flat look. “Piss off, Paddy.”

Paddy grinned even wider before dropping into the chair beside me. “I’ve got your tracker.”

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