Page 43 of Conall's Reign

Theo sighed, rubbing her temples as if she were dealing with a particularly thick-headed child. “Conall, she married you. She didn’t enter some goddamn witness protection program.”

I smirked. “Not much difference, really.” Looking over at Theo, I couldn’t help but add, “You’re in the same boat, you know. Angelo will be putting a ring on that finger sooner rather than later.” Her mouth tightened with anger, and I regretted bringing it up. The last thing I wanted was to start a fight with Francesca’s best friend.

Francesca shook her head, but I detected a hint of a smile. “I appreciate your concern, Theo, but I was already aware of it and the security measures. We made some compromises in that area.” She offered her friend a sympathetic glance, yet I could see that she understood Theo’s complaints.

Theo muttered something under her breath and flopped into a chair at the kitchen counter. “Fine. But if you start demanding that she check in every hour, I’m staging an intervention.”

I leaned back, feeling satisfied. “Noted.”

“I think it suits me.”

I reached out, gently brushing my fingers over hers. “It does.”

Theo groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Francesca laughed, and for a moment, the tension dissolved. Yet, the reality lingered beneath it. This was more than just a piece of jewelry. A boundary had been established between what I could control and what I couldn’t. In my world, control meant everything. I wasn’t sure how I could cope. I already had a headache.

Still, I glanced at the penthouse and noted the changes she had already made, realizing that control was relative. Francesca had completely transformed the space and had been here for less than twenty-four hours.

?

Francesca’s melodic laughter floated from the kitchen, sharply contrasting with the tension I couldn’t shake throughout the day. The scent of something rich and savory intensified, enveloping the penthouse in warmth. I inhaled, counting to four, then slowly exhaled, repeating the process twice. The steady rhythm calmed me, but only slightly.

Stepping forward, I caught sight of the kitchen, and my pulse skipped uneasily. The counters were cluttered with ingredients, flour dusted the surface, and a few stray vegetable peels rested near the sink. I curled my fingers into my palm. It wasn’t dirty—Francesca was meticulous—but it was chaotic. I clenched my jaw, reminding myself that this was her home, too, and that I didn’t need to reorganize everything back into its rightful place. My days of living in a place where rodents were common were long gone. I repeated that thought in my head twice, just to make sure it stuck.

I turned away from the sight and focused on the sound of voices drifting from the kitchen.

Theodosia’s voice was low yet firm, as always. “Frankie, you need to be careful. You’ve been safe, but you can’t assume that will last forever. This proves it.”

Francesca’s response was softer and more measured, yet just as resolute. “I’m not going to be scared, Theo. They’ve got nothing. We were careful.”

What the hell?

I paused, my fingers brushing over the doorframe of my office—a ritualistic reassurance that at least this space remained untouched. Francesca’s redecorating spree hadn’t extended to my sanctuary or the bedroom, and I was endlessly grateful for that. No candles, no plants, no decorative pillows with ridiculous tassels—just the precise order I required. The books on the shelf remained alphabetized, my desk perfectly arranged, and the door slightly ajar, exactly as I had left it.

However, the conversation in the kitchen was anything but orderly, and my gut tightened as I listened.

“But,” Theo pressed, her voice laced with frustration. “After what happened at the hospital…”

There was a pause before Francesca’s voice returned, quieter this time. “We managed it, didn’t we? If it happens again, we’ll handle it just as we did before. Well, perhaps not exactly like that.”

“I’m not sure we should be going around killing people, should we?” Theo’s question was a sharp whisper, and Francesca must have silenced her with a glance because the next sound I heard was a quiet, unsteady breath—Theodosia’s.

My heart stilled, but I tried to remain calm. Were they speaking metaphorically? Going around killing people?

I stepped into the kitchen just as Theo hugged Francesca tightly. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” Theo murmured, her voice thick with a mix of worry and affection.

“Always.” Francesca’s hands lingered on Theo’s shoulders as they separated, her smile soft and reassuring as ever. It was a look capable of convincing anyone that everything was fine — almost anyone.

Theo’s eyes flicked to me as I approached, her expression tightening slightly. I offered her a small nod, deliberately unreadable, and she stepped back, smoothing a hand over her coat. “Conall,” she greeted, her tone clipped. “I was just leaving.”

“Were you, now?” I asked, keeping my voice casual as my gaze shifted to Francesca. She was back at the stove, stirring something in a pot as if nothing had happened.

“Yes,” Theo replied tersely, slipping past me toward the door. “Have a nice dinner.”

I watched her leave, her departure swift and purposeful, before turning my attention back to Francesca. She hummed softly with her back to me, reaching for hot pads as a timer rang out.

“Theo’s worried about me,” she said before I could ask, her tone light and matter-of-fact. “You know how she gets. Oh, and your brothers will be back for dinner.” She pulled out what seemed to be cake pans from one of the ovens and set them on the racks.

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