Page 44 of Conall's Reign

I stepped closer, studying her profile as she worked. There was no tension in her movements, no sign of the conversation I had just overheard. Yet, the knot in my stomach tightened anyway. “She mentioned the hospital,” I said, keeping my tone steady.

Francesca glanced at me briefly, her expression carefully neutral. “She’s still shaken up, that’s all. We’ve all been on edge since… well, you know.”

“Murder, Francesca? Seriously?” I watched for her reaction.

I studied her. Her chin tilted slightly higher, and her fingers clenched the counter behind her. Defiant, yet not defensive. Not yet.

“I have no idea what you mean, Conall. Me? Kill someone? That’s absurd.”

“And what about the attack on the hospital? Was that random, or should I be looking at someone specific?”

Her eyes flickered with something—perhaps uncertainty or guilt—before she shook her head. “I don’t know. It could be Vallone, or it might be nothing. I’m not hiding anything from you, Conall.”

She conveyed it with such conviction that, for a moment, I almost believed her. However, I then remembered how Theo had hugged her and what she had said, “We’ll handle it like we did before.”

What was she hiding from me? And why did it feel like this was about something very specific, leaving me floundering in the dark? I didn’t like that at all.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

francesca

The kitchen wasalive with the aroma of garlic and rosemary, blending with the tangy sweetness of orange zest. I checked the pot of osso buco with one hand, the other dusted in powdered sugar while glancing at the cooling cakes on the counter. The frosting rested in a bowl nearby, waiting for my attention. For a moment, the rhythmic motions of cooking grounded me. The controlled chaos of the kitchen felt far more manageable than the storm brewing behind me. Part of me wished I could summon Theo back here as a buffer. I couldn’t believe we had been so careless as to discuss Fausto’s murder in a place where we could be overheard.

“Murder, Francesca? Really?” Conall’s voice cut through the room like a knife.

I froze, spoon mid-stir, my heart leaping into my throat. Damn, Theo and her mouth. I turned slowly, schooling my expression into one of casual surprise. Conall leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, an eyebrow arched. His tailored shirt stretched across his shoulders, and he looked every bit the powerful man who wouldn’t hesitate to extract the truth.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Conall. Me? Kill someone? That’s ridiculous.”

I focused on the pot, double-checking the flavors. The savory aroma intensified, giving me a moment to think. “Theo and I were joking,” I said casually. “You know how she gets after a glass of wine. Or two.”

“This didn’t sound like a joke.” Conall stepped closer, his gaze keeping me in place. “I value honesty, Francesca. You know that.”

My grip tightened around the spoon. Honesty. It would be so easy to reveal everything—the night Fausto Oliveto attempted to take what wasn’t his, the panic, the struggle, the blood. But that truth was a Pandora’s box I wasn’t prepared to open. Not now. It wouldn’t benefit anyone.

I turned to him, offering a smile that I hoped looked convincing. “Honestly, Conall, it’s nothing. Theo has been watching too many crime shows. Next time, I’ll ask her to tone down the theatrics.” I knew she’d forgive me for throwing her under the bus, but I still cringed a little for the comment.

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t press further — not yet. Instead, his gaze flicked toward the bowl of frosting. “What’s the cake for?”

“Dinner,” I said, picking up the spatula and swirling it through the rich Italian buttercream frosting. “I’m a sucker for sweets. Cake is one of my favorites. I know you think your body is a temple, but I’m sure your brothers and I will enjoy it.

Conall smirked, yet tension lingered in his eyes. “They’re not exactly the cake-eating type.”

“Everyone becomes a cake-eating type if it’s good enough,” I countered, spreading frosting over one of the layers. “Besides, I’m pretty sure that’s a lie. Your brothers definitely eat cake.” I winked at him.

Conall could share his “my body is a temple” spiel as much as he wanted, but I knew his brothers had a sweet tooth. If I was going to live here, I needed allies. I wasn’t above bribery.

He barked out a laugh, but his eyes darkened. “A lie?” he echoed, stepping closer. “You’re the one having the suspicious conversations, not me.

I rolled my eyes, smothering the cake with precision. “Let it go, Conall. If there were bodies to bury, I’d make sure you never found them. Besides, you’re the last person to talk about killing anyone. You probably killed someone yesterday.”

He chuckled, low and rough. “I wouldn’t judge.”

I wasn’t afraid of anyone judging my morality exactly. It was the repercussions that would follow.

“And you’re late,” I retorted, glancing at the clock. “Go get ready. Your friends are waiting, and I still have a meal to finish.”

Conall lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on me as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. Then he shook his head and turned to leave. “This conversation isn’t over.”

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