Page 47 of Conall's Reign

My brother's charred remains in that burned-out car still haunted me. Fausto—the bright one, the golden one—was reduced to ash and bone. And Francesca Santelli…she knew something. Angelo’s little sister had always been a ghost in the corners of Fausto’s life, her presence fleeting yet significant. My gut told me she held a piece of the puzzle, and I intended to get it from her—one way or another.

Nico’s expression resembled a storm cloud, his dark eyes narrowing. “Don Oliveto,” he greeted, his tone tense. No “Cosimo” tonight. He used my title only when he disapproved of something I had done. He handed me a folder as soon as the door closed.

“Here’s the intel we gathered from the Vallone docks, as requested.” Nico’s voice was sharp, his eyes fixed on me with the predatory intensity he reserved for moments of confrontation. “You’ll find everything necessary for us to make our move.”

I took the folder, flipping it open to scan the photographs and reports inside. Dock schedules, shipment manifests, and a list of names—all of it painted a picture of Don Vallone’s operation. Vallone was careful, yet he was no match for everyone working together. The reports included in the folder didn’t equal the data that O’Kelly had, but that irritating fucker was meticulous and thorough in a way that was hard to compete with. I couldn’t fault his intel.

“Good work,” I remarked, but Nico stayed tense. “This aligns with what O’Kelly has. They have more details, but this is solid.” Nico never relaxed. His loyalty was unwavering, yet he didn’t hesitate to challenge me when he thought I was mistaken. And tonight, he felt I was wrong.

“I need to know something,” Nico said, his voice low but edged with steel. “What on earth happened with Francesca Santelli?”

I snapped the folder shut and met his gaze directly. “What are you talking about?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know what he meant.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Cosimo.” The title was gone now, replaced by something more personal—something more dangerous. “You sent someone to rattle her, not to attack her. What happened?”

A muscle in my jaw tightened. “I gave explicit instructions: no physical contact, just enough pressure to convey a message.”

“Well, your clear instructions didn’t mean shit,” Nico snapped. “The bastard went too far. Francesca was assaulted.

My stomach churned, anger rising like bile. “Assaulted?” The word tasted bitter. I wanted her frightened, not harmed. Never harmed. That wasn’t exactly true. I would have gone a little further if I could get answers.

“Yes, assaulted,” Nico spat, his voice rising. “The fucker put his hands on her. Strangled her. If Angelo Santelli finds out, we could be in serious trouble. You think we can afford that kind of heat right now?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, frustration twisting tightly in my chest. The man had been a blunt instrument—useful yet unpredictable. I should have seen this coming. “I’ll handle it.”

“You’d better,” Nico said, leaning forward, his presence imposing. “Because this? This is the kind of shit that gets people killed. And if you think the Commission won’t notice, you’re delusional. Angelo’s already protective of her. If he connects this to you, it’s not just your head on the line. It’s all of ours. We need this alliance with the Commission. It could benefit thefamiglia.” Nico ran a hand over the back of his neck in frustration. “I understand that you still want to find out who killed Fausto, but you need to leave these guys out of it. Leave the girl alone.”

I exhaled slowly, reminding myself to stay calm. “He’ll keep quiet.”

“He’d better. And you’d better think twice about using someone like him for something this delicate. Francesca Santelli isn’t just a pawn, Cosimo. She’s Angelo’s sister. And whether you like it or not, that makes her untouchable.”

Untouchable. The word echoed in my mind as the car merged into traffic, the city lights casting long shadows across Nico’s hardened face. He was right, of course. Francesca was untouchable—at least for now. But that didn’t mean she was out of reach. If she held the key to Fausto’s death, I would find a way to get it.

No matter the cost.

I had toknow.

Nico would flip out if he knew she wasn’t only Angelo’s sister but also O’Kelly’s wife. If Nico thought she was untouchable before, I wonder what he would think of her now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

francesca

The kitchenstill smelled like osso buco as I carried the last of the dishes to the sink. The rich aroma of wine and herbs lingered in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of the cake we had just finished. It was a good meal—better than good. Brody had come back for seconds, and Paddy had grinned at me while forking another bite of cake into his mouth. For a first attempt at cooking for my husband, it felt like a small victory.

Conall’s expression was more difficult to interpret. He had complimented the food, his deep voice warm with approval, but I couldn’t tell if it was genuine or merely polite. He was not a man who revealed himself easily, and I quickly learned that his silences often conveyed more than his words. Still, he had eaten everything on his plate and lingered in his chair after dessert, nursing a whiskey with Brody and Paddy. He even took a small bite of cake, which his brother teased him about endlessly. Conall watched me as he placed the bite in his mouth, licking the fork as he did so. That had to count for something.

I turned on the tap, letting the hot water cascade over the plates as I scrubbed them clean. The clink of glass and porcelain was steady, almost soothing, as I tried to focus on the task in front of me. However, my mind drifted back to earlier, to the quiet conversation Theo and I had shared today. I still couldn’t believe that Conall had overheard us. We’d been incredibly careless, even discussing it where someone could hear us.

Conall hadn’t said anything—not during dinner, not afterward. Yet, there were fleeting moments, hard to capture, when I caught him watching me. His eyes, sharp and calculating, lingered just a second too long as I passed him the platter of osso buco. When I placed the cake on the table, he tilted his head slightly, as if studying me. Maybe it was nothing. Or perhaps it was everything.

I rinsed the last plate and set it on the drying rack, drying my hands with a towel before surveying the kitchen. It was clean and orderly, just as I liked it. I knew that Conall appreciated a tidy house too, so at least we had that in common. After Brody and Paddy left, Conall had gone to his office, mentioning that he had some calls to make. This gave me a small reprieve, a chance to collect myself before facing him again.

Our bedroom upstairs was softly lit, with the gentle glow of the bedside lamps casting long shadows across the walls. I enjoyed a quick shower and slipped into one of the beautiful silk robes hanging in my closet. The bed looked inviting, but my nerves held me back from crawling beneath the covers. Instead, I curled up in a chair with a book, waiting for Conall.

When he finally appeared, he looked as composed as ever, his suit jacket missing and his shirt sleeves rolled up to showcase strong forearms. He paused in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over me before stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Dinner was delicious… impressive,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I really appreciate you making it.”

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