Page 53 of Conall's Reign

“Conall,” Maxim greeted, a rare smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “I hear tonight was a success.”

“Better than expected,” I replied, sitting across from him. Reaching for the glass of whiskey, I set it down so that it aligned perfectly with the edge of the table before continuing. “The shipment is secure. Vallone’s men didn’t even see us coming.”

Angelo turned, glass in hand, and offered me a smirk. “That’s because Vallone has become sloppy. He’s too comfortable and getting old.”

“Not anymore,” I said, leaning back. The table’s sharp corners pressed unevenly against my forearms, and it took all my willpower not to adjust my posture. “We’ve targeted three of his operations in the past month. Tonight’s raid was the final blow. He’s bleeding, and he knows it.”

Maxim’s expression darkened. “Vallone will be even angrier now. He’ll lash out. A wounded animal is dangerous.”

“Let him,” I said, my voice cold. “We’ll be ready.”

Angelo chuckled, his voice low and smooth. “I admire your confidence, Conall. But don’t underestimate him. Vallone didn’t build his empire by playing fair.”

“That’s why we don’t play fair, either,” I countered, rubbing the pad of my thumb against the tip of my forefinger—something to ward off the static.

Maxim nodded. “What’s our next move?”

“Consolidate,” I said. “Make sure the shipment is distributed to our allies. The more people who benefit from Vallone’s losses, the more difficult it will be for him to regain control.”

Angelo lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Spoken like someone who’s been in this game for a while.”

I resisted the urge to adjust my glass again, but my fingers twitched at the sight of it being even slightly off-center. The conversation continued, but a part of me remained fixated on that glass, on the number of times my fingers pressed against my palm in a rhythm only I understood.

Maxim eventually redirected the conversation. “How is Francesca adapting to life with an old grump?”

“I’m a ray of sunshine. How could she not love me?” I downed the rest of my drink to suppress the lump in my throat.

Maxim smirked. “I’d like the ladies to become acquainted now that Cora’s on this side of the country.”

I scrubbed my hand down my face and quickly smoothed my shirt, undoing the crease I had just made. Damn. He was right. I had completely neglected my sister. Again.

“You’re absolutely right, Maxim. I’ll have Francesca get in touch with her. Perhaps we can invite you all over for dinner or some shite.”

“Sounds… domestic,” Angelo said with a smirk.

“Just you wait. Your turn will come soon,” I shot back.

The conversation continued, yet the tension in my shoulders never fully eased. My mind was already calculating the next steps, replaying the night’s events, and searching for any loose ends. Every action had to be deliberate, and every move calculated. If I didn’t control the details, the details would control me.

And I refused to let that happen.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

francesca

The coffee shopbuzzed with the soft hum of conversation and the sharp hiss of the espresso machine. I sat at a corner table, fiddling with the strap of my purse as I waited. Conall had insisted that I meet his sister, and although I was curious, I couldn’t shake my nerves. First impressions mattered, and I wanted her to like me. I hoped she wouldn’t be upset about not having been at the wedding. Not that it had been my fault.

Finn and Sean sat at one of the distant tables, their drinks mostly ignored, while Sean rapidly demolished a Rice Krispy treat.

The bell above the door jingled, and I spotted her immediately. Cora Volkova was hard to miss—her dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail and a t-shirt that read, ‘Zombies Are Proof That Sometimes You Can’t Get Ahead In Life!’ paired with jeans and bright yellow rain boots. She looked like she had just stepped out of a music festival. A camera dangled from her neck, its strap worn and frayed as her eyes scanned the room until they settled on me.

“Francesca, right?” she asked, stepping forward with a shy smile. Conall hadn’t told me much about his sister, but I had met her briefly at her wedding to Maxim. I was curious about her as someone else who had experienced the whole arranged marriage situation.

“That’s me,” I said, standing up to shake her hand, but Cora bypassed the formality and went straight for a hug.

“Conall suggested we should be friends,” she teased, pulling away. “So that’s my mission. Step one: tea and sarcasm. Step two: make friends.” She gave me another shy smile. “I could use a friend.”

I felt instantly at ease with her energy. “I could always use another friend.”

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