Page 6 of Conall's Reign

They were all dead. All the men on that list.

“Do you think?” My fingers gripped hers so tightly that I was sure I was hurting her, but she didn’t complain.

“Yes.” Her voice was cold, like Manhattan in winter. She knew exactly what I was asking.“Don’t speak about it.” Her eyes suddenly seemed flat, and I wondered how I had missed it.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I agreed, “Fine. Let’s take Angelo’s car for that ride.” I felt unmoored and reckless, my life spinning out of control as Theo and I slipped away.

CHAPTER THREE

conall

CONALL: 29 / FRANCESCA: 18

The night airin New York was crisp, slicing through the usual heavy scent of exhaust, but I forced myself to breathe evenly—counting each inhale, each exhale. I kept my hands shoved in my coat pockets, fingers curling into fists, resisting the urge to fix the slightly uneven fold in my sleeve.

Sean rattled off the details of our latest supply run, his words slotting into neat little compartments in my mind, categorized, ordered.

"The truck is rolling in from Boston at four a.m.,” he said, his tone all business. “We have two guys posted at the drop point, but I want an extra set of eyes on it—someone we trust.”

My gaze flicked to the cigarette in his hand, the ember burning unevenly at the tip. I clenched my jaw, irritation prickling beneath my skin. He was a lazy smoker, never tapping the ash at the right moment, letting it grow until it threatened to break off messily. Disorganized. Wrong.

"I’ll send Finn," I said, pushing past the distraction. "He won’t let anything slip by him."

Sean grunted in approval just as the building doors burst open behind us.

My head snapped up, muscles tensing at the abrupt disruption. Francesca stormed onto the sidewalk, dark curls bouncing, eyes glittering with defiance. Her best friend Theodosia trailed behind, smirking like she was enjoying the show.

Francesca hardly glanced at me. "Move."

I blinked, thrown by the command. People didn’t order me around. That wasn’t how this worked. My pulse ticked against my temple as she shouldered past me, cutting through the space between Sean and me like she was entitled to it.

Theodosia’s smirk widened. "Don’t take it personally, Conall. She’s having a moment."

My jaw tightened. Amoment. That kind of phrasing was vague. Unclear. It set my teeth on edge.

Francesca had never interested me before. Angelo’s little sister had always beencontained—quiet, disciplined, the perfect mafia princess who stayed within the lines. Predictable. Safe.

But this? This was something else entirely.

Her chin lifted in defiance, fire snapping in her dark eyes, and something inside me clicked into place—a puzzle piece I hadn’t realized was missing.

I shifted, curiosity tugging at me like an itch I needed to scratch. “Are you planning to tell me what that moment is about?”

Francesca didn’t slow down. “Not your concern, O’Kelly.”

I smirked. “That’s debatable.”

She shot me a look over her shoulder, one that promised murder if I kept pushing. It only made me want to push harder.

Sean exhaled, sounding both amused and annoyed. "Jesus, what’s the problem?"

"The problem lies with domineering men who think they can decide for me,” Francesca snapped. “As if I’m just some fragile little doll.”

That caught my attention.

Angelo and Remo were old school—protective and territorial. I had a sister, and I’d sent her across the ocean to keep her safe. I understood the instinct: control meant security. It kept things in order. And reckless girls? They embodied chaos.

My gaze locked onto Francesca just in time to see her stalk toward Angelo’s Ferrari.

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