Page 70 of Conall's Reign

“Please.”

He spun me around and crushed his mouth to mine — devouring me like I was the air he breathed. His face was a mask of need and fury. All I cared about was the here and now as he hitched me up and drove into me, splitting me apart stroke by stroke in a frenzy as he held me against the tile. His cock felt as if he was stretching me further with each stroke as my back scraped against the subway tiles. Digging my nails into his shoulders, I surrendered as he pistoned into me, coming on a howl as ropes of cum hit my walls. I clenched around his cock, riding out the spasm.

“Damn.” He slumped against me. “I might get a leg cramp.”

“Well, you are the old man here,” I teased, resting my forehead against his shoulder with a sigh.

?

Conall wrapped a thick,perfectly folded towel around me before I could protest, his touch firm and gentle. The air outside the shower was bracing, but Conall radiated warmth, stabilizing me as he ran another towel over my dripping hair. I didn’t resist him. I didn’t have the energy

He crouched in front of me, his hands methodically drying my arms and then my legs, moving with efficiency. Everything about him was precise. The towels in this bathroom were arranged by size and stacked in perfect symmetry. His razor and toothbrush were aligned on the counter like soldiers standing at attention. I was starting to get used to how he liked things in his spaces and things just so.

“You’re still freezing,” he murmured, barely concealing his frustration. Not directed at me—I didn’t think—but at the situation. He despised disorder. I wondered if I appeared broken to him right now.

He pulled a robe off the hook and draped it around my shoulders. The thick fabric enveloped me, but I still felt hollow and cold inside.

“Talk to me.” He cupped my chin, tilting my face toward his. “Begin with when you left the club.”

I swallowed hard. My pulse throbbed erratically against my throat. I didn’t want to discuss this, but Conall wouldn’t let it go. He needed the details. He needed to fit the pieces together, organizing them into something logical and manageable.

“I—I was outside. Sean was with me.” My voice wavered. “Sean was being careful, and it seemed clear. Men were waiting. Cosimo was there with a team of Vallone’s men. Sean fought back—” I sucked in a breath. “Then he couldn’t anymore. He got shot. There were so many of them. A lot.” They had him on the ground, and I’d been screaming and screaming as I tried to help. “I was hit on the back of the head. I think it was with the butt of his gun. Everything went dark.”

Conall exhaled slowly through his nose. “And then?”

I focused on how his thumb smoothed the edge of the towel, straightening an invisible wrinkle. I concentrated on its steady rhythm, as I didn’t want to relive the next part—the warehouse.

“I woke up tied to a chair.” The words spilled out before I could convince myself to hold them back. “Cosimo wanted information. He was desperate to know about Fausto’s death.” Conall stayed silent, but the space between us felt heavy and charged.

“He paid for ten minutes with me,” I whispered. “Or perhaps he bartered something for it. I’m not sure.” I tried to think back to what Cosimo had said.

Conall became so still that I couldn’t be sure he was breathing. His eyes darkened.

“That’s what he said,” I interjected hurriedly. “Vanello was there.” Conall’s jaw flexed, but he stayed silent, waiting for me to continue.

“I think—” I hesitated, gripping the robe tighter. “I believe Vanello was protecting me in his own way. He mocked Cosimo and allowed him to fail, but when it became clear I wasn’t speaking… he killed him. Shot him in the back of the head.”

I could sense Conall’s shift, the intensity of his focus, and the gears turning in his mind. He would dissect the pattern, analyze it, and search for the flaw. I wasn’t sure he would find one. Rubbing my hands over my legs, I prepared for what would have to be the next question out of his mouth.

“You’re okay.” His hands covered mine. “You’re home. Your brothers are here. Sean will be okay.” I nodded.

“Why?” he asked, his voice low but sharp. “Why would Vanello protect you?”

My throat constricted. I hadn’t spoken it aloud yet. Not to myself. Not to anyone. The words felt alien, surreal.

“Francesca.” His patience was razor-thin now.

I forced my lips to move and my tongue to form the words. “Because…” I swallowed hard, struggling to get it out. “Because he said he’s my father.”

The silence between us grew thick and suffocating. Conall didn’t react initially. There was no twitch of his jaw, no tell in his expression. Yet the air in the room shifted, heavy with something unspoken and dangerous.

“Vanello told you that?” His voice was disturbingly quiet.

I nodded, clutching the edges of the robe as if they were the only thing keeping me steady.

Conall exhaled slowly, yet it did little to hide the fire that simmered beneath his control. “And do you believe him?”

I wasn’t sure. However, the fact remained whether it was true or not—Vanello had protected me in a way. Now, I had no idea what that meant and how it would affect Conall or Angelo.

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