Page 75 of Conall's Reign

I forced myself to hold his gaze. “You think you can claim me like some piece of real estate?”

“Not at all.” He spread his hands in feigned innocence. “I’m offering you a choice. If you want me to walk away from the fight with Conall, if you want peace, it begins with us.”

I could sense the unspoken condition layered in his words:‘Be my daughter. Accept me, and I’ll give you what you want.’

I clenched my jaw. “And what if I refuse?”

His expression didn’t change, but something in the air around him did—an almost imperceptible shift, like the way a predator decides whether to pounce or wait.

“Then we’ll see where things go,” he said smoothly. “But I’d prefer not to waste time fighting my own blood.”

I forced myself to breathe evenly, ignoring the cold grip of unease tightening around my ribs. “You want a relationship?” I asked, my voice steady. “Then prove it. Walk away now. Call off any plans you have against Conall, Angelo, and Remo. Stop any human trafficking. Make your so-called peace first.”

His smirk returned slowly and knowingly. “That’s not how this works, Francesca. But I admire your fire.”

I pushed back my chair and stood up. “Then we have nothing more to discuss.”

His voice followed me as I turned to leave. “Consider it,figlia mia. This offer won’t last forever.”

I didn’t look back.

Finn and Sean were already moving, their eyes fixed on Vanello. I didn’t need to say anything. They had seen enough. However, as I walked out of the cafeteria, my pulse pounded with a feeling I couldn’t shake.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

conall

Maxim satat the head of the long mahogany table, his fingers idly drumming against the glass, while Ilias leaned back in his seat, legs crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. Meanwhile, Angelo radiated barely contained fury, his usual cool veneer cracking like the ice in his untouched drink.

"So, how long do we let Vanello play his little game before we remind him who he's dealing with?" Angelo bit out, his Italian accent sharpening the edges of his words. "That bastard had the nerve to ask Francesca to be his daughter. His daughter! To take his fucking name! Publicly! To choose Vanello or Santelli. As if.”

I exhaled through my nose, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "It’s a move, no doubt. One we can’t ignore. He’s been quiet since that hospital stunt, but we all know that quiet doesn’t mean safe."

"The bastard seeks legitimacy,” Maxim mused, his voice calm and calculating. “He’s attempting to rewrite his history, to exit the trafficking game. She represents a chance to polish his image. Gain credibility with the mafia world.”

"Credibility?" Angelo barked a laugh, but no humor accompanied it. “It’s about power. She’ll never stop being a Santelli. She’s my sister. Now she’s an O’Kelly.” He wrinkled his nose. “I suppose she’s a fucking Vanello too.”

"Power, sure. But think about it," Ilias interjected smoothly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “If she had accepted, he would have an excuse to back off. Maybe even shift his sights elsewhere."

Resting my elbows on the table, I leaned forward. "And if he thinks we’re considering it, he might make a mistake. Show us his next move."

Angelo glared, his jaw twitching. “Are you suggesting we entertain the idea of Francesca being friendly with him? Letting him think he has a chance?"

Maxim’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Not exactly. But Vanello is delaying outright war for a reason. Maybe it’s Francesca. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, we take advantage of it."

“I’m not telling Francesca to do anything,” I pointed out. Francesca was fully capable of deciding how to handle Vanello’s request.

"I still say we put a bullet in him and call it a day," Angelo muttered, taking a sip of his whiskey before slamming the glass down. “Fewer headaches.”

"And more war," Ilias pointed out. "If it were that simple, we’d have done it already. But by all means, go ahead—just be sure to leave your affairs in order before you pull the trigger."

"Ilias, could you remind me why you’re still breathing?” Angelo replied dryly.

"Because I’m prettier and smarter than you,” Ilias said with a smirk. “And I don’t allow personal grudges to cloud my judgment."

Angelo rolled his eyes. "Right. Because you’re the epitome of restraint."

I exhaled sharply, redirecting the conversation before Angelo could put his fist through the table. "Speaking of rebuilding—what’s the status of our club? It’s been a damn eyesore long enough."

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