Page 46 of Conall's Reign

Paddy leaned in closer, his voice low yet audible. “You’ve planned this well, brother, but when do we eat?”

“Soon,” I murmured, half-smiling despite my better judgment. “After this, I’ll sit down and eat like a regular person.”

“You’d better make it a big one,” he teased. “You’re going to need the energy for your lovely wife.”

I resisted the urge to straighten the already aligned papers in front of me. Instead, I focused on the conversation shifting toward Cosimo, whose presence had been a risk from the start. The moment he leaned in with too much interest, questioning my marriage, I felt it—a prickling sensation at the base of my skull. A warning. I noted the tension in Angelo’s frame and the way Maxim stilled, listening more than responding. The air shifted, a quiet unraveling that only those attuned to details would notice.

“Enough,” Ilias said, raising his glass in a playful toast. “Let’s focus. Conall, you’ve laid out a solid plan. Now, the question is, when do we move?”

“Next Tuesday,” I said confidently. “We’ll focus on the gun shipment first. It will cripple their operations and give us the upper hand.”

Maxim leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Make sure it’s clean, Conall. No loose ends.”

“There won’t be,” I assured him.

“So, congratulations are in order?” Cosimo asked. His sharp eyes were on the faces at the table. He had recently allied with us by turning over one of his soldiers, telling us he admired our loyalty.

“Another one down, then,” Ilias said grimly, though I noticed he offered little commentary.

“Who was the lucky bride?” Cosimo pressed, leaning slightly forward, his knuckles white against the arms of the chair.

Angelo tilted his head. “Why the hell would you care, Oliveto? I think we’re done here.” I noticed Angelo watching him intently. It wasn’t an overreaction. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. His tone felt off, and I suddenly became acutely aware that we had recently let Oliveto into our circle — perhaps we had been too hasty.

“You don’t need to know everything, Cosimo. Some things are still private.” Ilias smiled genially as he rose to his feet, but there was no warmth in his expression

Cosimo cleared his throat and stood, pushing his chair back with more force than necessary, a red flush spreading across his cheeks as if he sensed the tide turning in the mood of the room. “I’ll see myself out.”

“You do that.” I glared at him, refusing to stand or acknowledge that I could be pissing him off. My gaze shifted to Sean, who waited briefly before taking the cue and following after him.

After the door closed, Ilias paused for a moment before saying, “I’m not sure I trust Cosimo.”

“Me neither,” Angelo agreed. “I thought he’d be a good ally, but now …? We need to be cautious around him.”

“Enough about that jerk. Married?” Maxim slammed his fist hard against my shoulder. “You didn’t invite us. Dick.”

“Don’t be insulted. I wasn’t even invited, and she’s my sister,” Angelo grumbled.

“I was.” Paddy grinned at them. “I guess you don’t rate. Plus, my new sister is going to cook for us tonight. There’s even going to be cake.” He winked as Angelo frowned again.

“That’s messed up,” Angelo grumbled. “Don’t rub it in.”

The meeting concluded with handshakes and quiet promises. As we stepped into the hallway, Paddy slapped me on the back. “Let’s go, brother. I need some of that dinner your wife promised.”

I smirked. “Just don’t overstay your welcome, Paddy. “

“Never,” he replied with a wink. As we walked toward the elevator, I thought about the dinner waiting for me at home. “She already loves me the most.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

cosimo

The scentof cigar smoke and whiskey still clung to my suit like a second skin as I slid into the armored car in the bay beneath Conall O’Kelly’s fortress. I waited with my men while the doors opened, allowing us to drive into the alleyway.

Conall O'Kelly, Maxim Volkov, Angelo Santelli, and Ilias Anthakos remained upstairs, their low laughter echoing in my ears as the door swung shut behind me. Four men who commanded empires spanning the country, their power as palpable as the weight of the gold signet ring on my finger. They were the Commission—a council of criminal royalty—and tonight, I had sat at their table.

Respect and fear warred within me as I navigated the lobby, my footsteps echoing against the cement floor. I respected what they had built—empires of influence and control—but I feared what they would do once they found out I was using them. They held the key to power, alliances, and answers.

Answers about Fausto.

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