Page 57 of Claiming Genevieve

I press my lips together, feeling my face heat. “I didn’t—” I take a slow breath. “I didn’t think it wasthatbad. I thought he was just being an asshole. Just trying to scare me. I didn’t think he’d actuallydoanything, much less?—”

“Still, why didn’t you say something?” Rowan stares at me, handing back the phone. “Help me understand, lass.”

I bite my lip. “I figured you or Dimitri or Alek would go after him if I did. Hurt him or…kill him. I didn’t think he deserved that, just for being an ass?—”

“Clearly we differ on that,” Rowan bites out. “But now he’s bloody earned it.”

“What do you mean?” I swallow hard. “Rowan?—”

“I think he put out a hit on you, lass.” Rowan’s gaze meets mine, and I can see the fear in it, plain as day. Fear forme. “He mentioned connections. Money. I think that’s what’s happening here. A sniper? Sounds like a hit to me.”

“Agreed,” Rory says. “What do you want me to do, boss?”

“Get some extra security over here.” Rowan runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to call my father.”

He pulls out his phone, walking to the other side of the room. I stand there, numb, unsure of what to say or do. Everything feels as if it’s spiraled out of control so quickly, and I don’t know how it got this far. I never thought it would.

From across the room, Rowan murmurs something I can’t quite make out, nodding, and then nodding again. After a few minutes, he hangs up, walking back toward me. His face is set, his eyes narrowed, and I swallow hard as I look at him.

“What’s going on?” I ask softly, and he lets out a long breath.

“Pack some things, lass,” he says flatly. “We’re going to Ireland.”

21

ROWAN

“What?” Genevieve looks at me as if I’ve grown another head. “Why?—”

“We can talk more on the plane. I’m going to call and have them fuel up the jet. Rory, you’re coming with us. If Genevieve needs anything, help her. I have a couple of calls to make.” I glance at Genevieve, who is still staring at me as if she can’t quite absorb what I’m saying. “Lass, go pack.Now.”

I see a brief glimmer of stubborn defiance in her eyes, but to my relief, she nods and heads for the stairs. I can see that she’s afraid, and shocked, and confused, and I wish I could simply go to her and hold her, tell her that it will be alright, and comfort her. But we don’t have the time for that right now.

I’m relieved that my father agreed with me—that the best thing we can possibly do is get Genevieve as far away from here as possible until we can figure out if Chris really did put out a hit on her—and make sure that hit is ended. The best way to do that would be to take out Chris and then pay off the current contract holder, but that’s going to take time. Time that could cost Genevieve her life, if there’s an assassin after her and she stays in New York.

I’m furious that she didn’t tell me about the texts. One look was enough for me to figure out that we’re dealing with someone who has far too high of an opinion of himself, and someone who’s pissed that Genevieve left him for another man… one who is, presumably, more powerful than Chris himself is. For all the connections and money he might have, I’m still the heir to a mafia.

But I can’t stop an assassin’s bullet—not without some time, at least. And I’m sure that’s what he’s counting on.

“I should have bloody killed you the day I saw you hit her,” I growl under my breath as I hang up the phone and head upstairs to pack my own things. Genevieve is standing at the foot of the bed, putting clothes in a suitcase, and she doesn’t look up when I walk in. Her face is pale, and I can see her fingers trembling.

“What am I supposed to do about my doctors?” she asks. “Rehab?”

“We’ll figure that out,” I assure her. “But right now, we just need to get you somewhere safe. You won’t need to worry about any of those things if you’re dead.”

Genevieve’s head snaps up at that. “Andsafeis in Ireland?”

I nod. “Aye.”

She swallows hard but says nothing else. We both finish packing, grab our bags, and head down to the waiting car for Rory to drive us to the hangar where the private jet is waiting.

“Your father was okay with this?” Genevieve asks as we drive. “With you leaving again?”

“Okayis a broad term,” I mutter, glancing at my phone. “He’s hoping we can fix the situation quickly. But he’s not about to let his daughter-in-law be taken down by a hitman’s bullet, even if he wasn’t thrilled by our marriage.”

Genevieve blinks. “That’s oddly sweet.”

“No, it’s not.” I look at her, seeing the shock in her expression. “It has nothing to do with feeling. You’re my wife, so you’re family now. His duty is to protect you. Duty and responsibility mean everything to my father. It’s nothing more than that.”

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