Page 47 of Forbidden Daddy
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she rested her head against my chest.
"We’ll figure it out," she whispered. "Together."
For the first time in weeks, I almost believed her.
18
CASSIE
The smell of old books and dust filled my nostrils as I hunched over the leather-bound volumes in Roman’s private library. I’d been here for two hours, surrounded by histories most people would never see—chronicles of Irish families who’d built empires on blood and brotherhood, records of alliances forged in back rooms and broken in graveyards.
I wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Roman had made it clear that certain parts of his world were off-limits, that his protection came with the price of ignorance. But I was tired of being treated like a fragile ornament, tired of sitting in towers while wars raged around me.
My finger traced the family trees sprawled across the pages, trying to understand the intricate web of relationships that governed Roman’s world. The Flanagans, the O’Sullivans, the Murphys—names I’d heard whispered in hallways, families whose histories were written in blood and loyalty spanning generations.
But it was more than just curiosity driving me. I’d seen the exhaustion in Roman’s eyes, the way he carried the weight of leadership alone. The fragments of conversations I’d overheard—mentions of betrayal, of threats closing in—told me he was fighting battles on multiple fronts. And I was tired of being just another burden he had to protect.
I wanted to help. I needed to understand his world well enough to be useful instead of just vulnerable.
The book I’d pulled from a restricted section detailed territorial disputes from the 1990s, complete with maps marking family boundaries and neutral zones. I studied the patterns, the way conflicts escalated and resolved, trying to understand the unwritten rules that governed this shadow world.
A loose photograph fell from between the pages—a surveillance shot of men I didn’t recognize standing outside what looked like a warehouse. The timestamp showed it was recent, and someone had written notes in the margins about shipment schedules and security rotations.
My pulse quickened. This wasn’t just historical research—this was current intelligence. Active operations Roman was monitoring.
I should’ve put it back immediately. Should’ve closed the book and returned to the safety of ignorance, Roman preferred for me. Instead, I studied the photo more carefully, memorizing faces and details.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway made me slam the book shut, my pulse spiking with guilty adrenaline. I shoved it back onto the shelf and grabbed a different volume—somethinginnocuous about Irish literature—settling into the leather armchair just as Roman appeared in the doorway.
"There you are," he said, his voice carrying that familiar note of possession that made my stomach flutter. "I’ve been looking for you."
"Just reading," I said, holding up the book—thankfully, it was actually about Irish poetry. "Trying to understand more about your heritage."
His blue eyes studied me with uncomfortable intensity, and for a moment, I was certain he could see right through my lie. Roman had survived in a world where deception meant death by learning to read every micro-expression, every tell.
"You look flushed," he said, moving closer. "Everything alright?"
Relief flooded through me when I realized he’d misread my racing pulse. "Fine. Just got lost in the reading. Some of these stories are... intense."
Roman’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Irish history tends to be. Lots of blood, betrayal, and revenge. Not exactly light reading."
"No," I agreed, standing to replace the poetry book on its proper shelf. "But it helps me understand where you come from. The traditions, the codes of honor."
Something flickered across his features—approval, maybe, at my interest in his heritage. "Most people prefer not to dig too deep into family history. Especially Irish family history."
"I’m not most people," I said, and meant it. "If I’m going to be your wife, I want to understand what that means. Really understand it."
Roman stepped closer, his hand finding my face with that possessive gentleness that made my knees weak. "You’re trying to learn about my world."
It wasn’t a question, and the knowing look in his eyes made my stomach flip. Had he seen me with the other book? Did he know I’d been looking at things I shouldn’t?
"I want to be more than just someone you have to protect," I said carefully. "I want to be someone who understands what you’re facing."
His thumb traced my cheekbone, and I had to fight not to lean into the touch. "Understanding and being part of it are two different things, Cassie. Some knowledge comes with a price."
"What if I’m willing to pay it?"
The question hung between us, loaded with implications neither of us was ready to examine. Roman studied my face like he was trying to read my soul, looking for hidden motives or dangerous naivety.
