Page 59 of Stolen Rival
Leaving my heavy suitcases on the bed, I reach the bottom of the stairs, but no one’s there. “Patrick?”
“He’s outside, Mrs. Mahoney.” One of the bodyguards answers from the front door.
“Oh.”
“Are you finished upstairs?”
I nod. “Yeah, I couldn’t manage the cases by myself.”
His brows jump like he’s surprised I even tried. “One of the team will bring them downstairs.”
I offer him a smile. “Thanks.” Making my way outsidefeels so final, like once I get into the car I won’t be back here, even though Patrick has gifted the house back to me.
Do I want to keep it? A living shrine to my past, all my worst moments rolled into one building? Do I want someone else to have it?
A shiver rolls through me as I search for Patrick. He’s leaning against the car bonnet, staring at the house with an indecipherable look on his face. It looks like a cross between constipation and consternation. He’s such a hard man to read. He looks up when my feet hit the gravel. “Finished?”
I nod. “For now, yes. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to go through my things.” I pause. “And for not rushing me.” I twist my hands together in front of my body. “It wasn’t easy being in there.” I shake my head as the traumatizing images living in the recesses of my mind threaten to overwhelm me. “But I’m glad to have some of my own stuff back. Those fancy guddies just aren’t me.” I offer a brittle smile, but I’m truly glad I got the chance to pick up my beloved crap.
“Did you think about a car?” He pushes off the bonnet.
“I did. I think I’ll take the Saab 9-3 convertible. Da gifted it to Ma on their tenth wedding anniversary. He told me it was her favorite thing in all the world. I’d like to have it close by.” I’m not kidding myself that he’ll ever let me take it for a solo joyride along the winding country roads surrounding the Mahoney’s mansion, but maybe he’ll let me take her for a spin with one of my designated babysitters along for the ride.
“I’ll have it brought to the house for you.”
Patrick opens the car door for me, and I slide into the back seat. “Are we going back to your, eh.” I swallow, the word burning in my mouth. “Home?” My mouth dries at the word.
“No,mo mhuirnín.I thought after being away for a few days, you might like to go and see your brother.”
Chapter 30
PATRICK
There’sa certain satisfaction in acting in a way my wife does not expect. I’m not a man who embodies empathy. In my line of work, empathy is the fastest route to getting yourself killed. Weakness isopportunityto those who seek to steal my crown. I’m under no illusions that rival mobs will soon amass, organizing themselves to attempt to slide into the spot left by the O’Sullivans and the McCarthys. My takeover of Dylan’s turf and the tripling of my power base will only galvanize my enemies.
But with her… there’s a hardened core inside me that’s softening around the edges. Holding her trembling body in my arms on the flight back from the U.S. while she sobbed her heart out shifted something in my psyche. I’m not above thinking it started before our trip. The way she sat at my dining table, stoic and unmoving, while I slit a man’s throat. The blinding love she has for her brother. How she won over my cousin in a single evening, prompting his not-so-subtle jab in the gut about there being more to life than work.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, confirming my suspicions.
“Doing what?” Stretching out her confusion is becoming a game I rather enjoy.
“This.” Her arms wave in the air. “Being nice. Taking me to my home so I can grab some familiar things and now visiting Cathal.” She gestures wildly once more, and I’m glad of the wide expanse between us in the car otherwise I’d risk getting smacked in the face. “It’s not normal.”
“For whom?”
“You,” she exclaims. “This isn’t you.”
“Maybe I’m changing.”
The adorable snort, soaked in disbelief, makes my lips twitch. “You can paint a leopard neon pink, but beneath the veneer, it’s still a leopard.”
I smooth a hand over my tie. Who knew banter could be so… enjoyable? “Pink isn’t my color.”
“No, it’s black. Clothes, attitude, heart.”
Reaching over to her side of the car, I brush the back of my hand over her cheek. “Do you truly think that,mo mhuirnín? Or are you speaking from the past rather than the present? Aren’t we all capable of change if we want it badly enough?”
She chews on my words for a few seconds, her wheels undoubtedly spinning. After mulling them over, she turns her head in my direction. “You are different, but I’m not sure whether it’s a permanent change or a momentary blip. You proved in New York that your malevolent side is never far away, even after… after what we did.”
