by Nicole Fox
“Fine.”
Kian gives me a smile so deadly that I feel my heartbeat falter slightly. I look away immediately as he sits up a little straighter.
“Where would you like to start?” He gestures towards the feast between us.
I glance at the table, feeling a little bit like a kid on Christmas morning. I want to tear open every single present in front of me, but I want to savor it all, too. “The burger,” I decide.
“Good choice,” Kian says with a nod. “Have at it.”
I hate that my fingers tremble as I reach for the monstrous burger. I have to readjust my position to reach it. But before I can, Kian beats me to the punch. He takes the burger, pops it on an empty plate and hands it over to me.
“Thanks,” I murmur grudgingly.
He answers only with another deadly smile. Maybe I’ll do better if I just don’t look directly at him.
I’m about to take a bite of the burger when I stop myself just in time. Just because I’ve agreed to this doesn’t mean I need to play right into his hands so easily.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing my hesitation.
“Answer a question for me first.”
His smile gets wider. “You should have been the Lombardi heir,” he says. “Much better at the negotiating table.”
I blush at the oddly endearing compliment.
“Anyway,” he says. “Go ahead. The floor is yours. Ask away.”
“And you’ll answer honestly?”
“I’ve already told you I will,” he says. “I don’t lie.”
“All men lie.”
“All the men you know lie,” he snaps. “I’m not like them.”
I decide not to argue with him. I’m wasting time and delaying the moment when I can finally devour the beautiful piece of meat in front of me.
“Okay, first question,” I start, realizing I barely know where to begin. “Uh… well, give me a minute.”
He laughs. The sound makes me feel surprisingly light. “By all means, take your time.”
I look down at my burger longingly.
“You sure you don’t want a bite first?” he asks with a slight edge of a tease in his voice. “It might help you focus better.”
“I’m fine,” I retort. “I just need a minute.”
He holds up his hands like I’ve got a gun pointed at him.
There is something I’ve wondered about over the past several years. It’s not a particularly pressing question, but I feel the need to ask anyway. “What were you thinking the day we… met?” I ask tentatively. “When you saw me standing there? Do you even remember?”
I expect a shrug or a smirk. Something that’ll indicate that the memory was and is inconsequential to him.
But the expression on his face is sober. Solemn.
“Of course I remember,” he whispers. “I remember everything. You were standing there in your little flower girl dress, smattered with blood. I was thinking you were too young to have seen so much violence, so much death. But I was also thinking that maybe, you’d have a chance. Your father was not a good man, Renata.”
I flinch back, but I don’t say anything.
“If he’d lived, he would have used you.”
“It didn’t matter in the end,” I say softly. “My brother used me anyway.”
Kian’s face flushes with regret. “I was advised to kill your brother. He was the Lombardi male heir.”
“Another don would have killed him,” I point out.
“But I wasn’t really thinking like a don at the time,” he explains. “I was thinking like… well, like me.”
I frown, noticing the conflict that still rages across his features.
“He was fifteen,” he says softly. “Everyone considered him a threat.”
“But you didn’t?”
“I thought it sent the wrong message,” he tells me. “Killing children to try and make a declaration of power felt… counterproductive.”
I remember what Aisling had told me about Kian. According to her, he’s freed dozens and dozens of women from the bondages of sexual slavery. I’ve been told he was a monster for most of my life.
But what if I’d been lied to?
I take a bite of my burger and chew as I mull over my next few questions. I won’t deny that everything about him fascinates me. He seems like such a contradiction.
A mobster with morals. A wicked man who saves innocent women. A devil with an angel’s eyes.
With every bite, I feel the energy return to my worn body. But it’s more than that. I feel almost euphoric. And that gives me a heady sense of bravery. Though it could just as easily be recklessness.
“Have you ever been married?” I blurt out.
He raises his eyebrows. “You’re curious about that?”
“Just answer the question,” I mutter, avoiding his eyes as I focus on my burger.
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No, I’ve never been married,” he says carefully. “Nor have I ever wanted to be.”
Something inside me twists, and I can’t for the life of me explain that reaction. So I decide to just ignore it altogether. I put the remaining half of the burger down and reach for the dumplings. They smell so good that I can’t resist.
“Why not?” I ask. “Do you have anything to drink, by the way?”
He smirks as he passes over two bottles, one of water and one of soda. Once I’ve drained half the water bottle, I bite into a juicy pork dumpling. “Damn,” I breathe, really letting loose as the savory smoky taste of pork fills my tongue.
Kian chuckles. “What did I tell you?”
“You were right,” I sigh. “These are amazing.”
It’s weird—I can feel his laugh inside me. Like we’re connected somehow. Like something between us fused together the day we first met twenty years ago.
Jesus, the food is really going to my head.
But nothing on earth can make me stop eating now. I take another bite of dumpling and look at Kian pointedly.
“You haven’t answered my question,” I remind him.
“I was kind of distracted.”
“You’ve never seen a woman eat before?”
“Not quite like you, no.”
“So you’ve never starved any of your other captives?”
The severity of his glare is softened by the smile on his face. “I don’t starve my captives at all. You’re the one who decided to go on a hunger strike. Or did you forget that little detail?”
“Shut up and pass me the noodles.”
He suppresses a smile and passes the bright blue bowl. The smell wafts up to my nostrils and I breathe it in.
“There’s nothing better than food.”
“Except sex,” Kian corrects.
I frown. “Not in my experience.”
“Then you haven’t been doing it right.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Or maybe sex doesn’t really factor into my life.”
He shakes his head sadly. “That’s a pity,” he says. “Sex can be transformative.”
“Can it?” I ask sarcastically.
“It is the most natural thing we can do with our bodies. It’s a connector, a form of wordless communication. An experience that can be wholly freeing. If you do it right.”
I feel my muscles tense. But it’s not discomfort, it feels almost like… anticipation. “Yeah, well, I’ve never felt that before. Not even close.”
“You should try it sometime,” he says without a trace of innuendo.
“Guess I’ll have to find the right man.”
“Good luck.”
I search his eyes for a spark of something, but there’s nothing. He’s not trying to goad or embarrass me. He’s just answering my questions.
“Are you trying to duck out on answering me?” I venture.
He smiles. “Ask again. I’ve forgotten it.”
“Why have you never wanted to get married?”
He’s silent for a few seconds, as though he’s mulli
ng over the answer. “Marriage has never appealed to me. The idea of being with one woman for the rest of my life seems… limiting.”
I frown. “You don’t seem like a man who cares about limits.”
“Meaning what?” he asks rhetorically. “Because I’m okay with murder, you assume infidelity would be nothing for me?”
“In a word, yes.”
He gives me a long-suffering sigh. “Did it ever cross your mind that the men I kill, I kill for a reason?” he asks. “I don’t just go around killing people to make a point. Only those who deserve to die.”
“But who are you to make that call?”
“No one,” he responds immediately. “But I have the power and the will to see things through. I’ve saved hundreds of women and young girls from abuse and rape. The average man would not be able to do that. Because he doesn’t have the resources or the stomach to do what needs to be done. Sometimes…”
“Sometimes what?”
He fixes me with a skewering stare. It’s equal parts sad and defiant. And when he speaks, his voice is a harsh, mournful rasp that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. “Sometimes, if you want to kill a monster, you need to become one yourself.”
His words ring in the silence. So much meaning packed into them that I don’t even know where to start.
I frown. “Aisling told me about my father’s… investments,” I say quietly. “Is it true?”
“It’s true,” he replies without hesitation. “He was a monster I needed to put down. I have no regrets.”
I nod. “Okay…”
“Okay?”
I don’t clarify what I mean. If he’s looking for absolution, I’m not sure I’m the person to give it to him. But honestly, I don’t think he’s looking for absolution at all.
“So what do you consider yourself?” I ask. “A villain with a cause? An antihero?”
“Just a man,” he says firmly. “I’ve made decisions in my life. Some have paid off and others haven’t. I don’t consider myself a hero or a villain. I’m neither. You see in me what you want to see. Aisling sees me as a hero. You see me as a villain. My niece sees me as a superhero with funny jokes. My father sees me as a disappointment. It all depends on your perspective. Although I tend to think my niece is the most correct.”
I take that in. Drawn into Kian’s world, his head. Every word he speaks snips another thread in the tapestry of him my brother spent years weaving.
In some ways, he’s exactly what Drago always accused him of being—cruel, unyielding, dominant.
But in so many other ways, he’s the exact opposite. He thinks. He cares. Maybe he even loves.
That last one intrigues me the most.
“Have you ever been in love?”
He pauses and looks at me for a while. Then his eyes drift off somewhere into the shadows above. “There was a woman once,” he admits. “A few years ago. We weren’t together for very long, but it was the closest I came to considering a commitment.”
“What happened?”
“She left.” His voice is curt. The message is clear—Don’t ask anything else.
I shudder at the way he can communicate so much without speaking a word. Redirecting my attention to the food, I take a bite of the cake. I can’t help but moan in pleasure. It’s the most sinfully delicious thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.
“Dear Lord,” I sigh, looking down at it.
“Good?”
“Amazing,” I reply with a fervent nod. “Best cake I’ve ever eaten.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Sorry, what we were even talking about?”
He laughs. “If you don’t remember, I’m not going to remind you.”
I glare at him and take another bite of the cake. I decide to focus on eating for a few minutes. Kian just watches me silently. Only when half the cake is gone and my sweet tooth has been satisfied do I recall what my next question is.
“Why did she leave you?”
His jaw tightens a little. He tried to put up a boundary here. But I think the fact that I charged forward anyway startled him a little bit. Or maybe impressed him—I’m not sure which. Either way, he’s clearly weighing whether or not to answer.
In the end, he sighs. “Because I was too much for her.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly that,” he replies evasively. “I was too… extreme for her. I scared her.”
“I can’t say I blame her.”
“Does that mean I scare you?”
“I’m the one asking the questions,” I quip.
He chuckles under his breath.
“You mentioned something before…” I say, changing the subject. “You said your father sees you as a disappointment.”
“Because he does.”
“Why?”
Kian shrugs. “I was his third choice,” he says. “My two older brothers left the family. I was the last son standing. Da groomed me to be the next O’Sullivan clan leader. But I don’t think I ever rose to his expectations. Every time he looked at me, I could tell he was wishing I was Sean or Cillian.”
“But you are a don now,” I point out. “In your own right.”
“That’s the point. I didn’t really want to be don at all. Da could see that. That’s why he was so disappointed. For him, there is no greater shame than a son who doesn’t want to carry on the family legacy. I may be a don now, but he knows if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be in command at all.”
“You’re telling me you’d rather follow orders?” I ask. “I don’t buy that for a second.”
I smile. “Maybe you’re right. I want all the power, but none of the responsibility.”
“Sounds pretty selfish.”
“Yeah, well, I can be a selfish prick sometimes. Sue me.”
That makes me smile. Our eyes meet and a tiny spark flies between us. It catches me off guard for a second, and I drop my gaze instantly. “I noticed the portrait in your penthouse,” I tell him. “You look like a picture-perfect family.”
He snorts. “We’re nowhere close to perfect. But at the end of the day, we’ve got each other’s backs. That counts for something, I suppose.”
I feel a squeeze of jealousy hearing him say those words. “Must be nice.”
He smiles. “The family drama is endless.”
“Strangely, that sounds nice, too.”
“If you noticed the portrait, then you’ll have noticed the drawings, too?”
“I did.”
“All created by my sister-in-law,” he tells me. “She’s the beautiful redhead standing next to the douche with blonde hair.”
I can’t help but smile at his descriptors. “She’s very talented.”
“She is,” he agrees. “And she also happens to be the best person in the world.”
“In the world, huh?”
“That’s one thing this family is good at: marrying up.”
“Sounds like you love her.”
“Her, my nieces and nephews, my brothers when they manage to pull their heads out of their asses. My parents, too. But mostly from a distance.”
I snort with laughter and he joins in.
I’d hoped to learn something about Kian that I can exploit later. But all this conversation has done is humanized him in my eyes.
And now, with a little perspective, I can’t but help think that this was the plan all along.
Which leaves me with one simple, burning question: Why?
25
Renata
The Next Morning
The cell door clicks open. I expect to see Kian standing in the doorway, blocking the light with his tall frame. But instead, Aisling walks in.
Ignoring the disappointment pooling in my gut, I get to my feet unsteadily.
“Good morning, Miss Renata.”
“Renata is fine,” I tell her instantly.
“As you wish,” she says with a smile. “I’ve come to take you back up to your room.”
“My room?�
�
“Master Kian says it is no longer necessary for you to be confined to the cell,” she explains. “You have freedom of the house now.”
I blink at her. “Say that again.”
“You’re free to go where you want,” she says. “Just so long as it’s within the confines of the mansion. It’s a big mansion, though.”
“He’s really releasing me from here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She raises her eyebrows. “You’d have to ask him, Renata.”
“Right… Well, okay then.”
“Shall I walk you back to your room?”
“Yes, please.”
We head out of the cell together. It takes me awhile to adjust to the blinding light that hits me from all angles the moment we leave the basement. We walk into my room and Aisling shuts the door behind us.
“How about a shower?” she offers.
I can’t stop the sigh from escaping my lips. “Nothing sounds better.”
“I’ll prepare—”
“I can shower by myself, thank you,” I tell her firmly. “But I would like you to stay. Maybe you can show me around the house when I’m done?”
She looks happy with that proposition. “I’d like that, Renata.”
I give her a parting nod and step into the bathroom. After almost two days in a cell in the basement, everything feels doubly luxurious. I bypass the massive tub and head straight into the shower.
I end up in there longer than I’d planned, soaking up the hot water and trying to ignore the maelstrom of thoughts in my head. But I can’t bring myself to be sorry when I emerge twenty minutes later, feeling clean and vibrant.
I towel myself off, blow-dry my hair, and slip on the fluffy white robe hanging on the wall next to the door. When I walk back into the room, Aisling is standing by the window, gazing out at the ocean below.
“Master Kian had a selection of clothes brought up for you,” she tells me, walking straight to the wardrobe and opening it up for me.
I expect a few choices. Maybe a pair of pants and a couple of t-shirts. But what I have is a full-scale wardrobe. Pants, jeans, skirts, dresses. T-shirts for casual wear and a variety of different blouses that range from business chic to just downright expensive.