Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Seamus says, shrugging off Niall. “The bitch says it’s fine, ‘cos she knows she’s fuckin’ our family up and probably suckin’ Ronan’s dick and makin’ him forget who he really fuckin’ is, and she’s doin’ it just to get some fuckin’ money and power.” He’s riling himself up and Niall grabs his arm tightly.
“That’s enough,” Niall says, but Seamus shoves him away.
Niall staggers and runs into me, and I’m knocked from the stool. The wine glass spills and I hit the floor in an undignified heap. I’m not hurt, but I have to untangle myself from the sudden appearance of more legs and feet as people swarm around the altercation.
By the time I get back up, Ronan’s in the mix. He’s got Seamus by the throat in one massive hand and his nostrils are flared as he pulls his fist back.
“Don’t you ever go near her again,” he says, lips pulled back in a snarl. A crowd’s gathering and more of the cousins and uncles are watching. “Do you hear me, Seamus?”
“The fuck are you doing?” Seamus says, gagging as Ronan tightens his grip. “For some fuckin’ Italian girl?”
“She is under my protection. Do you know what that means? You go near her, you speak to her, you so much as look at her again, and I will kill you. Do you understand me, Seamus?”
Seamus gags and nods. He looks scared. I feel horrible for him, and I wish I could fade into the background and disappear, but more eyes move in my direction. Cousins stare, and none of them are happy. Some are outright hostile.
“Go home.” Ronan releases Seamus and shoves him away. A couple of the younger Irishmen take him by the arms and drag him off.
Ronan seethes. He stares around him at the mass of his people, and for a moment, I think he’s going to tell them all off. I want to reach out and stop him—he already went far enough. I don’t want to see him destroy his family because of me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if he ruined the one good thing in this world, if he became like me, lost and confused and without any real home, all because of one stupid drunken interaction.
“Show’s over,” he barks at the assembled people. “Fuck off now.”
That’s enough to make the crowd disperse. Ronan turns and takes my arm, pulling me close, but not into an embrace. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I glance at Niall, and he looks grim. “I should leave too.”
“Fuck that. You weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“Ronan—” I shake my head and gently pull myself away. “This is bad enough already.”
His jaw flexes. He’s pissed, and I can’t blame him. From his perspective, he came to my defense, and now he’s getting shit on from all directions.
But I’m not sure he understands yet what just happened. He will soon—but right now, he’s still angry.
I love that he came for me. I love that he protected and defended me, even if Seamus was just being a drunk prick and not actually trying to hurt me. My heart swells knowing Ronan will be by my side if something bad ever happens.
That doesn’t erase the bigger picture.
“I’ll get her back to your place,” Niall says and squeezes Ronan’s shoulder. “Damage control now, cousin. You got me?”
Ronan takes a breath and slowly nods. “Make sure she gets home safe.” He turns and stalks back to his table where more of the family has converged, and I can tell he’s already dealing with more frustration.
I feel like my chest is cracking open as Niall escorts me outside.
Chapter 31
Valentina
Ronan comes home a couple hours later. He looks haggard and exhausted, and heads straight to the refrigerator to pour himself a drink. I watch him slug it back before he notices me waiting by the couch.
His eyes lock on mine. They hold me, and I’m tempted to get up and go to him. I want to touch his jaw and tell him everything will be okay. I want to kiss him, slowly, deep, and for a long time. I want to make him feel better, but I know that would only put off the real difficult conversation we need to have.
My father taught me a lot growing up. One of his main lessons was don’t put off difficult conversations. Don’t let wounds fester. Deal with shit now, and deal with it seriously. Don’t hide, don’t run, stand up and handle business.
“I should move out.” I decide to jump straight into it. I know it’s basically dropping more stress on him during an already stressful time, but we can’t keep going on like this.
“Seamus will be dealt with. The cousins understand.” He stares at me, face impassive. I hate it so much. I want emotion from him—but that’s just selfish of me. He’s dealing with a lot right now and maybe he doesn’t have the energy for a big display, and it’s not like I’d deserve it even if he did.