Page 119 of Shameless Royalty

Then, finally, he pulls back, just enough to look at me. His eyes are shattered, completely fucking wrecked. “Malachi,” he breathes.

I stare at him, my chest aching, my hands trembling at my sides. “You should go.”

His throat bobs. “Not like this.”

I force myself to look away. “Aye,” I murmur. “Like this.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. His grip tightens, then he releases me, his hands falling to his sides. “Right,” he mutters, voice hollow. “Got it.”

I hate the way my stomach twists at that. Hate the way his fingers loosen against my skin. Hate the way I want to grab him, hold him, tell him to stay.

But I don’t. Because that’s not how this works.

He takes a step back, straightening his shoulders, schooling his features into something more controlled. More like the Connor Cunningham the world knows. He drags a hand through his hair, as he exhales through his nose like he’s forcing himself to keep it together.

I look down and keep my eyes on the floor.

“Take care of yourself,” he says, and it’s so fucking neutral that it almost breaks me.

I nod, but I don’t watch him leave. The second he’s gone, I collapse onto the bed, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes, forcing down the lump in my throat and trying not to feel the way my heart is breaking.

I don’t know if I made the right choice.

I just know it hurts like hell.

Chapter 48

Connor

IknowI’mafucking idiot.

There’s a tightness in my throat, a gnawing feeling that I fucked up so badly that there might not be a way back from this for us. I knew he’d be pissed.

I knew I should have come to him sooner, explained, and told him why I was running around handling shit instead of spending time with him, but fuck—I didn’t even realize how much time had passed.

One day blurred into the next. Meetings, plans, fucking missions stacking up until I barely knew what the hell I was doing unless it was written down in front of me. I told myself there’d be time to see Malachi later, that he’d understand, that it would be fine.

But it’s not. It’s not fucking fine.

I saw it in his face when I told him I was leaving. I saw the way he shut down, the way he pulled away. And then when I tried to kiss him—when he turned his fucking head—I knew.

I lost him. Maybe not fully, maybe not forever, but fuck, I lost something! Something I don’t know how to get back. I’ve been shot before. Broken ribs, knife wounds, concussions. But that? That felt worse.

Now, I’m standing in my father’s office, barely holding my shit together as he debriefs us before we leave.

Mihai, Nikolai, Giovanni, Konstantin, and I all stand in a line as Da paces in front of us, giving us our final orders. My mind should be on the mission, on what’s coming, on what we have to do. But all I can fucking think about is him.

Malachi curled up in that bed, refusing to look at me, refusing to say goodbye. I clench my fists at my sides, trying to focus, trying to listen, but every word feels distant, like I’m hearing them through water.

Da finally stops pacing, his sharp green eyes landing on each of us before settling on me. “You all know your roles,” he says, voice firm. “You know what’s at stake. Be silent. Covert. Make one mistake, let your guard down for even a second, and you might not make it back.”

Everyone nods.

“Good,” he continues. “Then get the fuck out of my sight.” The others turn to leave, but I don’t move. I already know Da has seen everything written on my face.

“Connor,” he says, voice calm but commanding. “Stay a moment.”

The door closes behind the others, leaving just the two of us. The silence is thick, the tension pressing down on my ribs. Da studies me for a second before walking to the bar in the corner and pouring himself a drink. He doesn’t offer me one. Not that I’d take it. My stomach is too fucked to handle whiskey right now.

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