Page 92 of Shameless Royalty

Da tilts his head slightly, his lips pressing together. “That, my son, is the question of the fuckin’ night.”

I stare at him, my mind running a hundred miles an hour. I walked in here, ready to rip him apart, ready to burn every fucking bridge if I had to. But now? Now I’m standing in front of my father, watching him study me with that calculating gaze, and I feel like the ground’s been yanked out from under me.

Now that my rage has somewhat dissipated, I realize something.

Declan Cunningham doesn’t let things happen in this house without his say-so. If he wanted Malachi beaten, he’d fucking say it to my face. He wouldn’t need to sneak around, wouldn’t need to let some nameless bastard do his dirty work.

But someone did.

The confusion knots tighter in my chest, twisting into something sharp and uneasy. “So what the fuck does thatmean?” I ask, my voice lower now, my anger simmering but still very much there.

Da holds my gaze for a beat, then turns, moving toward the cabinet in the corner where he keeps his best whiskey. “I’ll check the surveillance,” he says, grabbing the bottle and pouring himself another glass. “If someone touched him under my roof, I’ll deal with it accordingly.”

My breath stutters just slightly. Of course. Of course, there are fucking cameras in every corner of this house. Every hallway, every entrance, every room that isn’t a personal living space. My father might have been letting Malachi rot here, but he still watches everything.

Something in my chest eases, but not by much.

Then he turns back to me, fixing me with a look that flays me open. “Now, lad. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

My pulse fucking stutters.

He’s looking at me like he already knows and the anger that was keeping me upright fucking vanishes as something much worse replaces it.

I shift on my feet, suddenly feeling like a goddamn teenager again, standing in this same office after getting caught sneaking out for the first time. But this is so much worse.

My father is not a man you lie to.

So what’s the fucking point in hiding now?

I exhale, dragging a hand down my face. “I’m in love with him.” The words leave me in a rush, my chest suddenly too fucking tight, like saying it out loud makes it more real than it’s ever been. “I didn’t mean to, Da. I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

Da watches me for a long moment, then sighs and shakes his head. “Ah, shite, Connor.”

My stomach fucking drops. “I’m sorry,” I say immediately, my voice rough and desperate. “I know it’s a betrayal. I know I’m not supposed to—”

“Shut your mouth.” I blink and Da rubs his temple, his expression somewhere between exhausted and amused. “Christ, lad, you act like I’m about to put a fuckin’ bullet in yer head.”

I stare at him, thrown completely off balance. “Aren’t you?”

His lips twitch slightly, then he takes a slow sip of whiskey. “Your Ma and I figured it out a long time ago. Was just waitin’ for you to say it.”

My mouth goes dry. “You knew?”

He raises a brow. “Course I fuckin’ knew. You’re my son, Connor. I know you better than you know yourself.”

I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “So what? You’re just okay with it?”

He sighs, setting his glass down before meeting my gaze. “I won’t lie to you, lad. It’s complicated. You fell in love with a man who should be nothin’ to you. That’s not easy for me to overlook.”

A lump forms in my throat when Da exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw and blinking like he’s got a headache forming behind his eyes.

I hate that fucking sigh. Hate the weight of it, the disappointment laced through it, the way it settles in my chest like I’ve just fucking failed him.

I never wanted to disappoint him. Not him. Not my Da.

Guilt crashes into me like a fucking train, and before I can stop myself, the words tumble out of my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

He lifts a brow, giving me a look that tells me he’s not impressed by the sudden apology. “What exactly are you sorry for, Connor?”

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