Page 117 of Ruthless Savior
One by one, the other council members voice their agreement. When the formal vote is called, it's unanimous.
My father is sentenced to death.
He looks at me, and for a moment I no longer see the cold patriarch who raised me, but an old man who realized his empire is crumbling around him. The man I once looked up to, who I wanted to please above all else, whose pride in me and approval mattered more than anything else, is gone.
All I see is the man who almost got my wife and child killed. Who wanted to hand her over to serve his own ends. Who would have let her suffer the worst fate imaginable so that we could have a better position to end Rocco?
"You won't do it," he says quietly. "You don't have the spine for patricide."
"I wouldn’t have thought so." I draw my gun, the weight of it familiar in my hand. "But I have the spine to protect my family."
The muffled sound of the silenced shot is a hardthumpthat I feel between my ribs as the bullet flies. My father slumps forward in his chair, and I feel something break inside my chest. This was necessary, but there’s also something in me that will never be the same now. I feel grief well up in me—not grief for the man sitting dead across from me, but for the man I lost when my father proved he wasn’t the man I believed he was.
The council looks to me. I’m now the patriarch of my name, the highest authority in the O’Malley family. The seat I’m in now belongs to me, unquestionably.
“I’ll be at the next meeting,” I say flatly. “But for now, I need to go and see my wife.”
I’m silent on the drive back to the hospital. I've just killed my own father, crossed a line I never thought I'd have to cross, and I'm not sure who I am on the other side of it. But I have time to find out.
And now, I’ll have the woman I love by my side to remind me of who I am, if I’m ever in danger of losing sight of it.
30
LEILA
When I wake in the morning, Ronan is still at my bedside.
"How are you feeling?" Ronan asks the moment I open my eyes. For a moment, I can’t believe that he’s there—that I’m still alive, that our baby is okay, that everything I feared hasn’t come true. That Rocco is dead, and we’re safe now.
That Ronan loves me.
"Better." And I mean it. I feel like I can breathe again. "The nausea is gone, and the pain is manageable."
"The doctor said that was normal—it’ll take some time for you to adjust."
“She said I can see my mom this morning.” I let out a breath, feeling anxiety churn through my stomach. “She promised that she’s doing well. But I need to see her.”
“You will,” Ronan promises. “And then we’ll go home. To the manor, anyway. And your mother will be there soon, too. We can go back to Boston whenever you’re ready.”
"Home." The word feels strange on my tongue. I don’t know if Boston feels like home any longer, after what happened there. Ireland isn’t my home either—not yet, anyway. Home,I'm realizing, might just be wherever Ronan is. “I’ll be happy as long as I’m with you, and we’re safe,” I tell him, and I see his expression relax.
“We’ll decide where we want to live together.” Ronan kisses my knuckles. “Once everything settles down.”
"I love you," I whisper, and I see a smile light the edges of his face.
"I love you too." He presses my hand to his cheek. "More than I ever thought I could love anyone."
Dr. Walsh comes in a little while later to take me to my mom. Ronan comes with us, although he hangs back, giving me space. I know the security team is following too, discreetly, but I’m getting better at ignoring them. And honestly, after everything that’s happened, I do feel safer with them there.
I knock softly on the door before pushing it open, and the sight that greets me makes my knees weak with relief. My mother is sitting up in bed, color in her cheeks, looking more like herself than she has in months. Her eyes widen as she sees me.
"Leila!" Mom tries to sit up straighter, and I rush to her side.
"Don't move, just let me..." I hug her carefully, wanting to hold on but letting her go after a few moments. "I was so scared. They said you'd taken a turn for the worse?—"
“It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.” Her voice is stronger than I expected. "The doctors think it was a reaction to the new medication. They've adjusted the dosage, and I'm feeling so much better."
I bite my lip, appraising her. "Really? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"
