Page 24 of Ruthless Savior
This is where I should mention Leila. Where I should tell him about the cages waiting to be filled with girls, the evidence that he’s using the shipyard to move them, the manifests that we have. I should tell him that I have one of them here with me. He’s not a man who appreciates secrets, and I can’t afford to slide any further in his good graces.
Instead, I find myself saying, "Rocco's branching out. Trafficking, primarily young women from Eastern Europe, from the manifests we got. We destroyed the warehouse, but I’m sure he has other locations."
It's not technically a lie, but it's not the whole truth either. And I can't quite figure out why I'm holding back.
“I wonder if his father knew.” There’s disgust in Padraigh’s voice—my father is a lot of things, but he’d never countenance human trafficking.
“The operation was well set up. If his father didn’t know, then Rocco has been doing it behind his back.”
“Carlo was a businessman first, criminal second. He understood that some lines, once crossed, bring down heat that's not worth the profit." My father pauses again. "Rocco seems to think he's untouchable."
My jaw tightens. Inexplicably, instead of Siobhan, I think of Leila. "He's about to learn otherwise."
"What's your next move?" He sounds merely curious, but I know this is a test. Whatever I say now matters.
I think about Leila upstairs in her room, probably trying to figure out how to escape, how to get back to her mother, how to pretend that none of this is happening.
"I'm working on it," I say finally. "Rocco's going to ground, I’m sure, but he can't hide forever."
"Make sure you finish this quickly, Ronan. The longer it drags out, the more chance it has of spiraling into something bigger. He’ll find allies, try to start a war. You need to end him before he can do that.”
"I understand."
“Do you?” Padraigh pauses. “I got a call from the council in Dublin. Another from Sicily. They want to know if we’re going to war. If your failure to control your wife has started something that we’ll have to finish.”
I let out a breath through my nose. "What did you tell them?"
"That my son is handling a personal matter and that it will be resolved quickly and quietly." His voice carries a warning. "Don't make me a liar, Ronan."
"You won't be."
"Good. Keep me informed."
The line goes dead, and I set the phone down with more force than necessary. He’s right, of course. This needs to be finished quickly, before the council or the Sicilians get involved, before it escalates into something that will cause blood to run in the streets. And he’s right that it’s my fault, though I don’t agree that I should havecontrolledSiobhan. Paid better attention to her, yes. Not taken her absence as a relief.
This is my fault, and I need to put it to bed.
I toss back the rest of my whiskey and set the glass down sharply, getting up to head upstairs, shower, and go to bed. As I pass by the hall where Leila’s room is, I pause, looking at her door as I feel my cock twitch again. I feel myself hesitating, listening for any sound that might tell me what she’s doing in there.
Nothing. Either she's asleep, or she's being very quiet.
What do you think she’s doing, idiot?I shake my head, trying to clear it. She’s undoubtedly sleeping after a week of being terrified, drugged, and starved. She’s certainly not humming with desire like I am, thinking about me in ways that she has no business doing.
If I’m not going to go to bed, I should go to my office, review the intelligence Danny gathered, start figuring out where Rocco might have gone to ground. Should do anything except stand here like a teenager hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl next door.
I shake myself again and then force myself to walk away, down the hall to my own room. It's larger than the one Leila's staying in, more of a suite with a sitting area and a view of the garden, but tonight it feels emptier than usual. Lonelier.
Siobhan never came to this room. I always went to hers. We had separate bedrooms, even on our wedding night. Separate lives, really, that intersected only when duty required it—galas, dinners, parties, the nights when we needed to try to make an heir. I’ve never had a woman in this room, and I’m suddenly struck with the vision of Leila spread across the grey silk duvet, her auburn hair a curly mess around her head. I noticed at dinner that itisauburn, not brown, with waves that made me want to reach out and run my fingers through it.
Something about her makes me remember what it felt like to desire someone not because it was expected or necessary, but for the sheer fact that I was drawn to them. Except—I’m not sureI’ve ever felt a spark as instantaneous as this one. And I don’t know why I would feel it for her.
She’s the last woman Ishouldfeel anything for.
I strip out of my clothes and head for the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away whatever temporary insanity has taken hold of me. But as I stand under the spray, all I can think about is the way Leila looked at dinner—the way that silk dress clung to her, the way she held herself with dignity despite everything she's been through.
The way she'd felt in my arms when I carried her out of Rocco's warehouse, small and fragile in a way that made something primitive and protective roar to life in my chest. Something I’ve never felt before.
The image of her in that pink silk tank top, her nipples pressing against the fabric, flashes into my mind again as the hot water beats against my shoulders. My hand moves to my cock without conscious thought, and I'm already half-hard. I tell myself to stop, to think about something else. Anything else.
