Page 47 of Ruthless Savior
I want to say that Siobhan’s death wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t entirely. But I had a hand in it. My father is right—my neglect contributed to what happened.
He can’t understand how that makes me feel. How it makes me want to protect Leila, to do right by her this time. How much I’ve struggled to keep a rein on my desires for precisely that reason.
Padraigh continues speaking, his words cutting. “You didn't notice your own wife was having an affair. Didn't notice she was sneaking around, taking risks, putting herself in danger. You failed as a husband, Ronan. Don't fail as a leader, too."
I want to argue, want to defend myself, but the words stick in my throat. "This is different," I say finally.
"How?"
I let out a heavy breath. "Because I'm not going to make the same mistakes."
Padraigh snorts. "Then prove it. Get rid of the girl. Give her back to Rocco. Let him think you’ve conceded so you can make your plans to end him on your own terms. She’s nothing. Use her as a chess piece instead of an albatross around your neck.”
I shake my head. "I can't do that."
"Can't or won't?"
I meet his eyes, seeing the disappointment there, the frustration of a father who expected better from his eldest son. "Won't."
Padraigh lets out a heavy sigh. “I expect better from you. I expect you to think this over, Ronan. To come to a better decision. To put your family—thisfamily—ahead of everything else, as it should be.”
He doesn’t get out of the car when we arrive back at the estate, intending to go straight back to Miami. I walk back into the mansion alone, the weight of all of this feeling heavier than ever.
My father’s approval has been the thing that’s mattered most to me all of my life. But for the first time, I'm going to have to choose between his approval and my conscience.
It's not really a choice at all.
—
The next morning,I'm in my office reviewing the added security protocols when Leila knocks on my door. I've gone back to maintaining distance between us, but seeing her standing there in a dark green blouse that brings out her eyes, I feel my resolve wavering.
"Come in."
She enters hesitantly, closing the door behind her. "I wanted to ask you about something."
I sit back, pushing the paper I was studying aside. "Of course."
"My best friend, Alicia.” Leila bites her lip. “I haven't talked to her since this all started, and she must be worried sick. I was wondering if I could see her, maybe have her come for lunch or something? Here, instead of somewhere else. Maybe?—"
The request is reasonable, innocent even. But the memory of yesterday's meeting with Sorokov is still fresh, and I know that Rocco is watching. He could be watching Alicia. Could have her followed. He could take her on her way back home and do horrific things to her to try to get to Leila.
I shake my head. "No."
The flat refusal clearly catches her off guard. "No?"
"It's not safe. You need to limit contact with those you care about until this is over. Your calls to your mother are on a secure line, but even those can’t be all that often. What you’re asking isn’t possible."
Frustration wells up in Leila’s eyes. "But she's just one person. My best friend. She wouldn't tell anyone where I am."
"She wouldn't have to tell anyone. Following her here would be child's play for De Luca's men." I lean back in my chair, trying to project calm authority despite the anxiety clawing at my chest. "Until the threat is neutralized, you need to keep the people you care about at a distance. No contact, no visits, nothing that could put them in danger. He could hurt her, try to use her to get to you. He might be watching her. I have security guarding your mother, but I can’t watch everyone who means something to you."
Leila's face goes pale. "How long could that take?"
I resist the urge to rub a hand over my face. "I don't know. Until Rocco is dead and things have quieted down."
"Weeks? Months?" she presses, her voice taking on a frantic note. I can hear the cabin fever in it, the feeling that she’s being hemmed in, and I wish there was more I could do. I know my response is unnecessarily harsh, but when I’m gentle with her, things seem to spiral out of control.
Boundaries. Cold, hard boundaries are all I have to keep this in line.
