Page 74 of Ruthless Savior
"No? Then what do you call yesterday? What do you call having your wedding shot up because you insisted on making a public spectacle instead of handling this quietly?" Padraigh shakes his head. “You thought a big wedding would make them accept her, but De Luca willneveraccept this.”
"The marriage is done," I growl, my patience thinning. "It's legal, it's binding, and it sends the message we need to send. Deal with it."
"Is it consummated?"
The blunt question catches me off guard. "What?"
"You heard me. Is the marriage consummated? Because if it's not, we can still get it annulled, still fix this mess before it gets any worse."
Images from the wedding night flash through my mind, my body reacting despite the tension thickening the air in the room, the deadly conversation I’m having—Leila underneath me, the sounds she made, the way she felt around me. The way she responded to my touch like she was made for it, the way Idesperately want her again, even though I know that’s not what this marriage is about.
"Yes," I say quietly. "It's consummated."
Padraigh’s jaw tightened. “Christ. You’ve committed to this, and you’re going to bring this whole goddamn family down with you, son. You think you can protect her, think you can keep her safe through sheer force of will. But all you're doing is painting a target on her back that gets bigger every day she stays close to you."
“And you would have me hand her over to De Luca and let him do whatever he wants with her because it's easier than fighting!" My hands clench at my sides. “At least I’m not a goddamn coward.”
My father’s expression darkens until I think he might hit me. I stiffen as he jolts out of his seat, anticipating a blow. He rarely loses his composure, but I can feel the air crackling with violence.
"Yes!" The word explodes out of him. "That's exactly what I'd have you do! She's not family, Ronan. She's not our responsibility. She's a complication that's going to get people killed."
I feel my teeth grind together as I repeat the words that I’ve said ad nauseam since I walked into this room. "She's my wife."
My father’s eyes flash angrily. "A wife you've known for two weeks! A wife you married for your own selfish reasons! Don't pretend this is some great love story."
"I'm not pretending anything," I say evenly. "But she's under my protection now, and that means something. It means I don't hand her over to men who want to hurt her, no matter how politically convenient it might be."
We stare at each other from across the space between us, and I can see the exact moment he realizes I'm not going to back down.
"You're going to get her killed," he says quietly, his jaw tight. "Just like you got Siobhan killed."
"Maybe," I admit, the word burning my tongue. "But at least I'll know I tried to save her instead of throwing her to the wolves."
Padraigh's expression shifts, becomes calculating. "Fine. If you won't see reason, if you insist on keeping her, then at least get her out of Boston. Take her somewhere De Luca can't reach her while we clean up this mess."
That, I’ve already thought of. I just haven’t told Leila yet. "I'm taking her to Ireland," I say. "To Aulinnross.”
"The estate?" His eyebrows shoot up. "You're taking her to the family estate?"
I shrug, shoving my hands into my pockets as I look back at him unflinchingly. I don’t entirely trust that he’s dropped the topic of giving her back, but this feels like progress. "It's the safest place I can think of. Isolated, defensible, far enough from Boston that De Luca's reach won't extend there."
Padraigh shakes his head. "You're making a mistake, son. A big one. But I can see you're not going to listen to reason."
I let out a breath. "No, I'm not."
He drops back into the chair, suddenly looking older than his sixty-two years. "Then God help us all."
A half-hour later, to my great relief, he’s gone. I find Leila in the kitchen alone, looking for tea supplies. She looks up when I enter, and I can see the questions in her eyes.
“Ida could do that for you,” I say automatically, gesturing to the kettle. I know what she’s going to say before the words even come out of her mouth, which is a strange, uncomfortably intimate feeling.
“I want to make tea for my mom and myself,” she says shortly. “What happened with your dad?”
"We're leaving Boston," I tell her without preamble. "Tonight."
Her hand stills on the tin of tea leaves. "Leaving? For where?" Her brows draw together. “Are we going back to the safe house?”
I shake my head. "Ireland. I have an estate there, completely secure. You'll be safe while we deal with the De Luca situation."
