Page 75 of Ruthless Savior
Leila’s face pales. “What? For how long?"
"As long as it takes." I lean against the doorway, studying her face. I don’t need to guess to see that she’s frightened. "Weeks, maybe months. However long it takes to put an end to Rocco De Luca and let things smooth out afterward. When the danger is past, I’ll bring you home."
She's quiet for a moment, processing. I’m surprised she doesn’t try to argue, but it impresses me. She’s smarter than that. And by now, she’s seen what De Luca is capable of. "What about my mother? She's in the middle of treatment, she can't just—I can’t just leave her and go that far away?—"
"She comes with us," I interrupt. "Dublin has excellent medical care. I’ll fly in doctors from elsewhere, if need be. All of her treatment plans and medications will be transferred, and the money I’ll throw at the hospitals will ensure that nothing changes. She’ll be with you, as well, in a peaceful and luxurious environment. I can’t think of a better situation for her recovery, honestly."
Leila’s mouth drops open, and I see her struggling to absorb what I’ve just said. "Really? You'd do that?"
"She's family now," I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. "Technically."
“Technically,” Leila echoes, her expression unreadable. A moment goes by before she speaks again.
"Thank you," she says softly. "I know this complicates things for you, having us both there."
I shrug. “Ensuring both of your safety can be complicated, but in some ways, things are easier if you and your mother are together. I can focus my security on two places instead of three. I’ll know where you both are, and I’ll be aware of the comings and goings in the house where you’re both staying. It’s better for everyone, I think.”
Leila takes a slow breath. “Okay,” she says softly. “When do we leave?”
“This evening. The jet takes off at seven. We’ll leave here about six, maybe a little earlier. Pack whatever you want to bring with you, but if there’s anything you or your mother need or want once we’re there, we’ll get it. Don’t worry if you forget something.”
Leila nods, biting her lip. “Okay.” She looks back at the tea tin for a long moment, and I assume I’m being dismissed, that she’s lost in thought now. But as I turn to go, she speaks, stopping me in my tracks. "Ronan?"
I pause, looking back at her. "Yeah?"
"Your dad—is he okay with this? With me being there?"
I think about the argument we just had, about the way Padraigh looked at me like I was signing all our death warrants. "He'll adjust."
It's not entirely a lie. My father might not like it, but he'll respect my decision. I have to believe that, after making me the head of this family, he’ll allow me to make the calls. At least long enough to see how this one plays out.
If it all goes wrong, I have no idea what will happen then. I can’t imagine it ends with me still at the head of the O’Malley family, but if I fail to protect Leila, if Rocco manages to take her or kill her, I won’t want to be.
Failing at this will crush me. I can’t allow it to happen. Which is the primary reason I can’t afford to let Leila distract me—for her good and mine.
But as I look at Leila for another moment before turning away, I can't shake the feeling that Padraigh might be right about one thing: I might be making the same mistake I made with Siobhan, just in a different way.
No,I tell myself as I head to my own room to pack what I’ll need for the time I’m planning to stay at the estate. This isn’t the same as Siobhan. Not in the slightest. I’m not neglecting Leila. I’m not letting her out of my sight, and when I do, I’ll make sure that the men watching her know the consequences of failure.
Rocco isn’t going to lay a finger on her.
By six, we’re all in one of the SUVs, the luggage loaded and the driver taking us to the tarmac where my family’s private jet is waiting. Claire gets into the SUV first, Leila following her, and she gives me a curious look as I climb in.
“You’re doing an awful lot for us, Mr. O’Malley,” she says, her expression unreadable. “More than most would.”
“You’re family now,” I say simply, sliding into my seat. “My mother-in-law. And call me Ronan, please.”
“Ronan.” She pushes up the sleeves of the soft-looking cardigan she’s wearing. “Leila says we’re going to Ireland. Because of the attacks?”
“You’ll be safer there.” I take a breath. “Leila and I have discussed it. And I don’t want to part the two of you right now.”
“I appreciate that.” She gives me a narrow look. “You know, Leila still hasn’t told me what it is that you do. What might have prompted such… violence.”
“Mom,” Leila chides gently. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? I don’t want to discuss it right now.”
“Maybe I should explain—” I start to say, but Leila shoots me a look that’s so much of a wife that something jolts in my chest.
“We’ll talk about it later,” she repeats firmly, and I nod.
