Page 26 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

My father’s fear had been real, not exaggerated. But he should have confided in me. And then there was Father Michael, cautious and careful in a way that suggested there would be consequences if he said too much.

Then there was Sean. I stopped near the window without thinking about it. Sean had never denied anything outright. He’d never given me the satisfaction of a clear answer, either.

He’d only redirected the conversation. I exhaled slowly, frustration building underneath my ribs. I had no idea what had happened to create a debt so large I needed to marry Sean O’Connor to settle it, and I also didn’t know who’d benefit from me not knowing.

Something was being kept deliberately unclear because clarity would destabilize it. I turned away from the window and began pacing again, more sharply now. Who owed who,and why? Who’d betrayed who? That question didn’t have any answer.

I thought about the attack again. Someone had known where to hit.

I slowed again, this time near the center of the room. By the time night settled fully over the city, my thoughts had stopped circling and started hardening.

What had begun as confusion now felt like direction. If nobody was going to tell me the truth, then I would stop asking questions and start looking for answers on my own.

The penthouse was quieter at night, but not safer. Sean still wasn’t back, and the absence of him only sharpened my resolve. I paid attention to when the guards rotated, how often they passed their checkpoints, where they avoided lingering too long.

I’d also noticed which doors are opened only by specific people. I stopped near the hallway leading to Sean’s office, but I didn’t go in immediately. I just stood there, waiting for a guard to pass, noticing how he didn’t look at me directly after he confirmed my position.

I understoond the risk clearly. If Sean found out I did this, it wouldn’t be treated as curiosity. It would be treated as defiance, and not the kind he’d ignore, especially after the attack.

Fear was there, quiet and present, but it no longer dictated my actions—frustration did. And underneath both feelings was a stubbornness that refused to accept being kept in the dark. I turned away from the office hallway and continued walking, slower now. By the time I returned to the window, the city below felt different again.

I rested my hand lightly against the glass and watched the lights stretch outward. My reflection stared back at me, steady now in a way it hadn’t been before. And I understood somethingI didn’t say out loud. This was about control, and I was ready to start pushing against it. It was time.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sean

I heard it in the middle of a report that stopped mattering the moment the sentence landed. Maeve had left the penthouse without any clearance and or a word to anyone.Fuck.The rest of the room kept talking, unaware that the tone had already shifted, unaware that the air itself had changed pressure.

I didn’t move at first. I didn’t interrupt the meeting. I didn’t react in the way people would expect. The report continued, but I wasn’t listening to it anymore.

Declan noticed first, of course—a fraction of a pause, a tightening at my jaw, the subtle drop of attention from everything else in the room. I stood up, and the effect was immediate.

Conversation fractured behind me. I walked out before anyone fully understood that the meeting had ended.

The corridor outside was quieter, but my mind wasn’t. Maeveleft. The words repeated in my mind without permission. No escort and no protection, no structure to keep her safe.

After the attack, after it had become clear that nothing around me was stable anymore, she’d walked out into a city watching for weakness. That cut deeper than anger. She hadn’t only disobeyed me; she was risking her life.

I imagined a car slowing too long beside her, a stranger watching her too carefully. What if someone recognized her face in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Control wasn’t a concept for me. It was a necessity. And right now, it was breaking down. Declan caught up to me near the elevator bank.

“She probably just needed space,” he said carefully, measured.

I didn’t look at him. “That’s not the point.”

Another pause. He studied me, then shifted his tone. “We already have teams moving. They’ve found her location, and they’ll keep an eye on her. Quiet coverage. No escalation unless necessary.”

Every minute she was out there without containment was a gap I couldn’t close fast enough. And worse, I recognized the operational risk if someone tried to use her as leverage against me.

Maeve wasn’t supposed to move through my world untracked, especially after the attack proved there was already a target on her back. I stopped walking. Declan stopped with me, and a few seconds passed before I spoke.

“The second she walks back through the penthouse door,” I said, “send everyone else out.”

Declan didn’t ask why. I kept walking. But the calm mask I wore wasn’t the absence of emotion. It was containment…and this containment, when it finally broke, would be a tsunami.

The confirmation came in right as I reached my building. No hesitation in the message. No uncertainty left to interpret.