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All right, I don’t like it, but I have to hand it to the guy. Anyone else probably would have folded up by now, what with the way that massive beast is hitting, but Ronan’s taking it and dishing out just as much punishment. He’s strong, muscular and trim in an athletic and admittedly handsome sort of way, with a head of rust-colored hair and long, dark eyelashes. I’ve always liked those eyelashes—but I’ll never tell him that, not in a million years.
Because Ronan Hayes is the head of an Irish crime family, and he’s annoying as all fucking hell.
The fight ends when the big guy screws up his footwork and staggers. Ronan’s on him then, throwing punches like a madman, and finally the giant drops to one knee, throwing his arms up to protect his face. Ronan dances back until he’s in the far corner, and slowly his massive opponent gets to his feet. I think they’re about to start beating the shit out of each other again, but instead they’re laughing with their arms around each other. Both of them are bloodied and looking like shit, but acting like they’re best friends.
“You sure you want to talk to him?” Niall asks, sounding amused. He glances back at me with a shrug. “He might not be in the best mood.”
“Why not? Didn’t he just win?”
“Yeah, but Cousin Seamus nearly broke his face in, and Ronan really hates getting hit.”
I roll my eyes. Typical Ronan. He boxes, but he doesn’t like getting punched.
“It’s important,” I tell him.
Niall shrugs and walks off toward the boxing ring. He says something to Ronan, and both of them stare in my direction as Cousin Seamus climbs down and staggers over toward the waiting gaggle of shirtless behemoths. They cheer and pour him a drink, and they’re all throwing back whiskey shots as Ronan gets down from the ring and comes in my direction. Niall follows, looking more curious than anything else.
I regret this. I regret itimmensely. If I had any other option, I would’ve taken it, but Adam’s dead and I don’t trust Dusan or Julien, and forget about crawling back to Marco. He can keep his freaking Bianco wife, the traitor, I don’t care. None of the remaining former Santoro Capos would help me, and I could take a loan out from one of the loan sharks I know, but that’ll just make things worse in the end.
Which leaves me here, on this cold metal stool, glaring at the cockiest, most frustrating asshole I know.
“Val, my darling, I’ve been thinking about you nightly and I’m so glad you’re here,” Ronan says. He bends down to kiss my cheek and I have to push him back. A bit of his blood drips onto my thigh, which is absolutely repulsive.
“Please don’t get near me. You’re leaking.”
“My most sincere apologies.” His eyes sparkle with amusement. He thinks this is fucking funny. HeknowsI must be desperate if I’m coming to see him, and he’s going to make me suffer. The bastard.
He gets a rag and I use it to wipe off my leg. He cleans his face, dabbing at his nose, while Niall gets him a beer and pours one for me, too.
“What is this place?” I ask, glancing over at the ring. “I thought it was a bar.”
“It is a bar, but also a boxing gym. We put on extremely illegal fights on the weekends and do a good business selling alcohol and taking bets.” He leans closer, speaking quietly. “The fights are all staged, but don’t tell anyone.” He winks and laughs when I stare at him like he’s the most horrendous man alive. I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not.
“This was a mistake,” I mutter and go to get up.
“Val, hold on.” His smile fades as he pushes the beer to me. “Don’t storm off. You came all the way here.”
I pick it up. I’m not really a beer girl but I know what he thinks of me, and I don’t want to give him any more reason to think it.
I’m Valentina Santoro. Daughter of a powerful former mob boss. Spoiled all her life. Useless, worthless, good for absolutely nothing more than a whole lot of headaches, with zero skills.
He’s not wrong: my father doted on me, kept me sheltered, and barely even let me graduate from a fancy private school. Forget college. Forget real world experience.
When my father died, I was left with nothing. My best friend—ex-best friend—Marco saved me, kept me from the Capos thatwanted to marry or kill me, and paid me to be his assistant. That worked, up until it didn’t.
So I drink the stupid beer. I’m not about to be picky right now and give him another reason to think I’m a fussy princess.
“I have a job for you,” I say, not looking at him, because that’s very difficult right now. Say what you want about Ronan Hayes, and I’ve said a whole lot of unkind things, but he is very handsome, which is only compounded by his sweaty, muscular chest and arms, and the intimidating tattoos on his skin.
“You have a job for me?” There’s that amused tone again. “Seriously, Val?”
“Yeah, definitely a mistake. Forget it.” I start to stand again and he sighs, sounding annoyed. His hand reaches out and grabs my wrist.
“Stop acting like talking to me is worse than getting the plague,” he says and I think it might be the first time I’ve ever seen him serious. But that quickly clears up. “I’m a delight and you can’t keep your eyes off my masculine physique.”
“Seriously, Ronan, I don’t know what Marco ever saw in you.” I sit back down, mostly so he’ll let me go. Which he does, thank God.
“Same back to you, darling. But you’re not here to chat about our former friend and current frenemy, are you?”
