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“I didn’t say you haven’t. I only mean?—”
“You want to rush on to the next score, right? That’s all you mean. But you dumped Rocco in my lap and if you haven’t noticed, I’m more than a little swamped dealing with that difficult asshole.”
“I know, but?—”
“And now you want more? Come on, Ronan. When’s enough actuallyenough?”
He opens his mouth to explain, and I can tell I went too far. Guilt rolls down my spine and lodges in my belly. I should take a breath, calm myself down, and explain that I’m just stressed from dealing with Rocco, living in somebody else’s house and basically hiding out from a French gangster that might just want to kill me, and oh, yeah, the pressures of Ronan’s own family basically hating me aren’t helping. I shouldn’t take it out on him, but I also feel like I can’t handle adding another thing on top of all the other things demanding my attention.
There’s a knock at the door.
It grabs both our attention. For a second, dinner’s forgotten, and the stupid argument fades. “Are you expecting a delivery?” he asks me.
“No, definitely not.”
Another knock. This one is a little more insistent.
“Ah, hell.” He gets up with a sigh, walks into the kitchen, opens a bottom drawer, and draws out a gun.
“How many of those do you have lying around the house?” I ask, surprised as he checks to make sure it’s loaded.
“Lots,” he says and goes to answer the door. “Stay here.”
I sit forward, listening intently, as whoever’s waiting outside curses in surprise to find a gun pointed at them. Ronan curses right back, and I recognize Niall as the two men snap at each other.
“Is that how you’re treating guests now? A fucking gun to the face? By fucking Christ, Ronan, you can’t do that shit. My heart’s racing.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I wasn’t going to shoot you. What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”
“Dropped by to check in. Is that dinner I smell? You order something good?”
“Cooked. Since when do you drop in?”
“Since tonight.” There’s the creak of floorboards, but it stops.
“I didn’t invite you in.” Ronan’s voice, cold now. “You can’t just show up like this.”
“You got a guest in there?” Niall tries to make it sound mocking, but even I can tell it’s a serious question. “You hiding someone, cousin?”
“I don’t like you showing up here without announcing yourself first.” Ronan skirts the question. “If you want to talk, we can talk tomorrow.”
“I’m here. You’re here. Let’s talk now. Maybe over some wine? Or you can share some of that meal.”
“Niall.” Ronan’s voice is a warning. “Don’t cross a line.”
“Cross a line, cousin? Like you’ve already crossed?”
I get up from the table. This is foolish and they’re going to ruin their relationship all because Ronan’s too stubborn to tell Niall the truth. I can’t let that happen—I’ve seen families fight on the inside, and I know what it’s like to lose the people that matter the most. Ronan doesn’t see that now, but he could one day. I want to avoid that for him.
Both men look over at me, Ronan with frustration and anger, and Niall with a cool, unsurprised smile.
“Hello, Valentina,” he says. “I was wondering when I’d see you.”
“God damn it, Val,” Ronan grunts at me. “What are you doing?”
“Niall, you’re loyal to Ronan, right? He can trust you?”
Niall’s eyebrows raise. “I hope so.”
