Page 63 of His Kidnapped Irish Mafia Virgin

They listened without interrupting as I continued. “This is about destroying everyone who believed they could profit from Nora’s suffering. Every person who helped Victor Hale, every person who accepted his deal, and every person who thought they could hide behind this network is now part of this.”

Paddy looked at me carefully. “You’re talking about war. We’re with you.”

I looked down at the photographs one last time. Victor Hale’s face stared back at me from the top of the pile, cold and smug. I gathered the files into my hands and closed them with deliberate force. My rage had finally found its direction. The investigation was over. Like my dear friend Antonio De La Cruz used to say, la guerra esta aqui.

War is here.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Nora

The house was quiet in that way I’d learned to love. It was a soft quiet, filled with the faint sounds of people moving up and down the stairs and the comforting knowledge that I was safe. I walked slowly through the hallway, my fingers brushing lightly against the wall as I passed. My arm was healing well, though it still ached when I moved too quickly. The doctors had warned me not to push myself too hard. For once, I listened to them.

The past few weeks felt unreal when I tried to hold them all in my mind at once. Victor Hale’s voice still echoed in my nightmares sometimes.

The memory of waking up in that locked room still made my chest tighten, and the gunshot that had torn through my arm still lived somewhere deep inside me, sharp and cold. But there were other memories now, too.

Liam breaking through the wall to reach me. The way he’d carried me out of that building as if nothing in the world mattered more than getting me to safety.

I stopped near the window at the end of the hall and looked outside. The evening sky was fading into deep blue, and the lights of the city flickered in the distance.

For years, I’d believed I was alone with my fear, but I was wrong. Liam had never asked for me to earn his protection. He’d never asked me to prove that I deserved to be saved. He searched for me when I disappeared, fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself, and stayed beside me through every painful moment afterward.

He’d done all of it without asking for anything in return. The realization settled warmly in my chest. I’d spent so much of my life expecting love to come with conditions, fear, or silence. Victor had taught me that control could disguise itself as care, and my mother’s fear had taught me that people sometimes looked away when they should protect you.

Liam was different. He didn’t try to own me. He didn’t ask me to shrink myself to make him large. He simply stood beside me, again and again, choosing me even when it was dangerous, inconvenient, and painful. I closed my eyes for a moment and let the truth settle over me.

I loved him. Was it because he’d saved me? No. I would be grateful for that for the rest of my life, but I loved him because he saw me clearly, with all my fear, anger, scars, and uncertainty, and chose to stay anyway.

When I opened my eyes, I knew exactly where I needed to go. I turned away from the window and began walking toward Liam’s study, carrying a quiet certainty I’d never felt before.

***

I stopped outside Liam’s study and rested my hand lightly against the door. The soft glow of light spilled through the gap beneath it, and I could hear the faint rustle of papers being moved across a table.

For a moment, I simply stood there, and then I knocked gently.

“Come in,” Liam called.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room smelled of coffee and paper. Maps covered the large table in the center of the study, marked with circles and notes written in his sharp, precise handwriting.

Liam sat at the head of the table, leaning over the evidence with complete focus. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms and his jaw was tight with concentration. He didn’t look up immediately. He was too absorbed in whatever he was doing.

For a second, I watched him without speaking. This was the Liam I’d first met: controlled, distant, and dangerous. He wore his focus like armor, shutting out everything that might distract him from the task in front of him.

But I knew him better now. I knew that beneath that cold control was a man who carried the weight of everyone he loved. A man who would walk into danger without hesitation if it meant protecting someone he cared about.

He looked up then, and the hardness in his expression softened the moment he saw me.

“Nora,” he said quietly. “You should be resting.”

I smiled faintly. “I was resting,” I said. “I just wanted to see you.”

He set the file down immediately, as if nothing on the table mattered anymore. “Are you in pain?”

“A little,” I admitted. “But it’s manageable.”

Liam stood and walked around the table toward me. His eyes moved briefly to my healing arm, checking the bandage with the same careful concern he always showed, before meeting my gaze again.