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It was protection, even here and now. Part of me wanted to tell him that I didn’t need him watching over me. Another part of me remembered the warehouse and the broken glass and understood exactly why he couldn’t stop.

The priest continued speaking, and the vows came next. They sounded less like promises between two people in love and more like obligations being placed upon us. I repeated the words when I was expected to, but none of them felt real. Then Ronan took my hand. His fingers were warm against mine, and I looked at him.

For one terrible second, I didn’t see the man responsible for my father’s death. I saw Ronnie, the man who’d stood in my kitchen with burnt eggs and ruined toast because he’d wanted to make breakfast for me.

Then the memory disappeared, replaced by the reality standing in front of me. Ronan slid the ring onto my finger, and the metal felt heavier than it should have. I looked down at it and felt something ache in my chest.

I hated that some part of me could still feel something for him after everything he’d done. The ceremony continued, but I barely heard the rest. When it finally ended, there was restrained applause from the small crowd. I stood beside Ronan with a smile that felt completely foreign on my face.

I was married. Not to Ronnie, to Ronan O’Connor. And somehow, that distinction still wasn’t enough to stop my heart from remembering the man I’d once loved. The congratulations started trickling in right after the ceremony. Sean shook Ronan’s hand and offered me a barely visible smile. Liam looked so amused he may have been about to have another “coughing” fit.

Phil embraced me and said that I would always be welcome in the family. I mumbled “thanks” because I had no earthly idea of what else to say.

Everything around me was muted, like the audio in a movie had been turned too low, muffling voices and polite smiles. I’d walked into the cathedral as Sofia Hayes, and now I was walking out as Sofia O’Connor. The name itself felt alien.

When we were finally alone inside his penthouse, the silence was louder than any words. Ronan shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair. I leaned against the massive windows, gazing out at Boston without actually seeing it.

No one spoke for a long time. The city sprawled beneath us, vast and vibrant and utterly indifferent. I let my gaze fall to the ring on my finger. Then I turned to him.

“I hate you.” The words came out softly, but I meant every bit of them. Ronan didn’t respond immediately. He simply held my gaze. I waited to see anger, some defensive reaction, a list of reasons why I should be grateful for him. Instead, his expression remained eerily calm. Then a small, almost invisible smile tugged at his lips. It wasn’t mocking. Somehow, that was worse.

“What? Why are you smiling? I just told you I hate you.”

“I heard you perfectly clear.”

“So why are you smiling?”

His eyes stayed locked with mine. “Because I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

My stomach twisted into a tighter knot. “You don’t know how I feel. I don’t know you. I don’t care about you. You don’t get to pretend to understand me now.”

His expression changed slightly, but he didn’t correct me. I turned away before he could say anything. My eyes strayed to the outside city once more. There’d been a time when Boston represented freedom. It had been the city where I’d built my life, had my kitchen at the café, and invented Buried Saints, where I was trying so desperately to understand the past without succumbing to it.

Now my whole life had been altered, shaped and solidified into something unrecognizable. I was married and pregnant, trapped in a life with the man who was responsible for what happened to my family. I glanced at my reflection in the window. My wedding dress was pristine. My hair was neatly arranged. The ring gleamed on my finger. On the outside, I looked great.

But looking at my reflection, I could barely recognize who I was seeing. For so long, I’d clung to the idea that uncovering the truth would set me free. Instead, it had drawn me to Ronan, led me to love him, to know him, and to be bound to him forever in some sort of cruel paradox.

I didn’t know who I was anymore. I knew I hated what he’d done. I knew I hated how he took control of everything. But I also remembered him as Ronnie, and him looking like his world had shattered when I’d opened my eyes after he rescued me. Those memories were real too, and that was terrifying.

There was no going back to who I’d been before Ronan. Whatever came next, my life would be forever intertwined with his. I rested a hand on the curve of my stomach. I was Sofia O’Connor now.

And I had no idea what that was going to cost me.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ronan

The first several days of my marriage were quieter than I’d expected. Sofia barely spoke to me. When she did, it was because she needed something, and even then her words were brief. She spent long hours working in the study or sitting alone near the windows, keeping herself occupied with anything that prevented us from having a real conversation.

I didn’t force her to talk. She had every reason to hate me, and I knew that giving her space was the only thing I could offer without making matters worse.

Still, her silence affected me more than I wanted to admit. I’d spent years surrounded by people who feared me, lied to me, or wanted something from me, so I knew how to handle hostility, but Sofia’s indifference was different. She could walk into a room, look directly through me, and make me feel as though I wasn’t there.

I found myself watching her when she wasn’t aware of it. I noticed whether she’d eaten, whether she looked tired, and whether she’d taken the medication the doctor had prescribed. I kept finding reasons to check where she was, even when I knew she was perfectly safe inside the penthouse.

Work should have been easier now that she was safe. Instead, I found myself reading the same reports twice because my thoughts kept returning to her. The syndicate had already noticed the marriage, and with it came expectations. My position required me to show the organization that Sofia’s presence beside me represented strength rather than vulnerability.

That meant introducing her publicly. The reception was held at one of Boston’s most expensive hotels. By the time Sofia and I arrived, the ballroom was already filled with people who’d spent years pretending they’d never heard the word criminal.