“Simone, check the peephole!” he grits out. “Don’t you answer that door ’til you see who it is.”
I creep toward the door, pressing my eye to the glass. My stomach drops at the sight of the man standing on the other side of the door.
“Um, it’s... it’s your father.”
Ronan scowls. “Open it.”
The instant I prop the door open, Seamus Callahan bulldozes his way inside. He’s flanked by enforcers in long black coats that ripple like capes when they move.
Nobody spares me so much as a glance. I might as well be invisible the way they stride into the apartment, already in formation.
Seamus leads the pack, his white hair and beard striking against his weathered face, mouth pressed into a severe line that suggests he’s never smiled a day in his life.
He stops in front of the couch where Ronan lies and stares down at his son with cold, assessing eyes.
“I heard about the shooting,” he says with no concern. “Who was responsible? Did you get a look at the rider?”
Ronan gives a shake of his head. “It happened too fast. I couldn’t see who it was. He wore a helmet and rode off as soon as he opened fire. But I’m assuming it was Dren and the Albanians. Revenge for Amar.”
Seamus grunts out a cold laugh. “Don’t be so sure. We have enemies everywhere.”
As if suddenly aware of my presence, his gaze swings over in my direction. He glares at me for half a second as if I’m who he’s speaking of. Then he turns his back on me again and continues.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be going on pointless little excursions withher,” he says icily. “This isn’t some Disney fantasy, Ronan. This is our empire I’m entrusting you with. I expect you to conduct yourself accordingly. Lochlan would never lose focus like this.”
Ronan clenches his jaw, teeth gritted. “I’m not Lochlan, Dad. Nor will I ever be. Best for everybody if you accept that, don’t you think?”
Seamus has no answer to his question, merely glaring disapprovingly a second longer. Then he’s turning with a swish of his long black coat and striding back out. His men promptly follow, quick to shadow their leader out the door.
It slams shut with a finality that makes me flinch.
The silence that follows is even heavier and tenser.
I’m still in the corner of the room, unsure what to think about tonight’s turn of events. Ronan’s scrubbing a hand down his face as if irritated by it all.
One thing is clear: my father-in-law obviously hates me. But more than that, he even seems to consider my family to be the enemy. He damn sure implied we were when he was asking Ronan about the shooting.
His suspicions make no sense.
I was in very real danger out on the promenade. If Ronan hadn’t pushed me down, those bullets would’ve hit me.
It seems Seamus Callahan doesn’t give a fuck about details like that. He’s made up his mind he’s going to hate and distrust me and my family regardless. Even though I’m now married into his family and taken the name…
“Princess,” Ronan says suddenly. “Come here.”
He’s pushed himself into a more upright position on the couch, patting the cushion beside him.
I double blink, startled. “Errr… what?”
“You heard me. Come over here and sit down. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
I hesitate for a second or two, then drift across the room and sink onto the spot next to him. The cushions are musty and uncomfortable, but I’m too exhausted to care.
Seconds go by where neither of us speaks. We’re both cognizant of how strange it is that we’re even seated like this, as if we actually like and tolerate each other.
Ronan heaves a deep breath and then says, “Don’t take my father’s coldness personally. I told you he’s like that with everybody. Especially anybody new to the family.”
The nod I give is tight, my throat thick enough to prevent swallowing.