Dating the Don (Savage Crime Lords #1)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CRISTIANO

M aeve is silent for the first part of the drive home, but she doesn’t leave my lap.

Her head is tucked against my chest and her forehead presses into the curve of my neck. Her grip on my shirt is tight enough that I can see the whites of her knuckles. Her fingers are going to cramp. She may need medical attention. At the very least, a nice cool shower to settle her down. I think that’s going to be the first order of business when we get home. Get her pulse back to normal.

Part of me wants to tell her that this is the sort of life that she’s supposedly signing up for. While it’s not every single day that these things occur, we are at war. Our whole family and the Irish Mob. I know that, in theory, she knows that, but this is the first time that it’s become real to her.

“He called me Miss Sullivan,” she murmurs softly.

I brush an ashy lock of red hair behind her ear. Pieces start to connect. Do they think she’s somebody she’s not? Dennis was speaking of an engagement to somebody named Sullivan. If they were attempting to kidnap her, then it stands to reason that whoever this Sullivan person is, they think it’s her.

“He said that my father had plans for me…” She continues. Another tear rolls down her cheek and sinks into the fabric of my shirt before disappearing.

I wish I had gotten a better look at the man so that I’d have a starting point. I’ve already instructed my men to look into the security footage to see if they can get a positive identification of the man. That’s something of a priority. I want that fucker to pay for daring to touch what’s mine.

“My father died. Even before my mom got the job with your family, he was dead. That’s what she told me whenever I asked. My mother would never lie to me.”

I hate that there’s doubt in her voice.

I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for her to try to piece everything together. To be pulling and pushing at the strings of her life and identity like that. I’m fortunate in that, for better or for worse, I’ve always known who my parents are.

“If he hadn’t died, she wouldn’t have had to work so hard. I keep trying…” She trails off as her chin dimples and she fights back a fresh wave of tears. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so vulnerable before. I hate that this has shaken her so much. Even more, I hate that I don’t know what to say to comfort her.

Instead, my mind defaults to strategy and how to make this attack work in my favor.

I just keep trailing back to what Dennis said about the arrangement. It’s too much to simply be a coincidence. As soon as Maeve’s settled, I’m going to have to set my tech team on every mention of a Sullivan associated with the Doyle clan. I know my enemy well. I think I would know if such a name was among their ranks. Self-doubt isn’t something that I normally have to worry about.

But for Maeve? I promised to take care of her. I said that she could surrender control to me and at the first test, I almost failed. I don’t take that lightly.

“I keep trying to think if my mother ever said anything else about him. If she ever said what he looked like, other than the fact that I took more after him,” she sighs and finally lifts her gaze to him. “Do you think… is he alive? Is he this Sullivan person?”

I don’t have a good answer. “I don’t know,” I admit, and the words feel like vinegar on my tongue. “I’m going to get answers.”

Somehow, that seems to settle her.

“I thought that…” She trails off. Her eyes scrunch shut and I hug her closer into my chest.

“Nothing is going to take you from me, Maeve,” I whisper. The words feel like an oath. “No matter what happens from this point forward, I will always protect you. I will always find you. I swear that we will get answers.”

“What if he had my mother murdered?” She hiccups.

Helpless is not something that I’ve ever been before. My chest aches for her. I try to soothe her with my touch but I can’t tell if it’s helping. If this information is one and the same, then the obvious choice is going to be to simply kill Kieran Doyle, Hugh’s heir and only son. I will never let him put his hands on Maeve, not for anything.

“The man who grabbed you… what can you tell me about him? I need to know while it’s fresh,” I say as gently as I can.

“Tall, blond… very Irish,” she shakes her head. “I didn’t even think to ask his name. Clearly, he works for this Sullivan person.”

We drive in silence, nearing the house when something in my memory serves. There was a man who disappeared some years back. I can’t recall just how many. My father had once said that he thought that Callum had succumbed to his wounds. The old right-hand man of Hugh’s… Callum Sullivan. That is why the name was familiar! He was believed to be dead. Had been, for most of my life actually. What was it that the man had gotten shot for? He had been…

My heart thuds uncomfortably in my chest as the memory finally surfaces.

Callum had been shot on our lands because he had been looking for his wife. His pregnant wife. He had thought that we were harboring her. I was only a child when it happened. I remember watching from behind my mother’s legs as my father and Callum stood on the lawns. Mother had pushed me inside before it got too heated—it was one of my first memories of how a gunshot sounded in real life.

Could it be true? Had we harbored them and I have Sullivan’s daughter in my arms right now?

How can I even try to broach that subject?

I run my tongue along my teeth, hoping that this doesn’t go as terribly as I think it’s going to.

“There’s… a possibility that there’s some truth to this…” I hedge.

Maeve lifts her face, her eyes red rimmed and slightly puffy, though she’s certainly no less beautiful for it. “What do you mean?”

I swallow thickly. “What if… your mother lied to you?”

Her expression instantly shifts and hardens. She pushes against my chest to put distance between us and shakes her head vehemently. “No. Absolutely not. My mother would never lie to me.”

“Any mother would if they thought that they were protecting their child, Maeve.”

Maeve has always been important to me,I won’t even try to deny it. I didn’t lie to my mother when I said that I’ve always had feelings for her. I know that she’s never felt the same way about me, but now mine are so much stronger.

Knowing what it's like to be with her, to hold her like this, allowing her to find solace in my strength and closeness...I'm not sure whether I'll be able to go back to how we were. I feel responsible for her emotions. If I fulfill my promise and find out the truth of her mother’s murder, will she forgive me if it’s something she can’t swallow?

It isnatural thatshe believed her father was some sort of hero who passed away before she had the opportunity to get to know him; after all, it would be simpler to accept that theory than the alternative.

I know very little about Callum Sullivan, but I do know that he had a ruthless reputation. If this is all true, he’s already plotting to sell her off to the highest bidder to get the most out of a woman he’s never even met. She will never be anything more than a pawn to him; a poker chip to be played and traded as he saw fit. It doesn’t matter that she might be his flesh and blood. If he is alive, if this is truly him, he has been waiting a long time to get his hands on her.

The car pulls into a stop and Maeve flings open the door and practically throws herself out of it. She doesn’t so much as glance back in my direction as she stomps off toward the house. At least she’s overcome the shock of the evening.

I trail after her slowly, letting her temper calm down as much as possible.

“You owe it to yourself to consider the possibility, Maeve,” I call to her retreating frame. It’s not like there’s anywhere she can go to truly be rid of me. I leave the car behind, my men will take care of it. Maeve’s safe here. Nobody can get onto my property without my knowing. If she’s determined to throw a fit this is the best place she can possibly do such a thing.

It’s not going to be an easy reality to face. I won’t push her much further on the subject until I have some proof. Until I know for certain.

“How dare you!” She shouts without turning. “How dare you suggest such a thing to me!”

The rage that she’s now directing at me will be more productive than crying. If she needs to be angry at me so that she can process her emotions, then so be it. I can handle it.

At least, I think I can.