I head downstairs, and Hannah's laughter echoes down the hallway as I approach the kitchen. The sound stops me. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard her laugh before. Not like that, free and unguarded. It’s yet another reminder of how I’m stifling her.
I steel myself against seeing her as I enter the kitchen, but I don’t see her right away.
“Yes, Antonio, you can organize the pantry however works best for you. Mrs. Peterson, since he’s the chef and needs to know where everything is, it’s best we let him manage it. I could use help organizing in the art room, though.” Hannah’s voice carries from the pantry.
I lean against the doorframe, watching her direct our new chef and house manager with natural ease. She’s young, but it’s clear she has already earned their respect.
She spots me and straightens, her smile dimming. "Good morning. I was just about to make your coffee?—”
"Don't bother. I'm heading out." Fuck. Why can’t I at least sound kind and gentle?
She gives me a wan smile. "Of course."
Watching her retreat into herself to appease me is a new sort of torture. A torture I’ve brought onto myself.
Antonio and Mrs. Peterson exchange a look I pretend not to see. They probably think I'm an ass. They're not wrong.
I adjust my tie, using the motion to break eye contact. Better this way. Better she learns now that I can't be what she wants. What she deserves.
“I’ll be back this evening.”
“Have a good day.”
As I leave, my wedding ring catches the light when I reach for the doorknob. This is supposed to be a symbol of everlasting love. It’s a slap in the face to marriage and love that I wear it now, that I carry out this farce that will certainly slowly destroy Hannah. And for what? To seek revenge?
For ten years, I’ve been focused on making the Keans pay for taking my parents, Meghan, and our business. They stole our lives. Nothing would get in the way of that. Collateral damage is a part of the price I have to pay. But fucking hell. The idea of extinguishing the light in Hannah, of sacrificing her happiness so I can make Hampton Kean pay for his sins, isn’t sitting right.
On the driveto John O’Donnell’s, I do my best to put Hannah and the turmoil swirling in my gut to the side so I can focus on the job.
The guards recognize me, waving me through the gate without hesitation. I park out front and then stride into O'Donnell's study, not bothering to knock.
He glances up from his desk, face tightening at my entrance. "Ash. I wasn't expecting you."
"Clearly, but we need to talk.”
“Sure, sure.” He motions to a chair in front of his desk. “Can I get you anything? Coffee. Maybe something stronger?”
“No. Thank you.”
“I see. So, how can I help you?”
I find it odd that he doesn’t ask about Hannah. Then again, maybe Hannah calls him and tells him what a fucking asshole Iam. If she does, he doesn’t appear bothered by it. It pisses me off, despite the hypocrisy of it, considering how badly I treat her.
“We’re getting the feeling that you’re getting cold feet. I’ve come to make sure that’s not the case.”
He shuffles papers, avoiding my gaze. "Business has been… complicated lately. The Keans are making moves?—”
“Yes, and…? We knew that would happen. You agreed to help?—”
"I agreed to consider options." He straightens, finding his spine. "But Kean's been systematically eliminating anyone who crosses him. He’s taken out Owen Spence and Kevin Brody."
“And we’ve taken out Superintendent Marshall and Ronan Kean.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Is this a question of whom you fear more?”
“No, no.” He shakes his head. “Of course not. But I have to be careful. I’m not able to help you if Hampton kills me.”
I’m not so sure of that. If I can get O’Donnell’s men on our side, as well as Spence and Brody’s, I don’t need him.
“Tread lightly, I get it. But we own you now, O’Donnell.” Okay, that might not be the best way to go about bringing him to our side.
