THE MAFIA REAPER CLAIMED ME

CHAPTER 16: TOUCH HER AGAIN

Cillian

Finn put his hand on her.

I was standing before I knew I had moved.

The chair hit the floor behind me.

Valentina's free hand went toward the knife beside her plate. She saw it. Finn did not.

I reached him first.

"Let go."

He looked at me.

Then at his hand around her wrist.

He smiled.

Wrong choice.

"She was told to sit."

"Let go."

Valentina pulled once. Finn tightened his grip.

The marks appeared immediately against her skin.

Something in me went quiet.

The bruises forming under his fingers were mine to put there if anyone put them there. Not his. Never his. The sight of another man's hand claiming skin I had already decided belonged under my mouth and my c**k made the room go red.

I took his wrist and bent it across the edge of the table.

There was a short crack.

Finn screamed.

A glass fell. Someone swore. Red wine ran across the white cloth and into Declan's untouched plate.

Finn dropped to one knee, holding his hand against his chest.

Valentina backed away from him.

Not toward me.

Away from both of us.

That registered later.

At the time, I was looking at the bruises forming around her wrist and deciding whether Finn needed the other hand.

Ronan stepped between us.

"Cillian."

I heard him.

Barely.

Valentina did.

"Don't," she said.

Her voice was low. Unsteady.

It stopped me better than Ronan's hand on my shoulder.

I released Finn.

He stayed on the floor.

Nobody helped him.

Declan sat at the head of the table with one palm beside his glass, watching as if this were the reason he had invited us all to dinner.

Maybe it was.

"Was that necessary?" he asked.

I looked at Finn.

"No."

Finn lifted his head. Disbelief and pain twisted his face.

Declan's eyes narrowed. "Then why did you do it?"

I did not have an answer that belonged at a dinner table.

Because his hand was on her.

Because I had imagined those marks before they appeared.

Because for one second I forgot every person in the room except the man touching what I had spent six months watching.

Because the only hands allowed on her body are mine, and I will break every finger that forgets it.

I picked up my chair and sat down.

"I warned him."

Valentina stared at me.

Her wrist was held against her body. The other hand remained close to the knife.

"I had it," she said.

"I saw."

"Then why—"

She stopped. Looked at Finn. Looked at Declan.

Too many people.

Too much audience.

"Never mind."

Mrs. Brennan appeared in the doorway.

She took in the chair on the floor, the wine, Finn kneeling beside the table.

Her face did not change.

"Clinic?" she asked.

"Yes," Valentina said at the same time I said, "No."

She turned on me.

"His hand is broken."

"I know."

"Then he needs imaging."

"He needs memory."

Valentina blinked.

Not because the line impressed her. Because it irritated her.

"Mrs. Brennan," she said, "please take him downstairs. Keep the hand still. Ice around it, not directly on the skin."

Finn looked at her. "Why are you helping me?"

"I am not helping you. I am treating an injury."

Her voice shook less now that there was something medical to do.

She grabbed a clean napkin, folded it and made a rough sling. Finn tried to pull away.

"Hold still," she said.

He did.

That bothered him more than the pain.

Good.

She checked his fingers. "Can you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Any numbness?"

"No."

"If that changes, tell whoever is with you."

She did not look at me while she worked.

I watched anyway.

Finn had insulted her, frightened her and put his hand where it did not belong. She still checked his circulation.

I would have let him suffer.

That difference between us should have been obvious from the start.

Mrs. Brennan led him out. Finn paused near me.

"You broke my hand over her."

His voice had gone thin.

"Yes."

No speech. Nothing clever.

He understood.

The door closed.

Servants replaced the cloth while we sat in silence. One young woman cleaned wine from the floor without looking at anyone. Her hands trembled.

I had done that.

Not Finn.

Not Declan.

Me.

Valentina returned to her chair but did not sit.

"I want to leave."

Declan folded his napkin. "Sit down."

Her face went blank.

I knew that look now. Fear first. Anger used to cover it.

"Let her go," I said.

"She stays."

"No."

Ronan looked at me.

Seamus Doyle stopped pretending this was none of his concern.

Declan's mouth flattened. "You seem confused about who gives orders in this house."

"Not tonight."

The answer came out before I decided what it meant.

Valentina looked at me.

I did not know whether I had helped or made the room more dangerous for her.

Probably both.

She sat down on her own.

Slowly.

Then she faced me.

"Do not do that again."

I knew what she meant. I asked anyway.

"Break his hand?"

"Do not decide for me because you are angry."

"He had you."

"For two seconds."

"Too long."

Her eyes flashed. "I had the knife."

"I know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because I know."

"Then let me use it."

The table had gone silent again.

This conversation should not have belonged to everyone, but nothing in this house stayed private unless it was hidden behind a camera.

"Next time," I said, "do not wait."

She stared at me.

"That is your answer?"

I had a better one.

I could not say it.

Because his hand was on you and I stopped thinking.

Because I wanted to remove it before you even knew you were afraid.

Because I do not know what to call this without making it worse.

Because the only thing I can think when another man puts his hands on you is how hard I am going to f**k you later to remind both of us who you belong to.

"Yes," I said.

Valentina looked away first, not defeated. Done with me.

Declan struck the table once with his palm.

"This is enough."

Nobody argued.

He looked at me. "One day. She has been here one day."

"Finn touched her after I warned him."

"You warned him as though she belonged to you."

Valentina's head turned back.

There it was. The word nobody had used aloud because every person in the room already understood it.

"She is under my protection," I said.

"She is under contract."

"The contract is mine to enforce."

"No," Valentina said.

The single word cut through both of us.

She looked at Declan first, then me.

"The contract may tell you where I sleep and when I work. It does not turn me into furniture you argue over."

Nobody answered.

Patrick Keane stared at his plate.

Seamus cleared his throat. "For what it is worth, Finn was out of line."

Declan looked at him.

Seamus did not shrink. "A specialist brought in under a captain's protection is not handled by another man. That has always been the rule."

"She is not family," Declan said.

"Neither are half the men who bleed for us. We still have rules."

Patrick nodded once.

Ronan said nothing, but he had moved his chair slightly closer to mine.

Declan saw all of it.

So did Valentina.

The room had changed because Finn could not keep his hand to himself.

My father leaned back.

"You have made this public now," he said.

"It was public when he grabbed her."

"No. Your interest is public."

Valentina's fingers tightened around the napkin.

Declan noticed.

"The Kavanaughs will hear about tonight before sunrise," he continued. "They will ask whether the woman sleeping beside your rooms has changed our agreement."

"She is not sleeping beside my rooms," I said.

Ronan rubbed a hand over his face.

Wrong part of the sentence.

Declan almost smiled.

"Have you forgotten," he asked, "the woman you promised to marry?"

Valentina went very still.

The word marriage hung between us like a blade. I looked at Valentina and felt my c**k harden under the table at the thought of her knowing exactly how much I already wanted her more than the woman I had agreed to take.