"YOU'VE BROUGHT CIVILIANS onto the Walsh estate." His voice is cold, disapproving. "Without consultation."
News travels fast, especially when Gerald is watching. "They were in danger," I reply evenly. "The O'Reillys had men watching the aunt's house."
"So I've heard. Along with reports that you've become…personally involved with the Gillespie woman."
I enter my office, closing the door firmly behind me. "My personal life is not up for discussion."
A soft, dangerous chuckle comes through the line. "Everything is up for discussion when it impacts the family business, Marco. You know this."
"The business is secure," I assert, though we both know it's not entirely true. With the O'Reillys circling and internal loyalties in question, the Walsh empire is more vulnerable than it's been in decades.
"Is it?" Father's tone sharpens. "Because from where I sit, it appears my heir is distracted by a pretty face while our enemies gather at the gates."
I bite back the immediate retort that springs to mind. Arguing with Patrick Walsh is rarely productive and often dangerous. "I'm handling the O'Reilly situation. Damien is coordinating with our northern contacts, and I've scheduled a meeting with James tomorrow."
"James," Father repeats, a note of something like amusement in his voice. "Yes, he mentioned you'd reached out. Interesting timing."
"We need all available resources," I say carefully, sensing some undercurrent I can't quite identify. "Family first."
"Indeed." Father's voice turns contemplative. "You know, Marco, I had similar concerns about your mother once."
The unexpected mention of my mother catches me off guard. Father rarely speaks of her, especially not in connection to business matters.
"She was a distraction," he continues. "Beautiful, spirited, entirely too good for the life I offered. I worried she would make me weak, compromise my judgment, and become a target for my enemies."
I remain silent, unsure where this unprecedented confidence is leading.
"In some ways, I was right. Loving her did make me vulnerable. Did influence my decisions. Did give my enemies leverage they wouldn't otherwise have had." A pause. "But it also gave me something worth fighting for beyond power and territory. Something real."
I grip the phone tighter, stunned by the admission. In all my years, I've never heard Father speak this way—reflective, almost nostalgic.
"Whatever happens with this woman of yours," he says, his voice hardening again, "remember that in our world, love is both a weapon and a weakness. Use it carefully, and guard it well."
"I will," I promise, the words inadequate for the complexity of emotions his advice has stirred.
"Good. Now, about the O'Reillys—I've sent Gerald to attend tomorrow's meeting as my representative. You will accompany him."
My instincts flare in warning. "Is that wise? With the current tensions—"
"It sends a message of unity," Father interrupts firmly. "The Walsh family standing together despite recent losses. Gerald has my complete confidence in this matter."
The instruction leaves no room for negotiation, despite my growing suspicions about Gerald's loyalties. "Understood."
"One more thing," Father adds, his tone deceptively casual. "Michael will be overseeing security for the Gillespie family during your absence. I'm sending him to the estate tonight."
This is a power play, pure and simple—inserting Father's man into my home, establishing control over Sasha and her family while I'm required to attend the O'Reilly meeting with Gerald. I want to refuse, to assert my authority over my own domain, but challenging Father directly would only escalate tensions at a time when we can't afford internal conflict.
"Fine," I say, keeping my tone neutral despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "But my regular security stays in place as well."
"Of course," Father agrees, too readily. "Consider Michael an addition, not a replacement. For everyone's safety."
The call ends, leaving me with the distinct impression that I've just been outmaneuvered in a game whose rules keep changing. Father sending Michael—his most loyal enforcer—to "protect" Sasha feels less like support and more like surveillance, perhaps even a subtle threat.
I stare out the window as evening approaches, watching shadows lengthen across the manicured grounds. Security patrols move with practiced precision along the perimeter, the weight of their weapons visible even from this distance. The estate has always been a fortress, but now it feels like the walls are closing in, threats gathering both outside and within.
My phone buzzes again—a text from Tony: Michael arrived. Awaiting instructions.
Sooner than expected. Father must have dispatched him immediately after our call, another small power play to assert his control over the situation.
I text back: Standard protocol. Keep eyes on him.
Tony's response is immediate: Understood, Boss.
I trust Tony implicitly—one of the few men whose loyalty I never question. But even he can only do so much against Father's direct intervention. If Patrick Walsh has decided to take a more active interest in my affairs, in Sasha, the delicate balance I've been maintaining could collapse entirely.
A gentle knock at the door draws my attention. Sasha enters without waiting for permission, a habit that would earn anyone else a harsh reprimand but from her seems entirely natural.
"Karen and Lily are settled," she reports, crossing the room to stand beside me at the window. "Lily's thrilled about having a room 'bigger than our whole house.' Karen is..." She hesitates. "Less enthusiastic."
"Understandable," I acknowledge. "It's a lot to process."
Sasha studies my face with the uncanny perception that still catches me off guard. "Something's happened. What is it?"
I consider deflecting, keeping her separate from the brewing conflict with my father as I've kept her from so many aspects of my business. But the time for such divisions has passed. If she's truly mine, as she claimed, then she deserves to understand the entirety of what that entails—including the complications of Walsh family politics.
"My father is sending Michael to oversee security for you and your family," I explain, watching her reaction carefully. "He'll be here while I attend a meeting with the O'Reillys tomorrow."
Her brow furrows. "Michael—the older man with the scarred face? The one who works directly for your father?"
I nod, impressed by her attention to detail. "Yes."
"Why? Don't you trust your own security team?"
"I do. Which is why Michael's arrival concerns me." I turn to face her fully. "My father rarely does anything without multiple motives. Sending Michael here, insisting I attend the O'Reilly meeting with Gerald—he's making moves on a chessboard I can't fully see yet."
Sasha absorbs this, her expression thoughtful. "You think he sees me as a threat to his control over you."
"Yes," I admit. "And he's not entirely wrong."
She looks surprised by the frank acknowledgment. "What do you mean?"
I take her hands in mine, needing her to understand. "Before you, every decision I made was for the family, for the business, for the legacy my father built. Now..." I struggle to articulate the profound shift she's created. "Now, I find myself considering a future beyond all that. Possibilities I never allowed myself to imagine."
"Marco," she whispers, eyes wide with the implications.
"It terrifies me," I confess, the admission raw and honest. "Not just because it makes us vulnerable to our enemies, but because I don't know how to be anything other than what I've always been. A Walsh. A soldier in my father's war."
Sasha touches my face gently, her palm warm against my cheek. "You're more than that," she says with quiet certainty. "You always have been. That's why your father worries. He sees in you the potential to break free of the path he laid out—the strength to choose something different."
I cover her hand with mine, turning to press a kiss to her palm. "And if I'm not strong enough? If this life is all I'm capable of?"
"Then we face it together," she says simply. "But we both know that's not true. You're capable of so much more than violence and control, Marco. I've seen it, even if you haven't let yourself acknowledge it yet."
The faith in her voice—unshakable, despite everything she knows about me, everything she's witnessed—stuns me into momentary silence. This woman, who entered my world through violence and coercion, who has seen the darkest aspects of my nature, still believes there's something in me worth salvaging. Worth loving.
I pull her to me, burying my face in her hair, breathing in her scent like a drowning man gasping for air. She wraps her arms around me, holding me with a fierceness that matches my own.
"Whatever happens tomorrow," I murmur against her skin, "remember that everything I do is to keep you safe. To give us a chance at whatever this is becoming."
She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, her eyes bright with emotion. "Promise me you'll come back."
"I promise," I vow, sealing the words with a kiss.
The kiss begins slow, sensual, and deepens quickly, igniting a fierce hunger within me. My hand slides down her curves, slipping between her legs. Sasha gasps softly against my lips, but instead of pulling away, she grinds closer, silently begging for more.
My fingers tease her gently, feeling her heat through the fabric, until my need grows unbearable, my cock bulging almost painfully against my trousers. I trail my hands upward, cupping her breasts through her top, feeling her nipples harden beneath my touch. Impatiently, I grab both her wrists and raise her arms in the air. She hasn’t taken her eyes off me as I touch the hem of her jumper and pull her top off in one quick swipe. I toss the jumper aside. Sasha reached back and unclipped her bra, the material flowing to the floor. Her breasts bounce free, nipples hard and my cock twitches in my trousers.
Leaning down, I take one hardened nipple into my mouth, sucking deeply as my other hand rolls and pinches its twin.
She arches into me, moaning quietly. My cock throbs painfully again demanding release. Sasha hesitates suddenly, breathless, whispering, "Marco, what if someone comes in?"
I chuckle softly against her neck, planting a line of heated kisses along her throat. "You're the only one daring enough to barge into my office," I reassure her.
Unable to hold back any longer, I guide her gently to my desk, swiftly removing her trousers. Kneeling down in front of her, I hook my fingers into her panties, sliding them slowly down to her ankles. Still on my knees, I press kisses along her thighs until my mouth brushes her wet pussy softly, but the angle limits my access. Frustrated, I rise and sweep everything off my desk onto the floor with one quick motion.
Lifting her by her small waist, I prop her up on the edge of the cleared desk. Kneeling once more between her thighs, I lean in, my tongue sliding along her clit, tasting her arousal deeply. Sasha gasps sharply, her fingers tightening desperately in my hair, encouraging me to continue.
Her taste drives me wild. Gripping her thighs, I push her legs further apart so I can dip my tongue as deep inside her as she will allow. She cries out. Her fingers tightening in my hair, her nails scraping my scalp.
Fuck. She tastes so good. I want to fuck her so bad. I suck the swollen bud, her thighs clamp down either side of my face as I continue to suck and nibble on it.
Unable to wait, I stand abruptly, pulling her down from the desk, her gaze is wide but filled with lust as I spin her around, her ass cocked perfectly in the air as I bend her over my desk. Sasha braces herself as I open the buckle of my belt and drop my trousers and boxers freeing my cock.
I give it two painful strokes before I rise up on the tip of my toes and place it at her entrance. My cock slides in easily with how wet she is. I push into her entrance and thrust deeply, filling her entirely in one swift movement.
She cries out, gripping the desk tightly as I drive into her hard and fast, our bodies moving urgently together. Every thrust becomes more intense, claiming her completely, leaving no doubt that right now, she's mine alone.
She cries out as I drive into her, my movements becoming rough and uncontrolled.
Sasha's pussy tightens around my cock, gripping me intensely, and my balls tighten urgently. Knowing I'm close, I withdraw quickly, turning her around to face me.
"Take it in your mouth," I demand, voice ragged with lust. "I want to see you swallow me."
Sasha sinks immediately to her knees, eyes locked onto mine as I stroke my cock, only needing a few rapid movements before I erupt, my cream spilling across her face and into her waiting mouth. Watching her swallow, seeing my essence on her face, sends a surge of primal satisfaction through me like never before.
With her face still marked by me, I lift her effortlessly and place her back on the desk. She lies back willingly, spreading herself open to me, inviting me in. I plunge into her again, thrusting hard and deep until she cries out, her body shuddering violently as she climaxes around me.
Breathless and spent, we remain still for a moment, panting heavily. With my head against her chest, her heart beats wildly, and it makes me smile.
Slowly, I withdraw, pulling off my shirt and carefully cleaning between her legs and gently wiping the traces from her beautiful face. She takes the shirt that I extend to her in case I’ve missed something. Her cheeks are flushed, and a smile forms on her lips.
“Thank you.”
I pull on my boxers and trousers. “Thank you for the shirt or the mind-blowing sex?” I tease.
She giggles. “For both.”
Hearing her laugh has me pausing, and I step in, placing a kiss to her forehead.
I will protect what's mine. No matter the cost. No matter the consequences.
Even if it means standing against my father himself.