Page 15 of Dangerously
“Because I have a proposition for you.” The elevator dings open on my floor.
“You could have just sent a message through March.”
“Yes, I could have, but I wanted to see you.” He holds open the elevator door. “Shall we?” he offers expectantly. As if I have any other choice.
Ronan is acting like the utmost gentleman, but I know it’s a farce. He is anything but gentlemanly. On the surface, he may have an endearing smile and smooth façade. I would even go so far as to call him roguishly handsome. But all that is his camouflage. Underneath it all, he’s a predator. A monster. A killer. The horror stories that preceded him are legendary. The grandson of one of the most notorious Irish gangsters of the twentieth century has thoroughly embraced the family legacy. He made a name for himself at a young age through intimidation, murder, and fear. It's why I’ve kept my distance all this time. I know which lines I shouldn’t cross and whose bed I should steer clear of. But Ronan is irritatingly persistent.
Pressing my thumb on the fingerprintpanel of the lock, the front door of my apartment clicks open.
Here goes everything.
Ronan follows me inside. He seems completely unruffled while all my senses are on high alert.
“Would you like a drink?” I offer as I head into the kitchen.
“Yes, very much so.” He spins around the living room inspecting the place. His expression communicates he likes the light, bright, open floor plan with the sweeping views of Manhattan's west side.
Placing my hat, sunglasses, and the poster tube concealing my rifle on the kitchen counter, I pull out two wine glasses and a bottle of my favorite Bordeaux.“Red okay?”
“I’m more a whiskey man, but red will do for now.” Ronan joins me in the kitchen.
I pour two glasses while he watches.
“Cheers.” He holds his glass up to mine.
“What are we cheers-ing to?” I am a desperate woman on a hunt for answers.
“Hopefully, a future partnership.”
I freeze from his response.Partnership?
Ronan reads my response. He smiles again. That movie-star smile that could captivate an entire Hollywood audience.
“Fallon.” His Boston accent slips through. “I wanted to present this to you right. Will you indulge me?”
I am at a total fucking loss. Morbid curiosity has me shaking my head yes, with the comfort of knowing I have firearms stashed all over my home. Chances are if he tries something, I’ll be within reaching distance of a gun.
Ronan takes a sip of wine as he pulls out his phone and presses a button.
“Hey, it's me. Bring it up.”
That’s all he says, and I go into defense mode.
“Bring what up?”
“You’ll see, beautiful.” He takes a step toward me, looking like he wants to devour me in one bite. Then he reaches out to touch me, and I flinch. It’s purely a reflex.
Ronan smirks, but he isn’t amused. He isn’t insulted either. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Before I can ask, “Then why are you here?”there’s a knock at my front door.
“May I?” he inquires.
I lift my hand, offering permission. I feel like I’m in the fucking twilight zone.
Ronan opens the door to three more men. Two in black suits, clearly bodyguards, and one short, stocky one with a thick mustache and white apron that looks like a chef.
“On the dining room table, please.”
