Page 59 of His Kidnapped Irish Mafia Virgin

“Yes, I do,” I said.

Her mother was already being loaded into another vehicle for treatment, surrounded by paramedics and O’Connor men who moved with care.

I placed Nora gently in the backseat of the lead car and climbed in beside her.

“Drive,” I said. The convoy pulled away from the building, leaving the ruined hideout behind us. Nora leaned back against the seat with her eyes half-closed, exhausted and shaken, but alive. I kept one hand over hers, feeling the faint warmth of her skin beneath my fingers.

For several minutes, neither of us spoke. The city lights blurred past the window as my mind worked through everything that had happened. Victor Hale had escaped. He’d slipped through my fingers. I should have killed him tonight.

I should have ended this before he could disappear into the darkness again. But when I looked at Nora, pale and exhausted beside me, I knew I’d made the only choice I could live with. I’d chosen her safety over my revenge.

And the hunt for Victor Hale had just begun.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Nora

A few days had passed since Liam brought me back to his house, and my body was finally beginning to believe that it was allowed to rest. My arm still hurt when I moved too quickly. The wound pulled sharply beneath the bandage whenever I reached for something or tried to lift my hand above my shoulder.

But it was no longer wild and frightening. I sat near the window with a blanket around my shoulders, watching the pale afternoon light stretch across the floor. The house was quiet in a way that felt different than before.

A cup of tea rested beside me on the small table. It had gone cold while I stared out the window, lost in thoughts I couldn’t untangle. I wrapped my fingers around the cup anyway, letting the cool ceramic ground me in the present.

I was alive. That still felt strange. Some nights, I woke suddenly with my heart racing, certain I was back in that locked room with Victor Hale somewhere beyond the door. I would reach for my injured arm and feel the clean bandage instead of the rough cloth he’d wrapped around it, and slowly the panic would fade.

Liam made sure I was cared for. Doctors came and went quietly, checking my wound and changing the bandage with careful hands. Paddy brought meals even when I said I wasn’t hungry, and Diggs lingered near the doorway whenever he thought I looked too pale.

No one said it out loud, but I could feel the protection around me. The house no longer felt like a place I was being hidden away in. The walls that had once seemed too close and guarded now felt solid and steady, like arms wrapped around me when I was too tired to stand on my own. I leaned back against the chair and closed my eyes for a moment.

For the first time in a long while, there was space inside me for something other than fear. I could feel the exhaustion, the grief, the anger, and the relief all sitting together in my chest.

It was still heavy and complicated, but no longer crushing me completely.

I didn’t know what would happen next. Victor Hale was still somewhere out there, and the thought of him hadn’t stopped haunting me. But I was no longer alone with that fear. Liam was here, my mother was alive…all was well.

***

I stood outside my mother’s room for several seconds before I found the courage to knock. My hand hovered near the door, trembling slightly, and I hated how difficult this simple moment felt.

I took a slow breath and knocked softly.

“Come in.”

The sound of her voice made my chest tighten. I opened the door carefully and stepped inside. She was sitting upright in bed, wrapped in a light blanket, with a book resting unopened on her lap.

The bruises on her face had begun to fade, but they hadn’t disappeared. She looked smaller than I remembered, weaker somehow, and the sight of her stole the anger from my lips before I could speak. For a moment, neither of us said anything.

My mother looked at me with uncertain eyes, like she was afraid I might turn around and leave before she had the chance to say a word. I stayed near the doorway, holding my injured arm close to my body while the silence stretched between us.

“You’re healing,” she said finally, her voice soft.

I nodded. “So are you.”

A faint, tired smile touched her lips, but it disappeared almost immediately.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I suppose I am.”

I moved a little farther into the room, though every step felt heavy with years of things we’d never said to each other. The distance between us was only a few feet, but it felt much larger, filled with memories, disappointments, and hurt that neither of us knew how to cross.