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“I don’t,” I say flatly, cutting him off. “I thought that Gabriela, as she called herself, was a girl looking for a good time and that that’s what we had—something special, but short-lived. I didn’t come here looking for a wife, and I don’t plan to leave with one—especially not one who lied to me.”
“Be that as it may.” Ángel steps forward to stand next to his father, his voice curt and eyes narrowed. “You still bear some responsibility in this, Flanagan. You slept with my sister. You might not have known, but you still committed the act. You need to make this right—”
“I won’t force you to marry her,” Ricardo says tiredly, cutting his son off. “I can understand that you weren’t looking for a wife and that a marriage begun in lies is not one that can make anyone happy. I don’t wish to saddle you with grief in exchange for your help, nor do I wish to force Isabella on a man who will hate her. I’d thought Diego might treat her as something precious, considering her price, but—” His shoulders slump as he speaks. “I’ve been a fool. Bring my daughter back, Niall, so that I can get her to safety, and I will give you and the Kings anything you want in return. You can name your price.”
Fuck.I rub a hand over my mouth, feeling my own exhaustion threatening to take over. As cold as my response was, I don’t want Isabella hurt. What she did was reckless and foolish, but she doesn’t deserve what Diego will do to her. And as angry as I am with her, as much as I meant it when I said I don’t want to marry her—I can’t deny that I care for her.
Or at least—I care for the woman I thought she was, when she was Gabriela, and in my arms. I don’t know who Isabella Santiago is, but I have to believe that at least a part of her was telling me the truth. That not all of it was lies.
I don’t want a wife. I meant that, when I told Saoirse all those months ago that I didn’t care about marrying her. I’ve never cared about any of that bullshit. What would matter to me if I stayed with someone, loved them, would be that kind of fierce desire, that kind of soul-deep love that makes you want to do anything to keep the other person by your side. To keep them safe—all of them. Body and soul.
Isabella used me, and I’m bloody well furious about it. But underneath that anger—I still feel something for her. I can’t see a way forward for us, not on a foundation of so many lies. But I can’t walk out of this room and abandon her altogether, either.
“What will happen to her afterward, if I can bring her back to you?”
“I don’t know,” Ricardo admits. “Diego will not let her go easily, and he will retaliate if you manage to get her free. Having her here puts the rest of my family in danger, but I don’t know what else to do. No respectable or decent man of the cartels will have her as a wife after this. In the old days, I would have sent her to a convent, but—” he shrugs, clearly defeated. “They’re outlawed in Mexico. There is nowhere else for her to go but home.”
Fuck.Despite myself, despite my anger and exhaustion and utter disbelief that this entire situation has gone so remarkably fucking sideways, I’m impressed with Ricardo’s devotion to his daughter. There are a great many men—mafia, Bratva, Irish—that I’ve known who would have considered letting Diego keep Isabella in exchange for easing the threat of war a fair deal. Who would have killed their daughter themselves rather than let her bring such shame on a family, or not give a shit what happened to her so long as that stain didn’t linger. But it’s clear Ricardo will risk anything to see his daughter safe.
And as much as I want to walk out of that fucking door and go back to my life, leaving Mexico and this entire fucked-up job in the dust, I know I can’t abandon her.
I won’t be able to live with myself.
“I have contacts back in the States,” I say finally. “A priest named Father Donahue and a former man of the cloth, Maximilian Agosti. They may be able to help. With your permission, if I can rescue her, I’ll take her with me back home—or to New York, rather. They and our other allies can help to find a safe place for her.”
“Send her away?” Ángel frowns, looking at his father. “Away from the country? With strangers? I don’t know—”
“It’s better than Diego. And it’s better than keeping her here and putting your mother and your sister in graver danger still.” Ricardo looks at me and nods. “You will do this, then? Get her and take her to New York and find a place for her?”
I know I have no choice but to agree. Not if I want to ever be able to look at myself again and not hate the man I’ve become. I’ve made enough bad decisions in the past to fill a novel, but this time, I know what the right one is.
“Yeah,” I tell Ricardo, nodding. “I’ll get Isabella back. And I’ll get her to New York—and somewhere safe.”
