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“Max is fine. I’m no longer a man of the cloth, regretful as that might be, and I don’t think we need to be so formal. Unless you’d prefer Ms. Santiago—or Mrs. Flanagan?” His eyes catch mine knowingly, and I flush.
“You don’t need to be cruel.”
“I don’t mean to be,” Max says. “There’s a great many powerful men in this world, Isabella, even just between here and Boston. The Bratva, the Mafia, the Irish Kings. They all want a piece of the wealth and power that this world affords them, and yes, if it came to that, my loyalty would be with Viktor. But when it comes to a situation like this, I’m truly here to make sure that you are alright, Isabella, as I’ve done for other women in these families in such a position. That, if anything, is the work I’ve done.”
“So this is like confession?” I ask suspiciously. “Or therapy?”
“Call it penance, for me,” Max says with a reassuring smile. “Or just a listening ear, for you. Do you want to go to Boston with Niall?”
The question hits me abruptly, and I almost flinch. “You’re the second person so far today to hint that I shouldn’t. Is there something I don’t know?”
“The Kings are in a—transitory period,” Max says hesitantly. “It’s nothing that should affect you, not really. But I’m aware of Niall’s intent to end your marriage, once you’re safely provided for.”
“He still plans to be a father to our baby,” I say defensively, and Max gives me that same smile again.
“Of course. But you will be living alone. Niall is close with one of the brothers who leads the Kings, but his wife has recently given birth, and I have no idea how available she might be to give you support. The other brother, well—” Max purses his lips. “I would not expect much from him or his wife, in regards to anything to do with Niall.”
“I know a little about a woman—before,” I say hesitantly.
“Then you know all you need to about that. Isabella, Caterina has asked for you to be allowed to stay here with her, so she can help you. It’s not only her, either. Her close friend, Sofia, would gladly help you. Sasha is here, too. You would have a support system here, women willing to befriend and give you any advice or emotional support that you need. I know this is a difficult time for you, and maybe it would be better—”
“But I wouldn’t have Niall.” The words come out sharply, and I catch a hint of unwanted sympathy in Max’s gaze. “My baby’sfather.”
“It’s not far from Boston to New York,” Max says carefully. “He could—”
“He wants me to come to Boston.” I shake my head. “Caterina already mentioned this, not five minutes before you all came home. And I told her the same thing. I trust what Niall thinks is best for me and forourbaby. I don’t know any of you.”
“And you know him?” Max looks at me, his hazel eyes intense, and I feel my stomach twisting at the look on his face. I don’t want to be pitied.
“Better than I know you, or Caterina, or this Sofia who I haven’t even met yet. I appreciate it, really—but I’m going to go with Niall. And that’s my decision.” I say it as firmly as I can, hating the emotional quaver in my voice. I can’t help but wonder if Niall put them all up to this, as a way of putting distance between us while still keeping me close enough for him to see his child occasionally. It’s the first time I’ve ever doubted him, and I hate myself for it, as well as everyone in this room for putting the idea into my head. But it’s still there, lingering.
“Of course,” Max says smoothly, standing as I do. “And we all respect your choice, Isabella. I’ll be in Boston from time to time, and I’ll check in on you.”
“You don’t have to put yourself out,” I say stiffly, and he gives me that same warm smile.
“It’s really no trouble. I miss caring for my flock. The best part of the priesthood, in my opinion. I still try to help where I can.” He steps back, letting me pass, except I don’t really know where I’m going. Every instinct in my body draws me to Niall, but everything he’s done since walking into the room tells me that he doesn’t want me at his side.
Niall’s blue eyes meet mine as I approach hesitantly, his face tense. “We need to leave shortly,” he tells me, his voice still flat. “The plane to Boston will be leaving soon. It won’t take long to get home.”
He turns away from me then, saying something to Viktor. It feels like a dismissal, and I stand there, feeling as if my knees might give way underneath me.
Home,he called our destination. But it’s not my home.
And it very much feels as if it might never be.
—
The plane is waiting for us at a private hangar, ostensibly fueled and ready to go. Viktor offered Niall the use of his driver, which Niall accepted, and after we said our goodbyes and thank-yous for their hospitality, the town car took us to the hangar, where the jet was waiting.
We have no luggage, so Niall just opens my door for me, letting me get out before shutting it and quickly walking a few paces ahead of me to the plane. My stomach sinks a little, although I don’t know what I’d expected—surely not for him to walk hand in hand with me to our flight. I know better, and yet, the disappointment is still there.
As we step onto the plane, all my emotions are briefly forgotten as I get my first look at what it’s like to travel by private jet. It’s beautiful—clean, spacious and luxurious, with wide comfortable seats in a rich brown leather, soft-looking throw blankets folded on every seat, flowers in small vases tucked in the walls and tables between the seating. The carpet is plush beneath my flats, and it smells like lavender.
Niall glances back at me, and I see a small smile twitch at the corner of his lips—the first time I’ve seen him come close to smiling since we arrived. “This isn’t your first time on a private plane, is it?”
I flush a little. “It is,” I admit, following him further down the aisle. “My father had one, of course, but only he used it. We never went anywhere—he was too afraid of something happening. Someone finding us and harming me or Elena. He kept us in the mansion as much as possible.”
“Well, enjoy it,” Niall says, glancing around. “I don’t imagine you’ll have too many more opportunities, if any, to do it again.” He nods towards a piece of thick, creamy-looking paper printed with rich black script laying on each table, which I can see as we get closer is a menu. “Feel free to order whatever you want, make yourself comfortable. There should be a little travel set near each seat—face masks, headphones, that sort of thing. There’s tablets for movies, all of that. The flight is short, but I’m sure you can make it enjoyable.”
