Page 45 of Dirty Legacy

No, I have to win this war, as fair as I can manage.

“She was beautiful.” Angie’s trembling against my side. She clings to me tightly. “You left her for me? What were you thinking?”

“Sinead Gallagher is a pale imitation of you, angel.” I pull her against my chest.

Angie breaks down. She’s probably been holding these tears in for a while now. She weeps into my chest and I scoop her into my arms. It kills me, watching her like this. A shell of a woman.

She deserves so much more.

To hell with anyone watching. Let them see me carry my wife to the stairs, up to her wing, and into our room. She sobs as I place her in the bed, comforting her the best I can, though I’m the source of all her pain.

“I’ll fix it, angel,” I say softly, stroking her hair, though I know she hates me, and I know her life’s in danger because of me, but I can’t change any of that now.

All I can do is win, protect the people I love, and make sure I don’t poison them even worse than I already have.

Angie’s too precious. She’s always been too perfect to me.

Now that I have her, I’ll die to keep her safe, but I won’t ever let my weakness drag her down to my level ever again.

12

ANGIE

I’m left alone that first night. I don’t know where Connor goes after he tucks me into bed and I don’t have the strength to figure it out. I spiral as I study the unfamiliar ceiling, thinking about those people down in front of the house, those men who clearly hate Connor even more than I do, and for good reason.

He betrayed them. He turned his back on a beautiful woman and left her at the altar.

He did it for me.

I wake feeling like I’m hungover. It’s strange, being in this enormous room all alone. I feel like I’m a tiny speck of dust and there’s a vast ocean all around me. I grew up in that small apartment my whole life and I’ve never known anything else, and now my bedroom is bigger than my old living room and kitchen put together and I don’t know what to do with myself.

I take my time getting out of bed. Worries grind into me: Mom all alone, Nadia probably wondering where I’ve been, what’ll happen with Connor, this war, Sinead, everything. I drag myself into the bathroom and face the mirror.

Why me? I’m pregnant, but why would he blow up his whole life for me?

I shower and find fresh clothes in the closet. They’re all designer and I have no idea where they came from. I pick the least obnoxious jeans and simple gray shirt I can find before trying the door, intent on getting some answers.

It’s unlocked.

Which is a surprise. I expected to be trapped. I slip into the hallway, listening to the deep quiet of the house around me.

How big is this place? The carpeting swallows any noise I make. I pause and look into the rooms as I pass, but most of them are empty. One has a piano, half covered in a cloth, and another has what looks like a bunch of oil painting materials, though the canvas looks brittle and I’m sure the paints are all dried up. Who lived here before Connor? Where did all this stuff come from?

I reach the end of the hall and the next set of double doors. I try it, and while the door opens, it immediately bumps into something on the other side.

“What the heck—“ I say, frowning, as I try to smash the door open with my shoulder.

“Apologies, Mrs. Maguire,” a man says on the other side. “But you’re hitting me in the head.”

“Oh, shit!” I back off, heart racing. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea⁠—“

An older man peers in through the crack. He’s got on black sunglasses and is rubbing the back of his skull. His hair’s shaved to stubble and his beard’s bushy. A gun’s tucked into a holster at his side.

“No worries, ma’am. My name’s Colm and I’m your bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” I gape at him, bewildered. “I didn’t know I had one of those.”

“You do now, ma’am.” Colm crosses his big, beefy arms over his chest. “What can I do for you?”