Page 115 of Stolen Rebel

It takes us fifteen minutes to reach jump altitude. I hook us together and shuffle us over to the open door.

“Last chance,” I shout in Rowan’s ear.

“I’m ready,” she shouts back.

With a soft kiss on the back of her neck, I jump.

Adrenaline rushes through me as the wind whistles past. It’s too noisy to talk during freefall, but I use the hand signals I taught Rowan on the ground to communicate with her. She sticks her thumbs up to let me know she’s understood.

Around fifty seconds after jumping out of the plane, I deploy the parachute. The noise level drops significantly, allowing me to talk to Rowan for the first time.

“Doing okay there, Rebel?”

“It’s incredible. Incredible. I want to do it again.”

I laugh. “Let’s get down to the ground first. Just enjoy the view.”

As the ground approaches, I flare the parachute to slow our forward motion. “Lift your legs, mo rún.”

She does, and I take us into a sliding touchdown. I immediately unhook the four main anchor points and help Rowan to her feet. Her knees buckle, and she grabs on to me.

“Steady. That’ll be the adrenaline.”

Her cheeks are a bright red from the wind, and her eyes are shining. “That was the best experience of my life. I’m hooked. Hooked. When can we do it again?”

I chuckle. “Look at you, my little Rebel.”

“I mean it. I could do that every single day for the rest of my life.” She spins around, dancing among the grass, arms splayed wide and her face turned up to the sun. My heart damn near punches through my chest. She’s magnificent, beautiful, smart, funny. My Rebel. My woman. Mo rún.

I unzip one of the pockets on my suit and feel inside for the ring. Rowan’s still facing away from me when I open the box and drop to one knee, holding it in front of me. When she turns around, it takes her a moment to absorb what her eyes are telling her. Both hands fly up to cover her mouth and a muffled “Oh, my God” comes out.

“Rowan Byrne, you’re my heart, my soul, my one true love. I have many faults, but being with you makes me want to try to be a better man. One thing I can guarantee is that I will never stop trying to be the man you deserve. So, all that said… will you marry me?”

Her knees hit the ground, tears streaming down her face. Could be from the wind, but I don’t think they are. “Yes, yes, I’ll marry you.”

I slide the ring onto her finger and pull her into my arms, kissing her. She’s mine. All mine. And no one will ever separate us again.

Chapter 52

DARRAGH

Friends are fucking useless.

Two days ago, my buddy Shane and I landed in Italy for some much needed R & R, and he’s gone down with some kind of stomach bug. I told him he shouldn’t have eaten those prawns last night, but he didn’t listen, and now I’ve lost my wingman, which has left me a bit exposed. Not that I can’t handle myself. I can. But I’m here for a holiday, not mafia business.

That won’t stop the Santoros, Italy’s top mafia family, from being suspicious, though. By now, every Santoro in the country will know I’m here, and they’ll have eyes on my every move.

I stroll through the streets of Milan, scanning for a bar. Not just any bar. The right kind of bar. One with a vibe: good music, good liquor, not-so-good women. The bad ones are far more fun.

A thumping beat drifts down the street. I round the corner, and there it is, my entertainment for the night. The place is so packed that customers spill out onto the street, glasses in hand, smoking cigarettes and embracing life.

I grin. Perfect.

Sidling through the crowd, I finally reach the bar. The bartender clocks me and dips his chin in acknowledgment. It’s another few minutes before I get served. I order a large gin and tonic then spin to face the room. A DJ plays tunes from a makeshift stage, and bodies crowd the dance floor, although it’s more a space where tables and chairs have been pushed to the side.

The bartender taps me on the shoulder. I pivot, pay him and pick up my drink, turning around again.

The place is bursting with stunning women, but it’s one in particular that catches my eye. Hair so dark it could be black hangs in glossy straight lines down her back, long eyelashes framing brown eyes, but it’s the gold dress that clings to every single one of her ample curves that has my dick standing to attention.