A Father's Protection
"You're not a failure, Dad. You didn't fail me," I said softly, meaning every word.
"And just so you know, I was very safe. Very protected at the Cincinnati's. I don't think you could have chosen a better family. They were good to me... everyone."
I paused, collecting my breath. "I can't bring myself to say anything bad about Mr and Mrs. Cincinnati. Not about Bella or Cyrus… even for what he said. I know he did it because I overstepped my boundary. But they were all nice to me. And even Cullen…"
My voice softened.
"He never tried to hurt me. He never raised his voice or his hand at me. He never made me feel unsafe."
"But still," my father cut in, his voice lined with pain, "he still tried to take you to an early grave."
"It wasn't him, Dad. It was me," I said quietly. "I was just… weak."
"No." His voice was sharp, demanding, but not unkind. "No! Look at me, sweetheart. You are not weak. You are not weak."
He stared at me, like he needed me to believe it. Like if he said it loud enough, I might finally hear it in my bones.
"Maybe I just didn’t prepare you well," he continued, voice lower now. "Maybe it’s all my fault. If I had been the kind of dad who was there for you, things would have turned out differently."
He took a breath, steady and full.
"So if you want to blame anyone," he said, "blame me. I’ll take it."
Before I could say another word, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close. It wasn’t even a decision, it was instinct, raw and real. He didn’t hesitate either. His arms went around me, firm and warm, and his chin rested gently on top of my head.
"You are my little angel," he whispered. "You will always be."
After a while, I lifted my head, still wrapped in my father’s arms, and asked quietly, “Dad, do you think there’s any way that my brothers and I could ever get along?”
He loosened his hold and pulled back just enough to look at me.
“I just think… things would be way better if they didn’t hate me., I added.
He exhaled slowly before releasing me completely. “I want that too, sweetie. I really would’ve loved that. But it’s not as easy as you think.”
His voice had softened, but there was weight in every word.
“You can’t just call your brother, tell him to apologise and then things go back to normal. It doesn’t work that way, not when you’re dealing with someone like Ronan.”
He looked down, shaking his head slightly. “That’s no way to deal with a psychopath. Because… that’s what your brother is. He’s a bad brother. But he is good at what he does. He’s good as a mafia leader. Ruthless, smart, calculated.”
Then his eyes met mine again, this time tinged with concern.
“And I just pray that he doesn’t do anything crazy when he gets married. I worry about that more than I’ll ever say out loud.”
There was a pause.
“I know it’s selfish,” he said after a moment. “Selfish to want to protect my daughter, while another man’s daughter has to marry him. But I can’t help it. You’re mine.”
I swallowed thickly, my heart tight.
“But,” he added, steadying his voice, “as I said before, even if I’m not here, even if I die today, I’ve put everything in place. Everything. To make sure you’re protected. To make sure no one, not even your brothers can touch you. Not even in my death.”
And for the first time in a long time, I believed him. Completely. Without a flicker of a doubt.
So I nodded, choosing to trust him. I’ve always trusted him. I know he’ll put me first, and he knows the world of the mafia better than I ever will. He knows how to protect me in ways I can’t even begin to imagine.
I mean, what are my options? Do I really believe Ronan is the kind of person I can someday sit down with, laugh with, and live out some perfect sibling fairytale? No. I don’t think so.
But this... this is my life now. My brothers may hate me. I may no longer be married. But I have my dad back. The love I’ve always craved, the protection I dreamed of as a little girl....it’s finally here. He’s finally in my corner.
And maybe, it’s time I stop running from it and let myself enjoy it. Let myself breathe in this moment.
After our talk in the garden, we went back inside. I took a warm bath, changed into something cosy and then headed down to my father’s study. He had taken it upon himself to teach me chess.
I wasn’t winning not even close and I still wasn’t entirely clear on all the rules, but I was making progress. Not that winning mattered to me. What mattered was him, watching him in his element, hearing the way he explained strategies like it was more than a game. Like it was war. Every piece on the board had a story, a purpose. He made it dramatic. I loved it.
We played until dinner was ready, shared another meal together like we’d promised we would, and then I returned to my bedroom.
I was just finishing up in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, going through my skincare routine, already dressed in my pyjamas As I walked out, I froze in place.
There was someone sitting on my bed.
My hand flew to my mouth, heart slamming in my chest. My eyes darted towards the bedroom door. It was closed.
How the hell did he get in?
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