Loving the Ruthless Mafia Man

Pain

Chapter 9

Pain

Lia

Aunt Charlotte and Moira had one thing in common. They could talk for what felt like hours without taking a breath.

I felt at home with there presence, but I was exhausted.

I eventually managed to pull myself away from Aunt Charlotte’s warm insistence and Moira’s chatter, excusing myself to finally head to bed. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me after the day’s events, and I desperately needed to reset—to wake up tomorrow with a clearer mind and fresh eyes.

I wasn’t a fool. Something was going on, something bigger than just a casual family reunion.

My aunt and uncle had wanted me back here badly enough to send Aiden Kavanagh—the very man I had spent three years trying to avoid—to retrieve me.

That alone told me this wasn’t just about missing me.

Whatever it was, I needed to figure it out. And soon.

I wanted to get back to my life in LA and put as much distance as possible between myself and Aiden Kavanagh. Being back in Boston felt like stepping into a storm I wasn’t prepared for, and Aiden was at the center of it.

As I made my way to my bedroom, I thought about why I was needed back in Boston all of a sudden. There had to be something more than what they were telling me, and I wasn’t leaving until I knew the truth.

When I pushed open the door to my room, I wasn’t surprised to find it exactly as I had left it.

It was like stepping into a time capsule.

The familiar lilac walls, the vintage floral bedding, and the photos scattered across the dresser—all of it brought back a wave of nostalgia, but it also felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else. The girl who had lived here was long gone.

I took a deep breath, setting my bag down by the door. But before I could relax and lay down on my bed, Oliver stormed into the room and grabbed my wrist tightly. The same one that he had burned a few days ago, by ‘accident’.

I flinched as the searing pain shot through my wrist, his touch igniting the burn as if it were fresh all over again. I tried to pull my wrist free, but his grip tightened, and he rubbed the tender skin harshly, intensifying the agony.

“You’re making me do this, love,” Oliver said, his British accent thicker, almost mocking.

“I—”

“Do not speak until I’m done. Do you understand?” he interrupted, his voice sharp as his other hand grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him.

“Yes,” I whispered, hating the tremble in my voice.

The humiliation and pain coiled in my chest, tightening like a vice. Every instinct in me screamed to fight back, but I couldn’t.

Not now.

Not like this.

"Good," he said, releasing my wrist and stepping back just slightly. It wasn’t enough to give me real space, only a brief reprieve from the pain. “I love you, Lia. I just want you to be the good girl, I know you can be. You’ve changed and I just want to old you back.”

I stood there silently, willing myself to scream, to shout, to fight back. I wanted this man to suffer for everything he had done to me over the past few months. The anger burned in my chest, hot and suffocating.

It wasn’t my fault he had changed from the sweet, caring man I thought I’d known into the person standing in front of me. No, this was who he had probably always been, hidden behind a charming mask.

And yet, I couldn’t utter a word.

I knew this was happening for a reason, didn’t I? I deserved this.

I remembered everything I’d done that led to this moment, and I would never let myself forget it.

Blood pooled around my bare feet.

The cold, dark room felt like it was closing in on me.

I wanted to scream until my lungs burned.

I wanted out—

"Now, tell me. What the f**k is wrong with your family?" Oliver’s harsh voice broke through my thoughts, yanking me back to the present. His tone dripped with anger.

“They’re all a bunch of assholes. Your uncle is the worst of the lot. What’s his problem? I was acting civil and trying to connect with the damn man, and he’s speaking in f*****g riddles,” he spat.

I stayed silent, unsure of how to respond.

Oliver wasn’t finished. “That man is one of the richest in the country, and yet he never sent you more than rent money. I believe you are to blame for that. I wonder what you did… never mind. It doesn’t matter. I will win that bastard over and get that man, Aiden, kicked out in the process.”

The mention of Aiden’s name made me tilt my head, and before I could stop myself, I smirked.

The thought of Oliver even trying to “kick out” the head of the Irish mob—especially from his underboss’s house—was so absurd, I couldn’t help it.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed dangerously, flashing with hatred as he caught my expression. His grip tightened on my wrist again, sending another jolt of pain through me.

"What?" he demanded, his voice low and filled with venom.

I shook my head. “Nothing,” I murmured, keeping my voice low.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed, clearly not satisfied with my response. He stepped closer, and wrapped his free hand around my waist, his grip bruisingly tight.

The pressure sent a jolt of pain through me, but I bit my lip, refusing to react. I knew better than to show weakness. Weakness only made things worse with Oliver.

He was about to say something when a tall, commanding presence appeared in the doorway.

Aiden.

Oliver immediately dropped my wrist and took a step back. He looked nervous for a moment.

I turned my gaze to Aiden, my breath catching as his sharp, piercing eyes locked onto mine. His expression was unreadable at first, but then I saw it—something dark flashed through his emerald eyes as they flicked to my wrist.

Like he might have known what was going on before he stepped into the room.

“You will be sleeping in the guest wing,” Aiden stated coldly, not even sparing Oliver a glance.

A shiver ran down my spine at his words. The guest wing. The west wing of the house. The place that haunted my nightmares.

“I’ll be sharing Lia’s room,” Oliver replied firmly, his tone almost daring.

Aiden’s piercing gaze shifted to me as he responded, his voice calm but cutting. “Guests are not permitted to sleep in the family wing.”

“I’m Lia’s boyfriend,” Oliver shot back.

“You’re not her husband,” Aiden said flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I will be soon,” Oliver gritted out, his jaw tight with frustration.

Like I would marry him—or any man, for that matter.

“We’ll see about that,” Aiden said with a shrug, his tone as nonchalant as his smirk. “For now, you’ll be in the guest wing.” He gestured toward the door as Shane, one of his men, stepped into the room. “Shane here will be in charge of your… comfort.”

Oliver stiffened. “I’ll be comfortable here in this room.”

“Not according to Seamus,” Aiden countered, his smirk widening. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your future father-in-law, would you?”

Oliver’s gaze flickered between Aiden and me. I stayed silent, unsure of what to say—and not wanting to. The truth was, I didn’t want Oliver in my room. I wanted him as far away from me and my family as possible. The last thing I needed was for them to uncover the truth about my relationship with him.

“Fine,” Oliver finally grunted, his obsession with winning over my uncle too strong to argue further.

But before he turned to follow Shane, he pulled me to him roughly, his lips crashing against mine with such force that I knew I’d wake up with a bruised lip in the morning.

The metallic taste of blood hit my tongue as I wrenched myself free, my heart pounding with anger and humiliation. Oliver stalked off without another word, leaving me standing there with Aiden still watching.

His gaze burned into me, but he said nothing.

I felt more exposed than ever.

“Cordelia,” Aiden said, his voice calm as he made his way into my room. He stopped directly in front of me.

“Mr. Kavanagh,” I responded, my tone clipped.

His emerald eyes flashed with an emotion I couldn’t quite place, and for a moment, I felt pinned under his gaze.

Gently, he reached for my burned wrist, lifting it with surprising care. He examined it closely, his touch light but deliberate. My instinct was to pull away, but I forced myself to stay still.

“I suppose you wouldn’t tell the truth if I asked what happened to your wrist, would you?” he asked, his tone low, almost casual.

“I burned it while cooking,” I replied evenly, repeating the same excuse I’d given to everyone else who had asked over the last few days.

“Like I said,” he murmured.

I pulled my hand away, he let it go without resistance.

“What do you want, Mr. Kavanagh?” I asked, taking a deliberate step back, trying to regain some space—and control.

His eyes flicked to my wrist again before returning to meet mine. “You’ve changed,” he said, his voice heavy with meaning. “For the worst.”

The words hit harder than I expected, slicing through my defenses.

“f**k off, Aiden,” I snapped, the control I worked so hard to maintain around him shattering in an instant. Aiden had never truly understood me and maybe I hadn’t tried to understand him. He was a fantasy I had concocted in my head and then suffered the consequences when it had shattered.

He chuckled, low and dark, his lips curving into a small smirk as he leaned in close. His breath brushed against my ear as he whispered, “Maybe not, little butterfly.”

Before I could react, he gently touched my cheek, his fingers barely grazing my skin. But the sensation burned like fire, leaving an invisible mark that felt as if it would never fade.

He straightened, his eyes lingering on me for a moment before he turned and walked out of the room without another word.

I stood there, frozen, my chest tight with confusion and an ache I couldn’t quite name.

He always left me like this—confused, raw, and in pain.