Chapter Thirty Nine: I'll Go

Ronan’s POV

The air in the room wrapped around me like a thick, smoky blanket, infused with the familiar scents of rich cigar smoke and aged whiskey—a concoction that felt grounding, almost familial. I leaned back in my leather chair, fingers playing absently with the cool glass in my hand, watching the amber liquid inside swirl with a lazy deliberation. It was a moment suspended in time, a brief interlude of stillness before the storm.

Then came the subtle creak of the door.

Luca stepped inside, his expression a mask of calm vigilance. He moved with a sense of purpose, setting a heavy duffle bag down on the sleek black table with practiced ease, the sound of the thud reverberating through the room's quiet tension.

“Here’s the goods, boss,” he declared, stepping back with a posture that screamed military precision—a habit he never seemed to shake off, even here.

I nodded slightly, not needing to peek into the bag. Trust wasn’t just given; it was earned, and I trusted Luca, as solid as