All Chapters of Bought By The Irish Mafia Boss: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

ElenaI wake up before him. That’s new. For a moment, I don’t move. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, my body still wrapped in the warmth of sleep, my mind slower than usual, until everything comes rushing back.The gala. The bathroom. The gunshot. My chest tightens. And then, Him.I turn my head slightly. Cillian is still asleep beside me. Or as close to asleep as I think he ever gets.He’s on his back, one arm resting across his stomach, the other close enough that if I shifted just a little, I could tuck myself into him again. His face is calmer like this. The sharp edges softened. The tension is not completely gone, but quieter.He looks… human. It shouldn’t surprise me. It still does. Because I saw him last night. Not here. Not like this. I saw the man who walked back into this penthouse with blood on him that didn’t belong to him.The man who said, “I took care of it.” And I didn

ElenaIt’s been three days since the gala. Three days since the bathroom. Since the gunshot. Since I watched Cillian walk away from me and into something darker than I’ve ever fully seen, and somehow, everything feels… normal again. Or at least, it pretends to.I step out of the elevator and into the top floor of his building, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor. People glance up as I pass, some curious, some already recognizing me. That’s new. I don’t slow. I don’t hesitate because I’ve been here before. Because I know where I’m going. Because I belong here… Don’t I?The thought lingers longer than it should. I shake it off as I approach his office, barely sparing a glance at his assistant’s desk, empty. Strange. I knock once, but I don’t wait.I open the door. And stop. Everything inside me stills. She’s leaning over his desk. Close. Too close. Blonde. Beauti

CillianMy phone buzzes once. I ignore it. Declan keeps talking, something about numbers, shipments, restructuring routes, important. Normally, I’d be locked in. Normally, nothing breaks my focus. It buzzes again.Ronan exhales. “Answer it before you break the damn thing.”I glance down. Liam.That alone is enough to pull my attention. He doesn’t text unless it matters. I open it.“She wants to go out. Taking them to your club.”My jaw tightens instantly. A slow, controlled inhale fills my lungs. Then another.“She,” Ronan mutters, already reading the shift in my face. “That’ll be Elena.”I don’t answer. Because I’m reading the message again. She wants to go out. After everything. After the factory. After the gala. After someone put their hands on her in a bathroom less than three days ago.“She didn’t ask you, did she?” Decla

ElenaMy arms are shaking. Not visibly. Not enough for Liam to call it out. But I feel it. Every muscle tight, every movement just slightly slower than it should be as I raise my hands again, trying to keep my stance steady.“Again,” Liam says.Of course. I exhale slowly, adjusting my footing the way he showed me.“Center your weight,” he adds, stepping closer, his voice calm, controlled. “You’re leaning too far forward.”“I’m not…” I try to argue.“You are.”I shoot him a look. He doesn’t react. Of course he doesn’t. I huff a breath and shift slightly, resetting.“Better,” he says.I roll my eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”“No,” he replies flatly. “You’re just bad at it.”“Wow.” I let out.“Focus.” He replies.

CillianThe door to my office closes with a quiet click. Too quiet. Declan, Liam, and Ronan are already gone. I made sure of it. Sent them out without explanation, without hesitation. They didn’t question it. They never do. Now it’s just me. And her.Aoife stands near the desk, exactly where she always positions herself, composed, controlled, untouched by whatever tension fills the room.Except, there’s a mark on her cheek. Faint. But there. My jaw tightens. “Elena hit you.”Not a question. A statement. Aoife doesn’t react immediately. Of course she doesn’t. She takes her time, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve, like this conversation is just another item on a long list of things to handle.“Yes.” Calm. Simple. Clean. Too clean. I step further into the room. Slow. Measured. My gaze doesn’t leave her.“Why?”A beat. Then she says, “She lost control.”