Declan (The Irish Consortium)

Chapter 1

Declan

T he air smells like money and power, but beneath that sheen of affluence is something far darker—a hunger, not for food or drink, but for control. You can taste it on your tongue, feel it in the way every gaze lingers a little too long, in the soft, polite conversations dripping with ulterior motives. And I’m supposed to choose a wife in this room. The thought alone makes me want to burn the whole place down.

Tonight isn’t just another gathering. It’s a fucking meat market, where the currency is bloodlines, loyalty, and obedience. And I’m expected to pick out a wife like I’m choosing a goddamn suit.

“Declan,” Kian’s voice, smooth and full of mock seriousness, cuts through my thoughts. He leans casually against the bar, arms crossed, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “See anything you like?”

Connor snorts, nudging Kian with his elbow. “Give him a break. The man’s just warming up. Gotta inspect the merchandise thoroughly, right, big brother?”

“Fuck off, Connor,” I mutter, scanning the room. They both chuckle, but I barely hear it. My eyes are fixed on the Morelli sisters, the ones I’m here to see, to choose from.

Before I stepped into this meat market of a party, I did my homework. Kian and Connor dug deep into these women’s lives, unearthing everything from their high school drama to their social media posts.

I know more about them than I ever cared to, but trust? That’s something I don’t hand out, especially not when it comes to Giovanni Morelli. The man is a snake, willing to do whatever it takes to claw his way up the power ladder, no matter who he steps on to get there.

And lately, the Morellis have been slipping, losing their grip on the docks—my docks. That shit isn’t going to fly.

The docks have been divided for years. Ten years ago, to be exact. A third for the Koslovs, a third for the Morellis, and the last piece for the Irish Consortium. It’s an uneasy peace, at best. But the Russians? They were never satisfied.

They wanted more, and that’s when the Dark Wars began. Explosions and fires tearing apart our docks, warehouses reduced to ash, and bodies fishing up in the river like trash.

My father led us through it—two years of bloodshed, with me, Kian, and Connor right by his side.

When the Koslovs shot our father, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t hesitate. I knew what had to be done. If you had even a whisper of association with the Koslovs, you were a dead man.

We turned the river red with their blood, one body at a time. Eventually, they retreated to the underground, and for years, there has been silence. No more Koslovs in the streets. No more bombs. Until two years ago, when they started creeping out of their holes again.

And now Giovanni’s feeling the pressure. His business is crumbling, his men too weak to hold the line. He pays us for every export, relying on our security to keep his docks intact. He needs us more than ever, but even knowing he needs us, the last thing I will ever is trust him? I’d sooner trust a starving wolf.

Then, out of nowhere, Giovanni makes a proposition. Marry one of his daughters.

Family ties, protection for him and his clan, and in exchange, I get the rest of his dock. With the Russians’ share already under our control, that would give the Irish Consortium complete dominance. Nothing would move in or out of the city without us knowing—without my say.

Giovanni came to me months ago, practically begging, tired of watching the Russians tear his business apart.

His desperation is clear. It’s a strange deal to marry for business, but my heart’s been locked up tight for years. Love? Feelings? That shit died with Elva. The only thing I need from a woman is a way to burn off steam.

But this? This is control. This is power. And that’s all I care about. My mansion’s big enough that I can live with a wife and not see her for weeks. So, I’ll take the deal. I’ll take the girl. But love? That’s not part of the equation.

All I need is a wife on paper and an iron grip on the docks.

Connor nudges my elbow, his eyes tilt, and there they are: Silvana and Bruna. They’re doing exactly what’s expected of them, playing the part of perfect, submissive daughters. Long dresses, high heels, sweet smiles. They’re like perfectly wrapped gifts—shiny on the outside, hollow on the inside. Predictable. Boring.

Silvana, the oldest, has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a beautiful, perfect face with just enough makeup to look elegant but natural. Every fella in this room looks at her with a smile; she’s fucking perfect. Her voice is soft, barely a whisper, always making little touches to the people she talks to. She sees me staring; her pink lips part into a smile. I just nod and lift my glass.

Her smile falters for a second, her face blushing. Bollocks. She’d break in a day.

On the other side of the room, standing as if she owned it, is Bruna Morelli. The youngest of the Morelli sisters, she is draped in a dress that clings to every perfect curve, her long legs on display like some kind of prize. Her honey-blonde hair falls in soft waves, catching the light just right, and those hazel eyes are sharp, calculating beneath the facade of sweetness. She has perfect skin and a perfect smile. She can melt ice with that smile, but I see through the act.

She smiles at me, too, just like her older sister. They’re playing their roles to perfection, every move calculated, like actresses gunning for an Oscar. Giovanni trained them well, no doubt.

Don’t get me wrong; they’re beautiful. Fun, maybe. But nothing more. They’re flawless in every sense of the word. But the thought of spending more than twenty-four hours with either of them? I’d be bored out of my mind. And boredom? That’s something I don’t have patience for, not in this life, not with everything at stake.

I need more than that. I need fire, something that’ll push me, that’ll challenge me in ways that won’t feel like I’m just going through the motions. And that? That’s not going to come from someone who answers questions like a trained parrot. It’s not going to come from some perfect little princess who thinks her role is to sit there and look pretty. That’s not what I’m after. Not anymore.

Then there is her.

Viviana Morelli. She leans against the bar, legs crossed at the ankle, swirling a drink in her hand like she’s daring the room to judge her. Her short black dress clings to her curves edged with gothic lace that catches the light. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t mingle, and doesn’t even bother pretending she cares about the whispers or stares.

She doesn’t belong here. At least, not in the way everyone else does. While the others play their parts, all prim and proper, Viviana doesn’t waste her time. She stands out because she doesn’t need to try.

The others are here because they want to be because their fathers dragged them into this world, a world they’ve been trained for since

they could walk. Viviana? She’s here because she was forced to be. And that’s dangerous. That makes her interesting.

When a server approaches with a tray of champagne, she waves him off with a flick of her wrist, her lips curving into something closer to a sneer. She doesn’t bother with the charade and doesn’t offer a single smile. Instead, she’s at the bar, tossing back drinks like she doesn’t give a shit whose attention she catches or whose wrath she provokes.

That’s the kind of attitude that pulls at me. It’s reckless. It’s untamed. The kind of woman who doesn’t need anyone, who could burn everything to the ground just to prove a point. And I’ll be damned if that doesn’t intrigue me.

Kian follows my gaze, his smirk widening like he’s figured something out before I have. “Well, well. The wild one herself. Never thought you had it in you, Declan.”

“I’m just looking, Kian,” I mutter, my voice flat, even as a small, almost imperceptible smile touches the corners of my lips. He knows me too well, knows how much I enjoy poking the bear, even when I’m pretending not to care. “Not like the other two are much of a challenge. I’d break ’em in half just by giving’ ’em a look.”

Connor raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Careful, Declan. That one’s got claws.”

I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I watch Viviana throw back another drink, her olive eyes scanning the room with a look that is equal parts boredom and contempt. She doesn’t belong in the crowd of sycophants, but she doesn’t seem to care either way. She’s a problem, a challenge, the kind of woman who’d rather set the world on fire than be told what to do.

Perfect.

“Maybe,” a slow grin spreads across my face as I size her up.

Kian shakes his head, chuckling. “Ah, always the bleeding’ masochist, aren’t ya? Sure, you know she won’t make it easy on you.”

“I’d be disappointed if she did.” I push off the wall, adjusting the cuffs of my suit shirt. “Besides, taming her isn’t the point. It’s about showing a Morelli that no matter how hard they fight, their fate belongs to me.”

Connor leans in, his voice low and teasing. “Just remember, big bro, if she bites, don’t be coming’ crawling’ to me for help.”

“I won’t be the one crawling’,” I say, making my way to the far side of the room. I drop into an empty chair, and my brothers stand beside me. The fact they just stand there drives me fuckin’ mental. On the outside, I’m the boss, but the truth is, we’re all equals. Still, they love playing the part for appearances, even if it’s just to get under my skin.

Kian nods, and Silvana comes. She sits perfectly straight, a sweet smile on her lips, her legs crossed, and her hands resting on top of them.

“How is your night going, Mr. Callaghan?” Her voice is soft and formal. I look up at Kian, his eyes locked on hers. Fuck, he’s even worse than I am, but she doesn’t meet his eyes; she doesn’t even acknowledge my brother’s.

“Calm,” I answered coldly, not taking my eyes off hers. Finally, she blushes and looks down. There it is; she’s uncomfortable. That was the reaction I was expecting.

“Silvana, how do you see your role in this marriage?” I ask. This is the first time I’m talking with any of them, and I try my best not to sound too aggressive, but by the look in her eyes, I’m not doing a good job.

She shifts on her seat, her gaze now locked on mine again, and with a confident smile, she answers, “My role is to be here for you; I know my place in this.” She pauses for a second, almost like she’s rehearsing the words. “Business arrangement: I will only speak when spoken to and will only be present when my presence is requested.” She finishes with a triumphant nod.

Fucking hell, it’s worse than that damn Miss Universe show our mother used to watch. It’s so mechanical, so rehearsed, it’s almost comical.

“Thank you, Silvana,” I nod, my eyes still locked on her, her face turning red and her breathing increasing. “You can go, Silvana.” She gets up slowly with a smile and leaves, walking slowly, making sure her hips swing sensually in her high heels like she’s on some kind of runway.

“She’s hot as fuck,” Connor bends to my ear, “Too bad she’s a fucking robot,” he adds with a chuckle, and he’s right. She talks like one, too. No spark, no edge.

Kian clears his throat as Bruna approaches. “Hello, Mr. Callaghan.” Her voice is shakier than her sister’s; she’s way too young for someone like me, still playing at being a woman, a little girl trapped in her father’s plans.

“How are you, Bruna?” I ask as she sits, straight as a board, hair on one side, her eyes only focusing on me.

“I’m good, thank you.” Her eyes travel to my hands, and the ink in them makes her eyes narrow slightly. I guess she didn’t know about them. I prevent my lips from curling up at how scared she’s starting to look.

She’s twenty-two years old, and she looks and acts like it, even with all the training Giovanni probably put her through. Her age shows in the way she holds herself and in the way her words come out. She’s playing at this life, but she doesn’t have what it takes. Not yet.

“Bruna, how do you see your role in this marriage?” The same question. If I’m right, her answer will be just like her sister’s. It’s a script they’ve both memorized, a role they’ve been trained for.

Her face blushes as I lean closer, my arm resting on my legs. Her breathing increases, and her eyes drop. She swallows, and finally, she speaks with a voice as sweet as Silvana’s.

“My role is to be an obedient wife and be present only when you request.” There it is, the same fucking answer. It takes all my strength not to roll my eyes like a schoolgirl.

“Good to know, Bruna,” I say, deadpan. “You can go.” There’s no use keeping her here; the girl looks like she might have a panic attack at any second. She gets up quickly, straightens her dress, and walks—almost running—to Silvana.

“I think Giovanni gave them a fuckin’ script,” Kian chuckles.

“He probably did,” I mutter, though I don’t need to ask any more questions. I already know the answers will be perfect. Too perfect. The kind of perfect that makes you wonder what’s really going on behind those polished smiles. But I’ve got bigger things to worry about than their rehearsed responses.

Connor taps my shoulder, his eyes glinting with something between mischief and challenge as Viviana walks in, looking like she’s the one in charge. No fawning over anyone, no pretending. She moves through the room with the kind of grace that makes everyone else seem like amateurs.

She smiles, but it’s not the kind of smile the other girls give. Hers is more of a mocking grin, one that says she knows exactly what everyone’s thinking, and she’s already a step ahead of them. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, whisky still in hand like she’s daring someone to cross her.

“I’m guessing’ she didn’t get the same script as the others,” Kian whispers beside me, clearly amused.

“Doesn’t look like it,” I reply, my voice low but sharp. Viviana has that wild energy that looks and says she’s not here to play by the rules. And that’s exactly what catches my attention. Not her beauty, not her dress, but the fact that she stands apart from everyone else.

“Declan, Connor, Kian,” she greets us with a nod as she sits down. Viviana’s the first to use our first names, the first to acknowledge all of us like we’re not just some distant figures in her world. I can’t help but take her in, eyeing her from head to toe.

She’s a right vixen. That sharp, knowing look in her eye, the way she carries herself, it’s different from her sisters. She’s not pretending to be anyone’s angel. No, Viviana Morelli doesn’t wear a mask. She is who she is, and I respect that in a twisted way.

“How’s the night, Viviana?” I lean in a little closer, crossing my legs and catching her gaze. The way she looks back at me, there’s no hint of fear, no sign that she’s impressed or intimidated. She’s here to make sure the game is hers to win—or destroy.

“Could be better,” she smirks, leaning back in her chair, crossing her legs with slow, deliberate movements. Her eyes size us up, not in the way someone would if they were nervous or calculating, but more like she’s inspecting a broken toy, waiting to see if it’s worth her time. She takes a slow sip of her drink, never breaking eye contact.

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. She’s got the kind of confidence that could bring down a kingdom if she felt like it. And it’s not arrogance; it’s pure defiance. Viviana doesn’t care about playing the game. She’s here to burn it down, and for the first time tonight, I find myself hoping she’ll make things interesting.

“Viviana, how do you see your role in this marriage?” I repeat the same question, my voice is a little sharper than I meant it to be.

She pauses, narrowing her eyes at me like she’s studying me for the first time. “My role?” Her tone is sharp and challenging. “I don’t have a role in anything, Declan. But if I did,” she leans in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper as she almost smirks, “it would be to make your life…” She drags the words out, her gaze flicking over me from head to toe with an unmistakable edge. “Less enjoyable.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and I can’t help but let out a low chuckle. She’s got fire, that’s for sure. No woman’s ever spoken to me like that. No women ever dared to.

Viviana leans back again, clearly satisfied with the reaction she’s gotten from me. “Let’s be honest, Declan. I’m the last person you would want as a wife, so let’s stop playing games and just choose Silvana. That way I can go home, watch some Netflix, and spare us all the drama.” She rolls her eyes dramatically as she finishes the last of her whisky like she’s done with this entire farce.

I can’t help but laugh, even though I know it’s not a situation for humour. “You don’t see yourself getting married?” I ask, curious now, knowing this is going to be even more entertaining than I’d first thought.

Her eyes sparkle with amusement, and she crosses her legs to the other side, shifting her focus toward Connor. The move is subtle, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. Connor shifts just an inch, and Viviana notices.

Her smile widens, and she locks eyes with him, her gaze calculating. “To you? Nope.” She doesn’t even glance at me when she answers, and the indifference in her tone only stirs something in me.

“But, to him?” She points directly at Connor. “Maybe.” She blinks slowly, and I see the red creeping up Connor’s neck. He’s blushing, trying his best to seem in control, but with Viviana? She’d bloody well destroy him. He doesn’t know how to handle a woman like her, and it’s almost too easy to see it.

“Interesting,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest as I study her. I’m not even sure what I’m thinking anymore. I’ve got a thousand thoughts running through my head. She’s dangerous and unpredictable, and I think she knows it.

“You can go,” I say, my voice suddenly cold and sharp. I don’t want her hanging around anymore. Not because I’m scared but because I don’t want her messing with Connor any longer. He’s close to crumbling under her gaze.

“See you later,” Viviana says, but she’s not speaking to me. It’s directed at Connor, her tone playful, mocking. Smart ass. If I pick her, Connor’s going to need to toughen up—quick.

Kian’s grin is already stretched across his face, that smug look telling me he noticed everything I just did. “Enjoying yourself, Connor?” he asks, his voice dripping with amusement.

“Fuck off, Kian,” Connor mutters, glancing over his shoulder one last time at Viviana as she heads back to the bar, that same damn smirk plastered on her face. She’s got him wrapped around her little finger, and I don’t even think she realizes it.

“She’s interesting,” I add, more to myself than to anyone else, but I know they’re both listening.

Connor chuckles beside me, more composed now that she’s gone, crossing his arms. “Interesting? More like a fuckin’ headache. You sure you know what you’re at?”

I shoot him a look, one that’s half amusement and half annoyance. “I always know what I’m at. And if I don’t, I’ve got you two eejits to remind me, right?” I rumble with amusement, though I’m not entirely sure I want them involved in this decision.

“Come on,” I say, nodding toward the middle of the room, where Giovanni Morelli sits like a king in his domain, eager to hear which daughter will be sacrificed tonight. “Time to make this official.”

We move together, a united front, cutting through the crowd like a blade. People part for us without a word, their heads lowering as if they can feel the weight of the decision I am about to make. We are used to this, commanding attention and taking control. It’s what we do.

Giovanni looks up as we approach, trying to hide the nervous flicker in his eyes. He greets us with a tight smile, his voice steady but forced. “Boy,” he grins out like he’s trying to prove some kind of authority. Who the fuck is he calling “boy”? “I trust the evening has been… enjoyable?”

“Enjoyable enough,” I say, letting the sarcasm drip from my words. I’m not here for pleasantries. “Let’s get this done.”

His composure falters for a moment, the desperation creeping into his eyes despite his best efforts. He motions toward a private room, the kind of place where deals are made and lives are decided. Dark wood, heavy curtains, the smell of cigars so thick it can choke a man.

We step inside, Giovanni taking his seat at the head of the table, gesturing for us to sit. But we don’t. We stand, looming over him as he tries to maintain his cool.

“I assume you’ve met my daughters, Bruna and Silvana,” Giovanni says, his voice too smooth, too calculated. “They are eager for this opportunity.”

He never mentions Viviana, like she doesn’t even exist. I exchange a look with Kian. This is going to be even more interesting than I anticipated.

“They’re perfect,” I say with a sly smile. “No doubt about that.”

Giovanni’s smile widens, but there’s something behind it, something dark, desperate. “Not just beautiful but smart too. They would be an asset to you, Declan. A strong ally.”

He isn’t wrong. Bruna or Silvana would make perfect wives. The kind who’d sit quietly by my side at meetings, play the part, and smile when told. They are beautiful, obedient, and born into the right family. And yet, they bored the bollocks out of me.

There’s no spark, no fire. They’re pieces on a chessboard meant to be moved, arranged, and presented. That’s not the kind of woman I need at my side. I need someone with a bite, someone who can handle herself, someone who could challenge me.

Then there is Viviana.

She is the wild card, the one who doesn’t fit into Giovanni’s neat little box. She is the one who fought in bars, drank all night, and gave a middle finger to Nolan Keeffe during a gathering when she caught him staring. Viviana was everything her father didn’t want in a wife for me—and that’s why I can’t take my eyes off her.

“I’ve made my decision,” I say, my voice cutting through the tension in the room. Giovanni’s face lights up like a Christmas tree until I add, “Viviana.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Giovanni’s face drains of colour, his mouth hanging open for a second too long before he recovers. “Viviana?” Giovanni’s voice trembles, an edge of panic creeping in. “Are you sure, Declan? She’s… not like her sisters.”

“No, she isn’t,” I agree, folding my arms across my chest and watching him unravel in front of me.

Giovanni shoots up from his seat, pacing back and forth like a man whose entire world is crashing down. His hand runs through his hair in a wild gesture, frustration bubbling up in every step. “You can’t!” he spat, his face turning redder with every passing second. “Not Viviana. She is not a part of this.”

The shift in him is almost comical. He’s losing his cool, unravelling in front of me, and I haven’t even had to do much. It’s like he was so sure I’d pick one of his obedient daughters that he never once considered the possibility of Viviana. He didn’t count on this. Kian and Connor exchange glances, both of them surprised by the outburst, and in a way, so am I.

Giovanni doesn’t like Viviana as much as his two other daughters; everyone knows that. She’d moved out of the family mansion years ago, only showing up for events when necessary. So why is he so goddamn bothered by this?

“It’s decided,” Kian says, stepping forward, his voice like iron. “Viviana Morelli will join the Callaghan family.”

Giovanni glares, his jaw clenched so tightly I can hear his teeth grinding. “She is not a part of the deal,” he repeats, his voice lower, more aggressive now, losing what little composure he had left.

I step forward, letting my arms fall to my sides, my muscles tightening.

Who the fuck does he think he is?

“Be careful with your tone, Giovanni,” I warn him. “The deal is to marry one of your daughters, and I am free to choose any of them. The last time I checked, Viviana is your daughter.” I say the last words slowly, anger simmering in my voice.

He isn’t stupid. He knows better than to argue with me. If he tried, he’d get his ass handed to him. He knows the game I play. He knows who I am.

I walk toward Giovanni, leaning in just enough to make sure he understands there is no room for negotiation. “Viviana or nothing, Giovanni.”

He clenches his fists, visibly shaken, before he finally relents. “Fine,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and defeated.

We leave Giovanni’s office, stepping back into the room where the party continues, drinks flowing and conversations buzzing. But beneath the surface, the tension is palpable. Bruna and Silvana are visibly restless; Bruna’s fingers keep twitching at the seams of her dress, while Silvana’s flushed face betrays her nerves as she chews her lower lip.

Both of them are keyed up, their anxiety showing from a distance, and I can’t say I blame them. They both knew this was a possibility, but seeing it unfold like this? It must be a shock to the system.

But Viviana?

She’s sitting by the open door leading to the garden, swirling the last of her drink like she hasn’t a care in the world. Her posture is lazy, almost mocking, as if she believes there is no chance in hell I’d pick her. She’s leaning back, a look of indifference etched on her face, as though the entire evening’s events are beneath her.

My lips twitch into a smirk. If that’s what she truly thinks, then the reaction coming her way is going to be priceless.

Giovanni calls his daughters over, his voice trembling just enough to crack the mask of control he usually wears. Viviana doesn’t even bother standing up. She flicks a glance up at him, her eyes full of disdain and challenge, daring him to force her into a situation she’s clearly not interested in. Goddamn, that woman is stubborn as sin.

“Declan has made his choice,” Giovanni announces, his voice wavering, and the moment it does, Viviana’s gaze snaps to mine. Her grip tightens on her glass so hard I think it might shatter; her knuckles turn white, and her jaw clenches. Ah, there it is. The realization. The spark of rage.

Giovanni clears his throat, his face paler than before. I swear this man fears Viviana more than he fears me. “Viviana, my daughter, you are given the… honour to marry Declan Callaghan,” Giovanni tries to smooth things over, his voice sickly sweet. I stifle a chuckle; he is only pouring gasoline on the fire.

We start heading up the grand staircase, the silence heavy around us, but before we can make it halfway, the sound of chaos erupts behind us. Viviana’s voice, sharp and furious, cuts through the room like a crack of thunder.

“What the fuck?!”

The party freezes. All eyes snap to her as she shoots to her feet, her face a mixture of pure shock and fury. Her chest is heaving, her hands clenched into fists as if she’s ready to rip the entire place apart with her bare hands. She looks wild, unrestrained like a storm waiting to be unleashed.

I can’t help the smirk spreading across my face. This is exactly the reaction I’d expected. Hell, I hoped for it.

“Giovanni is ageing before our eyes,” Kian whispers, and I almost laugh at the remark. Bruna and Silvana stand frozen, their mouths open wide, their faces pale with shock. Viviana is blazing with anger, a force of nature in the middle of this controlled environment.

Giovanni grabs her arm in an attempt to quiet her down, hissing, “Not here!” in a desperate attempt to calm her.

But Viviana isn’t having it. She rips her arm free, her glare cutting through the space between us like a dagger. “Oh, hell no, that will never happen!” she spits. “I’d rather choke to death than marry him!” She points directly at me, her voice ringing out before she storms past everyone and out into the night, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

Kian lets out a low whistle beside me, clearly enjoying the show. “Well, Dec, looks like you’ve got your hands full. Might want to sleep with one eye open.”

I chuckle, though there is a dark undercurrent in my voice. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Connor leans casually against the bannister, his eyes still on the doorway where Viviana has just vanished. “Think she’ll run?”

I shrug. “Let her. She can run, she can fight, do whatever the hell she wants. It’s not going to change a damn thing.”

Kian raises an eyebrow, half-teasing, half-serious. “You’re playing with fire, brother. Sure you won’t get burnt?”

I pause at the foot of the stairs, casting a glance back at him, the weight of my decision pressing on me. “Fire’s the only thing keeping the darkness at bay, Kian. Besides, I’m not the one who’s getting burnt.”