Chapter 19
Viviana
D eclan wasn’t thrilled when I told him last night I’d be having lunch with Silvana. He insisted on sending two of his men with me on the condition they’d wait outside the restaurant. Having two hulking men in black suits, armed to the teeth, looming in a cosy little restaurant would have been too much to handle.
This place holds memories for me. I used to come here before I got married. The owner has been a friend of my father for years. It’s exactly the kind of place I like—small, with wooden floors and ceilings, dark tables covered in soft yellow linen, and the scent of garlic and freshly baked bread wrapping the space in warmth and nostalgia.
Silvana enters the restaurant looking like she just walked off the set of a Martha Stewart magazine shoot. Her light green dress flows around her in delicate waves, her high heels clicking softly against the floor. Every strand of her hair is perfectly brushed, framing her sharp, immaculate features.
The restaurant isn’t busy. Half a dozen people are scattered around, and we’re seated in a quiet corner near the small bar. It’s private, away from prying eyes, but still close enough to keep watch on the room.
“How have you been?” she asks, her voice smooth but guarded.
“Good,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. “Better than I expected.”
She hums softly, a noncommittal noise that grates on my nerves.
“What?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
“Nothing.” She shrugs, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “I just thought you’d be the last of us to warm up to Declan.”
“He’s different than I thought,” I say carefully. “We’ve become…” I pause, searching for the right words. I need to be careful here. “Friends.” Friends who have been fucking every day for the past week—more than once—but she doesn’t need to know that.
I tear off a piece of bread, almost burning my fingers. It’s warm and filled with garlic and oregano. The scent hits me instantly, dragging my mind back to the kitchen with my mom—making garlic bread and laughing at silly jokes. I miss her. I miss who I was when she was alive.
“That’s good,” Silvana says, though her voice carries a subtle edge. Her gaze stays locked on mine.
“Any particular reason you wanted to have lunch?” I ask, cutting straight to the point. Let’s not pretend this is a friendly catch-up. She’s the last person I’d choose to spend time with, and I’m sure the feeling is mutual.
Even after the last time I saw her—when she was unexpectedly caring and kind—something about today’s timing doesn’t sit right with me.
She hesitates, her eyes darting to the empty plate in front of her. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. How the Callaghans are treating you.”
I snort softly. “You wanted to see? Or is Father worried about what I might’ve told Declan?” I’m tired of the pretence. We both know she’s here to gather intel for him. He hasn’t spoken to me since that call, and the thought of him panicking, expecting retaliation from the Irish Consortium, makes me smile.
“Viviana,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “He’s our father. He only did what he had to do to keep us safe.” She can barely meet my eyes.
“Safe?” I laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “You call what Dad did—three years ago—and force one of us to marry Declan, keeping us safe?” I lean forward, grabbing her hand so looks at me. “He’s put us in more danger than we’ve ever been. He only cares about power.”
Her eyes widen, her face flushing as she pulls back. “What are you talking about? Three years ago? I’m talking about the deal to marry Declan.” Her hand trembles as she clutches her fork, knuckles turning white.
Does she really not know?
“No, Silvana,” I say, my voice dropping low, testing. “What Dad did, three years ago, on my birthday?”
She laughs nervously, the sound forced and hollow. “God, you always find drama in everything, don’t you?” She takes a sip of wine, but her eyes flicker to the corner of the room, giving her away.
I follow her gaze to the bar. Two men sit there, eating and drinking, but their presence suddenly seems out of place. When I look back at her, our eyes meet—hers filled with sorrow and something close to guilt.
My heart pounds, a cold dread pooling in my stomach. “Silvana?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
Silvana rises abruptly, leaving her purse and coat behind. “I just need to use the bathroom,” she mutters, her tone clipped. She doesn’t wait for a reply, storming off toward the back of the restaurant.
I watch her retreating figure, unease creeping over me. Something about her hurried steps and tense shoulders sends a prickle down my spine. My body tenses, instinct whispering that something is wrong.
I try to shake it off, waiting as the minutes tick by. My mind races, darting between what I told her, her reactions, and the way she ran. It takes me a moment to realize how quiet the restaurant has become.
Too quiet.
And then I feel it—a hand clamps down hard on my arm, yanking me from my seat.
Before I can scream for Declan’s men outside, another hand slaps over my mouth, silencing me. My heart slams in my chest as I twist and struggle, but the man holding me is massive, his grip unyielding.
I glance to the side, only to see another man flanking him, just as large and dressed in the same dark suit.
Tears well in my eyes, but I won’t go quietly. My body jerks violently as I thrash against him, fury fuelling my desperation. I kick the table in front of me, the force sending us stumbling back.
The distraction is enough to make him loosen his grip. I seize the moment, ramming my elbow into his ribs and shoving him back against a chair.
I dart to the right, avoiding his grasping hands. Grabbing the bottle of wine, I smash it against the edge of the bar. Glass shatters, flying everywhere. He lunges at me, but I swing the jagged bottle, slicing through his shirt.
“Fucking bitch,” he snarls, his thick Russian accent a dead giveaway of who sent him.
The door to the restaurant slams open, the sound sharp and thunderous. I whip my head toward it and see Declan, his figure like a dark storm, as he charges inside. He looks like a ravenous lion, his eyes locked on the men in front of me. His men storm in behind him.
“This one is mine,” Declan snarls.
The man who grabbed me barely has time to react before Declan launches himself at him, his movements swift and lethal.
My jaw drops at the sight. I understand even more now why so many fear him—why my father fears him. Right now, this isn’t the Declan I know. This is a feral animal on a mission to kill.
“You touched her,” Declan grunts, his voice low and dangerous, like a wolf’s snarl. “You touched what’s mine.” His fist slams into the man’s jaw with a sickening crunch. “Now I’ll break every fucking finger that touched her skin.”
The man stumbles back, blood dripping from his mouth as he mutters something in Russian. Declan doesn’t let him up. He advances with a predator’s precision, his fists connecting again and again. Punches kick—the man tries to cover himself, but it’s nearly impossible. Declan reaches every inch of unprotected flesh.
The second attacker is on the ground, secured by Declan’s men. They look at him, waiting for a sign to intervene, but Declan doesn’t spare them a glance. His entire focus remains locked on the Russians. He only takes his eyes off him to flick his gaze on me. For a brief moment, his dark, feral eyes meet mine before returning to the man in the suit.
I take a shaky step back, but the fight is too close, and fallen tables and chairs surround me. Declan grabs the man by the collar and slams him into the bar, away from where I’m standing. The force rattles the bottles on the shelves. The man struggles, swinging wildly, but Declan is faster. He sidesteps and twists the man’s arm behind his back, and I hear a crack. Did he just break the man’s arm with his bare hand?
“Who the fuck sent you?” Declan snarls, but the man just smiles and mutters something in Russian. Declan smirks darkly, shoving him toward his men. “Take them to the docks,” he barks.
His gaze shifts to me. My dress is a mess, my hair looks like a rat’s nest, and there’s a small cut on my hand from the broken bottle. My breathing is still ragged, but instead of anger or concern, Declan looks at me with a proud glint in his eyes. I lift my chin defiantly.
“I had it under control,” I snap, tugging my dress down as his eyes shamelessly trail to my exposed thighs. He licks his bottom lip, and I swear I see amusement flicker across his face.
“I know,” he says with a wicked grin, stepping closer. “I just couldn’t let you have all the fun.”
Before I can respond, a sudden noise comes from the back of the room. Silvana storms out, making a beeline for the door. She doesn’t get far. Declan moves like a predator, slamming her against the wall and caging her in with his arms before she can even react.
“Not so fast, Silvana,” he snaps, his voice low and menacing.
I grab his arm, tugging with everything I have, but it’s like trying to move a goddamn mountain. He doesn’t even flinch.
“You can’t hurt her!” I yell, desperation making my voice shake.
He doesn’t acknowledge me; his focus is fixed entirely on her.
“I’m not going to hurt her,” he says, that devilish smirk returning. “Not if she tells me what I want to know.”
“I-I don’t know anything!” Silvana stammers, her voice several tones too high. “I heard the commotion and stayed in the bathroom.” Each word tumbles out, shaky and unsure, her wide eyes locking onto Declan’s. Her breathing turns ragged as his presence towers over her like a shadow.
Declan doesn’t move. His posture remains controlled, steady, cold, and menacing. Even though Silvana is tall, he bends down, his face inches from hers, his arms braced on either side of her. He is every bit the predator.
“Right,” he says flatly, taking a deliberate step back. His arms lower, his body relaxing, but the menace doesn’t fade. He nods toward the door.
Silvana hesitates, her gaze darting from him to me, panic flickering in her eyes. “My driver is outside,” she mutters before bolting. I’ve never seen Silvana run in my life—not even as a child. Running isn’t ladylike, after all.
I glance back at Declan, but his expression is unreadable, his features carved in stone. That veil he wears is firmly in place, hiding every thought behind his eyes. Then, slowly, the corner of his lips curls into a faint smile.
“She didn’t ask what happened,” he murmurs, turning to me, his voice dripping with quiet amusement. “Or if you got hurt.”
Before I can respond, he reaches for my hand. The small cut on my palm still oozes blood, and his fingers wrap around mine gently. Lifting it to his mouth, his eyes lock onto mine as his tongue darts out, licking the blood away.
The heat of his gaze and the slow, deliberate motion of his tongue make my breath hitch. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
He sucks at the wound gently, the sting making me wince. But I can’t look away, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that leaves me reeling.
At home, Declan, Connor, and Kian head straight for the study shutting the door behind them. I’m left standing in the hallway, frozen by the order to go to my room and wait for Declan. But waiting isn’t exactly my strong suit.
Pacing back and forth, the energy buzzing in my veins makes it impossible to stay put. Finally, I lose what little patience I have left, march to the study, and turn the knob without hesitation.
As the door creaks open, three pairs of eyes snap toward me. Connor and Kian stand like sentinels on either side of the desk. At the same time, Declan leans casually against it, sipping his whiskey like nothing happened. His eyes light up with amusement as he stares at me.
“My sister isn’t part of this!” I blurt, my voice sharper than I intended.
Declan’s eyebrow shoots up, his expression shifting to disbelief. “You’re joking, right?” His glass meets the desk with a forceful thud, the sound reverberating through the room. “You can’t seriously be that naive, Viviana.”
I glance at Connor and Kian, their faces mirroring identical looks of incredulity as if I’m some lunatic shouting about the apocalypse in the middle of the street.
Declan steps away from the desk, circling Kian and heading toward me, his movements slow and controlled. “We know it’s your father. He ordered the hit.” His voice cuts through the air like a blade. “The real question is… why?”
Instinctively, I take a step back, but the door clicks shut behind me, and I feel Connor’s solid presence at my back. His hands travel to my waist, holding me in place. Declan smirks as he comes closer, and my breath catches in my throat. My heart pounds as I realize I’ve trapped myself.
Declan’s eyes are locked onto mine, cold and unforgiving, as he stops just short of touching me. “Why,” he repeats, his voice dripping with menace, “did your own father order the hit, Viviana?”