Chapter 22
Viviana
T he room is suffocatingly dark. The table and chair are cold steel. I can’t pinpoint where I am, but I know enough to recognize this as the kind of room people are brought to for torture. The fabric covering the balcony, where I imagine they keep their tools, does little to ease my discomfort. How thoughtful of them.
“Viviana, let’s go through this again, shall we?” John Flanagan leans forward, his voice smooth and practised, his eyes narrowing as if he’s waiting for a crack in my story. But there won’t be one. I’m not lying. I’ve never seen that damn phone in my life. I do own a burner, but it’s not that one.
“I’ve told you,” I say coldly, my tone icy. “I’ve never seen that phone. And I’ve got no reason to work with the Russians.”
My face is unreadable; my body is rigid with control as I hold John’s gaze. They want to break me. They won’t. I’m a Morelli, and even
if I hate everything they stand for, I am who I am. No amount of Irish intimidation is going to change that.
“But your father has,” Nolan Keeffe cuts in, his voice dripping with disdain.
“Then go after him,” I deadpan, not sparing him a glance.
Nolan scoffs and starts pacing behind John. I can’t help the small grin that pulls at the corner of my lips. It’s almost amusing how easily they’re rattled.
“You think this is a game?” John’s voice drops, trying to intimidate me with a rumble. He leans in closer, hoping I’ll flinch.
“In some ways, it is,” I reply, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Two grown men, supposedly seasoned professionals, dragging me in here over a burner phone. A phone that neither of you can trace. A phone with,” I pause, pretending to think, “three messages detailing attack times and locations, signed with my name no less.” I laugh bitterly, my anger rising. “Do you really think I’d orchestrate an attack, go out of my way to make it untraceable, and then slap my signature at the end? Are you that dense?”
John leans back, but the door creaks open, interrupting the tension in the room.
“She’s got a point,” a deep voice says from the doorway. The footsteps that follow are firm and deliberate. A man steps into view—tall, almost towering, with golden hair and piercing green eyes. A tattoo peeks out from beneath his collar, just a hint of ink that makes my heart skip a beat. His jawline is sharp, almost unnervingly
perfect, and his smile is dangerous. I recognize him from the wedding.
“Flynn Brady,” he says smoothly, extending a hand. His voice is low, smooth, and edged with something I can’t quite place. As I shake his hand, his gaze sweeps over me, lingering a moment too long on my face, my neck, my chest, and finally, my hands.
“Viviana…” I hesitate, unsure which last name to use.
“Callaghan,” he finishes, his smile twitching. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.” His tone sharpens as he locks eyes with me, and I feel the weight of his stare.
“What the hell are you doing here, Brady?” Nolan spits, his anger bubbling over as he stops pacing.
Flynn doesn’t flinch. “As the next in line for the Irish Consortium, it’s my responsibility to be here. You, however,” he waves a dismissive hand toward Nolan, “are optional.”
“I have every right to be here!” Nolan snaps, stepping forward.
In one fluid motion, Flynn grabs Nolan’s wrist, twisting it with brutal precision, forcing him to bend over in pain. I can’t suppress the amused smile that curves my lips. I’m starting to like this Flynn guy.
“Let’s calm down,” John interjects quickly, standing up and pulling Nolan upright as Flynn releases him.
The tension is thick as the two men exchange glares. I clear my throat to draw their attention back to me.
“Look, this is all very fascinating,” I say, dripping sarcasm, “but can we get back to the part where you accuse me of something I didn’t do?” My patience is starting to run thin.
Nolan loses it, lunging toward me, but before he can reach me, he’s flung across the room, crashing hard against the concrete wall. Flynn is suddenly standing beside me, his massive frame looming protectively.
“Touch her,” Flynn growls, his voice low and dangerous, “and we’ll have bigger problems than burning warehouses, Keeffe.”
Flynn’s as big as Declan, and from the way his suit strains against his muscles, it’s clear he’s just as built. He turns to face me one massive hand rests on the table, the other on my chair, boxing me in. I meet his gaze, unwavering. I won’t shrink under his presence.
He leans in, his breath brushing against my ear as he whispers, “I promised Declan I’d keep you safe.”
My heart skips, and my breathing picks up a notch, but I hold it in check, afraid that showing even a hint of weakness might be mistaken for fear. I nod, keeping my face neutral.
“Is the phone all you have?” Flynn asks, turning his attention back to John, who’s trying to help Nolan to his feet.
“Yeah, and it’s enough!” Nolan snaps, his voice rising with irritation.
Flynn narrows his eyes at Nolan before looking back at me, his gaze softening. “Viviana, are you working for the Russians?”
“No,” I answer sharply, never breaking eye contact.
“And why should we believe you?” he asks, his tone calm as if this is a simple question about coffee preferences.
“I don’t even work for my father,” I snap, frustration bubbling. “Let alone Aleksandr and his fucked-up cousin.”
Flynn tilts his head, watching me carefully. “You know the Koslovs?”
“Yes,” I answered cautiously, watching his subtle reactions. “We all went to school together.”
Flynn raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to Nolan, and I realize he’s signalling me.
“I went to high school with them,” I continued. “Aleksandr was a year ahead, and his cousin in the same class as me. And Nolan was the same year as me.” I nod toward him.
“Nolan?” John turns to Nolan, confusion clouding his expression. “You never said you knew her.”
“I—I don’t,” Nolan stammers. “We never talked.”
“Yes, we did,” I counter smoothly. “You even asked me to prom.”
Nolan’s face flushes bright red, and I can’t help the smug smirk that appears on my lips. “And I said no.”
Flynn’s lip twitches, amusement flickering in his eyes as he turns to Nolan. “So, you wanted to fuck Viviana, the same Viviana who’s now married to our leader?” His voice drips with mockery.
John sighs, dragging a hand down his face.
“John,” Flynn says without breaking his gaze on Nolan. “Did you fingerprint the phone? Check its locations?”
“It’s a burner; you can’t trace it,” Nolan growls defensively.
“Actually, you can,” John interjects. “If you have both the phone and the SIM card.”
“She could’ve used gloves,” Nolan retorts weakly.
“Sure, but if she’s stupid enough to sign her name, you think she’d bother with gloves?” Flynn chuckles, and I can’t decide if I’m insulted or amused.
Flynn waves a hand to one of John’s men. “Bring her something to eat and drink; she’s been here for hours.” He removes his jacket and settles into John’s chair, an air of control settling over him. “This might take a while, sweetheart.”
“She’s our prisoner!” Nolan snaps, his face darkening.
Flynn’s brow arches as he swivels toward Nolan, his chair screeching against the floor, and my teeth clench.
“A prisoner?” Flynn repeats, his voice is cold and deadly. “She’s the wife of our leader and will be treated as such until you have concrete proof. And don’t forget, Nolan, if this is all bullshit, Declan will come for you with everything he’s got.”
The colour drains from Nolan’s face as his throat bobs nervously.
I stare into Flynn’s eyes. Something in his tone tells me he isn’t just trying to scare Nolan—he’s serious. Deadly serious. Would Declan really come for a member of The Irish Consortium’s family because of me? The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I shake my head, trying to shake it off.
As the tension in my body starts to ease, I force myself to breathe steadily. There’s no way that phone has my fingerprints and the pinned location can’t possibly be at the Callaghan estate. It’s only a matter of time before they’ll have to let me go.
“You cold, Viviana?” Flynn’s voice is smooth, almost too smooth—like silk gliding over rough edges. Charming, but disarming.
“I’m fine,” I reply, though my voice wavers slightly. He steps closer, his hand brushing mine briefly as he smiles gently. Without asking again, he takes off his suit jacket from the chair and drapes it over my shoulders.
“Can’t have you catching a cold, or I’ll have to deal with Declan’s temper. And unlike Nolan over there, I don’t have a death wish,” he says with a hint of amusement. His words seem to dig at Nolan, who fidgets with his sleeves before storming out of the room, frustration radiating off him.
John follows after him, leaving me alone with Flynn. He gestures to his man at the door, silently instructing him to stay put, before turning back to me.
“I looked you over when I came in. You’re not hurt, are you?” His tone is softer now, almost… considerate. Suddenly, it clicks—his earlier scrutiny isn’t perverse like Nolan’s; he was checking for injuries.
“I’m not hurt. John is kind,” I admit quietly. The weight of Flynn’s jacket settles over me, its scent a subtle but jarring reminder of Declan. The resemblance in their cologne sends my thoughts spiralling back to him. His eyes were filled with pain when they took me. The way he said he would come for me…
I take a deep, shaky breath and close my eyes for a moment, trying to pull myself together.
My head throbs and the dim lime-coloured light above feels oppressive, like it’s pulling me into some kind of subterranean abyss. This place feels like a tomb where people are buried alive.
“Viviana,” Flynn’s voice breaks through my thoughts, steady and calm, drawing me back. “I need you to stay strong just a little longer, okay, sweetheart?”
I open my eyes to find his arms resting on the table, his piercing gaze fixed on me. For a moment, I feel anchored.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible as a breath catches in my throat.
“Thank the Callaghans,” Flynn says, leaning back slightly with a wink. “They’re the ones who told me what to say and ask.”
I swallow hard. How on earth will I tell Declan about Elva? About my father?
I take a deep breath, so deep that my entire body rises and falls with it. Flynn arches a brow, an amused glint in his eyes. I can’t help but mirror his expression, raising my eyebrow in return.
“Declan told me you are strong,” he smirks. “He’s right.”
“I don’t know if he likes that side of me all that much,” I chuckle, settling deeper into the chair I’ve been stuck in for what feels like hours. I’m so tired.
“Why do you think he chose you? We all knew it was only a matter of time before he fell for you.” Flynn leans back in his chair, casting a glance toward the door.
“We?” The word catches me off guard. “I thought Declan chose me because I’m the opposite of Elva.”
“Connor, Kian, and me,” Flynn says casually, his gaze meeting mine. “Did you meet Elva?”
“No, I didn’t,” I reply softly. “I saw pictures. She was beautiful, ethereal.” My voice dips lower, and I find myself fidgeting with the jacket draped over my shoulders.
“She was,” Flynn agrees, his tone tinged with melancholy. “But she was also fire. She pretended to be submissive in front of everyone, but behind closed doors, she pushed every button Declan had, and he loved it.”
His eyes darken, a shadow of sadness crossing his face. “He was never the same after her. But the day after your wedding…” Flynn pauses, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“We had a drink, and for the first time in years, I saw a glimpse of the old Declan when he talked about your statement black wedding dress.”
I can’t help but grin widely. “It’s my favorite dress,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
“He really likes you, Viviana,” Flynn says, his voice more serious now. His eyes lock onto mine, and I can feel the weight of his words. “He wouldn’t have called me to be here if he didn’t.”
I nod, unsure of how to respond. But what about my feelings toward Declan? We’ve had mind-blowing sex. He’s saved me twice… Well, counting this time, it’s three times now. But…
“She can go,” John’s voice cuts through my thoughts as he steps into the room. I glanced up, surprised to see Flynn already on his feet. How long has he been standing there?
“Where’s Nolan?” Flynn asks; his tone is casual, though there’s an edge to it.
“Upstairs,” John sighs, sounding defeated.
“Tell him not to run; it’ll only make things worse.” Flynn walks toward me, gently grabbing my arm to help me up from the chair. My legs feel numb, and my entire body aches from the position I’ve been in. “Maybe Declan will spare him,” he adds with a smirk, his lips curling slightly at the corner. John nods, his lips twitching in amusement.
These men are insane. There’s no way I’m letting Declan kill Nolan. Sure, he messed up, but no real harm was done in the end.
As we step out of the warehouse, the cool night air hits me, and I realize how much time has passed. Night? Jesus, how many hours was I in there?
“We’re heading to Declan’s penthouse in the city,” Flynn says, opening the car door and waiting for me to slide in. Once I’m settled, he climbs in beside me and signals the driver to go.
“Penthouse?” I ask, blinking at him. Since when does Declan have a penthouse?
Flynn chuckles. “Declan has a bunch of houses. The estate is the more permanent one, but he knew you were here, and the penthouse is closer to the docks in case he needed to raid the place to get you.” He winks as if this is the most normal thing in the world.
Fucking hell. They talk about raids, killing, and kidnapping like it’s their daily routine. Wait, of course, it is their daily routine, and it’s becoming mine.
“Just letting him know we’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Flynn says, his fingers flying across his phone as he texts Declan.
And now I need to prepare myself to tell Declan the truth.