When Kings Rise : A Dark Irish Mafia Romance intensified by the presence of a cult. (The O'Sullivan

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE SOFT GLOW of the evening light filters across my vanity mirror, casting a warm hue on the array of makeup and hair products scattered in front of me. I”m seated comfortably, the chair”s plush cushion a small comfort as I unroll the curlers from my hair, each lock falling into place with a gentle bounce. My reflection stares back at me, a mix of anticipation and nerves for tonight”s work event. It”s not every day you get to represent your department at such a prestigious gathering.

Just as I secure the last curl into place, a knock at the door has me pausing, glancing at the clock. Who could it be at this hour? I stand, smoothing out my dress before making my way across the main room of my apartment. The hardwood floor feels cool under my bare feet, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the room heated by the late afternoon sun.

Opening the door, I”m greeted by the familiar face of my grandfather, his eyes carrying a mix of apology and concern.

”I’m so sorry, a chroí,” he starts, his voice carrying the soft lilt. ”I know you are getting ready for your work event, but you have a visitor.”

I tilt my head, puzzled. ”Who is it?”

He steps aside, revealing a figure. Niamh stands there, her teeth chattering, eyes wide with what appears to be fear or shock, and a tight grip on something in her hand.

”Selene! I need to talk to you!” Her voice is urgent.

I nod to my grandfather, mouthing a silent thank you for bringing Niamh here. ”I”ll take it from here,” I assure him, my voice steady despite the flurry of questions swirling in my mind.

Gently, I place my hands on Niamh”s shoulders, guiding her into the warmth of my apartment. The door shuts with a soft click behind us. The contrast between the cozy interior and the crisp air outside makes me aware of the tremble in Niamh”s frame.

”What”s going on?” I ask, leading her toward the sofa. My heart races, not just from the disruption, but from concern for my friend standing before me, who is visibly distressed.

”I didn’t know where else to go, and I know we are not exactly friends, but we could be friends. I mean, in different circumstances—”

”Shush for a moment. We need to get you warm. Take off your clothes,” I interrupt her. All I can do is wonder what has happened. And why has she come to me.

Niamh looks around my apartment for the first time and hesitates.

”Oh, for Peter’s sake. I’ll turn around. Take off those clothes, and wrap yourself in the blanket from the couch. Really. How can you possibly still be shy with me?” We have seen each other naked and even heard each other’s cries of pleasure.

Niamh’s cheeks pinken, but she nods, and I turn around to give her some time to get changed. I hear the wet clothes hit the floor and then it sounds like she settles herself onto the couch.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice still trembling.

She’s wrapped herself in the thick blanket, and more color floods her face, but her shivers are still there, still visible in her hands that tighten on the blanket.

I sit down beside her.”Now, how did you find me?” I ask.

”It was an ordeal,” she says.

”All right?”

She nods and pauses as if trying to gather her thoughts. ”I had my phone, but I don’t have it anymore. I mean, oh God, I am so cold.”

I want answers but I don’t press any further. Instead, I get up and move to the kitchen to put on the kettle. I get down a cup and make her a steaming cup of tea. She accepts it and wraps her cold fingers around the mug.

I wait as she takes a few sips. But there is a wildness in her gaze, as if she’s afraid.

”You”re safe here, Niamh.”

I can”t help but feel a twinge of something—pity, perhaps. Her presence here, in my home, is a testament to her desperation.

”I found your parents” address online. Most addresses are online if you’ve lived in one place for a long while,” she confesses, her voice steadier now with the warmth of the tea seeping into her bones.

The mention of my parents sends a jolt through me. ”You went to my parents?!” I can”t keep the shock from my voice, the thought of Niamh encountering them, of all people.

”And I’m so sorry that I did. I just assumed that you were living at home like Amira and me. I didn’t realize that your parents are—”

”—assholes,” I finish for her, a bitter laugh escaping me. It”s a harsh word but fitting. Their estrangement is a wound that”s never fully healed.

”YES. I’m so glad you said it,” she agrees, a flicker of a smile gracing her lips.

”My parents gave you this address?” The very idea that they”d help, even slightly, is surprising.

”Yes, but it was a trip getting here. I was jogging, and then I needed to find you. It has been raining for hours. I tripped, and my phone went into a gutter, but I still have this!” Niamh raises her fist, clutching something tightly.

”And what is this?” I ask.

Niamh opens her hand to reveal a business card with a phone number on it.

”A guy’s phone number, and I shouldn’t have it.” She looks down at the card with a frown.

“Okay?” I have no idea where this is going. Does she no longer want to marry Diarmuid? Is this what it’s all about?

Niamh releases a long sigh. “I wanted to find out more about Andrew O’Sullivan, Diarmuid’s uncle who was murdered.”

I nod. “I heard about that.”

“So, I went to the village where his body was found.”

“I bumped into Rian, a podcaster who likes to look into unsolved murders. He was looking into the case of Andrew O’Sullivan. It wasn’t just Andrew’s body found at the burial site; they found a woman’s, too.”

This surprises me; I hadn’t heard anything about a second body. “Do you know who the woman is?” I ask.

Niamh shakes her head and takes another sip. “That’s why Rian gave me his number. He said if I was interested in what happened, I could ring him.”

“Are you going to ring him?” I ask.

Would I ring him? Would I want to know more? I’m not sure.

“I don’t know,” Niamh answers honestly before sipping her tea.

I checked the time; we don’t have much left before the event.

”So, what are you planning to do to get ready for tonight?” I ask, watching her closely. Niamh”s reaction is immediate, a mix of confusion and dawning realization.

”What do you mean? What”s tonight?” Her voice is tinged with genuine puzzlement, the weight of her earlier ordeals clouding her memory.

I can”t suppress a slight smile at her baffled expression. ”The annual Diners of Influence event at the Hand of Kings mansion,” I remind her, emphasizing the importance of the evening. This event is not just any social gathering; it”s a cornerstone of our community”s calendar.

Niamh”s face drains of color, panic rising in her eyes like a storm surge. The reminder seems to hit her with the force of a physical blow.

Seeing her distress, I step in, a surprising sense of protectiveness washing over me. I’ve felt protective of her since meeting her; it’s nice to take care of someone else and forget my worries for even just a moment.”Don”t worry. I”ve got it,” I assure her, my voice gentler than I would have expected. It”s a strange sensation. But, I recognize it for what it is: I want a friend.

I lead her to the bedroom, my mind already racing through the logistics of preparing us both for the evening. ”Take a shower,” I instruct firmly, pointing towards the bathroom.

Niamh nods, still wrapped in the blanket, and enters the bathroom, closing the door after her.

While she”s in the shower, I turn my attention to the wardrobe, laying out dresses on the bed. Each piece is beautiful and sexy, designed to make an impression. I’ve laid out the last dress when Niamh emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her hair damp and her expression wary. She surveys the dresses I”ve chosen, a flicker of admiration in her eyes quickly overshadowed by concern. ”I”m worried about showing off my shoulders,” she admits, her voice small. ”My mother always called them manly.”

I meet her gaze; all the dresses are sleeveless. ”They’re not manly; they’re strong. Men don’t own strength.” It”s a declaration, a challenge to the insecurities that have been unfairly thrust upon her. It seems I’m not the only one with an asshole for a mother.

As we dress, the room transforms into a whirlwind of fabric, shoes, and accessories. I help Niamh with her jewelry, hair, and makeup, each step bringing us closer to the image of sophistication and power we aim to project.

”Why are you helping me?” Niamh asks, her voice laced with wonder as I apply her makeup with careful strokes.

”I’m not concerned about the results of this competition between us,” I reply truthfully. This night, this event, transcends our personal battles. There”s something greater at stake, a realization that”s slowly dawning on both of us.

Niamh”s next question catches me off guard, a piercing look in her eyes. ”All of us are here because we have something to lose. What do you have to lose?”

For a moment, I”m speechless, the question striking at the heart of my own fears and doubts. ”I have no idea,” I confess, the admission more revealing than I intended. It”s a moment of raw honesty.

The two of us are now ready for the event, and we both look at ourselves in the full-length mirror.

I still see the shadow of fear in her gaze.

“The woman….from the grave?” I start.

Niamh nods. “I’ve been thinking about her, too.”

I smooth down my navy dress before turning away from the mirror. “She probably has a family out there. Someone waiting for her to come home.” I frown; that must be horrible.

“Someone who misses her.” Niamh continues as she turns to me.

There is a brief silence between us. It’s wrong that no one knows who she is or that she is dead. Why was it kept out of the spotlight? But with Rian’s help, we might be able to get answers.

I nod at Niamh, a confirmation of what we should do. “Then, let”s get her home.”

Niamh smiles. “I agree.” Before we leave, she picks up the card with Rian’s number on it and stuffs it into the pocket of her dress.