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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

AS THE HAND of Kings” car pulls up to my family”s stately home, the silence of the night wraps around me like a cloak. I expect anger, worry, perhaps a lecture waiting at the doorstep. But there”s none. Instead, when my father shuffles to the door, wrapped in his bathrobe, his face lights up with a smile so warm it feels out of place in the cool night air.

“Ah, Niamh, you”re back,” he says, his voice laced with a giddiness that makes my stomach churn. I know immediately what he”s thinking—his assumptions about Diarmuid and me, about what my absence signifies. I bite my lip, wondering how his expression might change if he knew the truth. That my night had been spent in an entirely different company than what he”d approve of.

“Goodnight, Dad,” I manage, stepping past him before the questions start.

“Oh, goodnight, love.” His cheeriness makes my shoulders tip closer to my chest. No father should be happy when their daughter comes home so late, but the fact that he isn’t asking questions makes me climb the stairs quickly.

As I make my way to my room, the sight of Ella”s door catches my eye. My heart aches with the need to see her. My hand hovers over the wood, longing to feel the warmth of her presence, to hear her sleepy voice tell me everything is okay. But I stop. She”s been run ragged by Mom”s insistence on perfection between school and ballet, and she deserves her rest. With a heavy heart, I retreat.

Once inside my room, the mirror catches my reflection. Selene”s choice in the dress I”m still wearing shines under the moonlight filtering through the windows. She has an eye for fashion that could make anyone feel beautiful, even when their world is quietly crumbling. I promise myself to thank her, to let her know her efforts didn”t go unnoticed.

But as I peel off the layers of silk and lace, my thoughts drift back to Ella. Panic rises within me, a familiar, unwelcome guest. My father”s assumptions about Diarmuid couldn”t be further from the truth. Amira, with her perfect timing and sharper instincts, had swept in before I had the chance. Not that I was playing the same game. My stakes are different; they”re personal. They”re Ella. She needs me to be strong to succeed where it truly matters.

My mind races, and the sudden ring of my old phone slices through the silence of my room like a beacon in the dark. I race to the bedside table and glance at the screen. It”s Selene. My heart skips a beat, part hope, part dread. What does she want? Could this be about Amira? Or something else entirely?

I brace myself and answer. Having a backup phone with my original number was my mother’s doing. She insists we always have a backup. I keep it charged but barely use the older model.

“Ay, Niamh! I’m sorry to disturb you. I just want to know the name of that guy you met in the woods. Not just the name. The number. I need the number,” she rushes out, her words tumbling over each other.

My brow furrows in confusion, the fatigue from the night”s events making it hard to keep up. “Selene? I don’t understand. Why—” I begin, but she cuts me off, her urgency palpable even through the phone.

“—we agreed to help this woman and we are. We need to. Someone is looking for her,” she explains, her voice a mix of determination and worry.

“Selene, it’s getting late,” I protest weakly, hoping to push this conversation to morningso I don’t wake up Ella; I walk to my bedroom door and make sure it’s closed tight.

But Selene is relentless. “Text him, then. Tell him we will be there tomorrow morning,” she insists, leaving no room for argument.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, the events of the night catching up to me all at once. With a nod to myself, even though she can”t see it, I agree. “Okay, Selene. I”ll do it now. We”ll sort this out.”

I end the call, the room falls silent once more, and I scoop the card out of my dress pocket. I still need to replace my new phone, another thing I’ll add to my list of things to do. I quickly type out a message to Rian. Despite the exhaustion tugging at my limbs, a sense of purpose steadies my heart. We had made a promise to help and help we would.

The morning light creeps through my curtains, painting my room with the soft hues of dawn. I wake with a flutter of excitement in my chest, a rare feeling these days, spurred by the thought of spending a few precious moments with Ella before the day fully begins. But as I pass by her room, my heart sinks. Her bed is neatly made, empty, the lingering scent of her perfume the only sign she was ever there. She must have left early for class, another reminder of the space growing between us.

I return to my room and get dressed quickly. Rian had agreed to meet me and Selene this morning at his apartment. After slipping on a pair of jeans and a cream-colored sweater, I tie my sandy hair up with a hair tie and wash up in the bathroom before I enter the kitchen. Breakfast is a quiet affair, my thoughts still lingering on Ella and the day ahead. I break the silence. “I have to go off this morning,” I say, breaking a croissant in half.

My mother gives my breakfast a disapproving glare. She normally only allows me to have fruit in the mornings, but since I’m not under her strict eating rules, I enjoy the pastry in front of me. I have no idea why we have so much if we can’t eat it.

I’m expecting a load of questions.Instead, my announcement is met with an outpouring of pride and excitement. Their eyes shine, not with the joy of my accomplishments or happiness, but with the reflection of their own desires. They see me not as their daughter but as a key to unlocking the life of luxury and ease they”ve always craved, a life they believe marrying into royalty can provide. The weight of their expectations sits heavily on my shoulders, a crown of thorns disguised as gold. My appetite dwindles as my father reaches across and takes my mother’s hand, a silent message that things are going their way.

“We have a guest at the door,” The maid informs us all. I rise quickly, gather my old phone, and stuff it into my pocket before anyone notices and wonders what happened to my new slick phone.

My father rises, too. “Best meet the man in question.” My father is dressed in a suit and proudly pushes back his shoulders.

I can”t help but stifle a laugh at the sheer disappointment etched across my father”s face. His dreams of Kings and grandeur were momentarily shattered by the arrival of a friend, not a suitor.

“Father, this is Selene McNamara,” I say.

He covers his disappointment quickly and takes Selene’s hand, giving it a firm shake. Before he asks any questions, I grab a coat off the hook and link my arm with Selene’s. “I’ll be back later.” We race from the house and walk down the driveway out onto the road.

“Your father seems nice,” Selene says, glancing back over her shoulder.

“He’s still watching,” I reply without looking back.

“Yes.” Selene frowns, and I tug her to the left, out of sight.

“He thought Diarmuid was coming to get me this morning.” I offer up the explanation to her that she hadn’t asked for.

At the mention of Diarmuid’s name, Selene tenses.

We walk the rest of the way to the bus stop in silence. Only a few people are waiting, and we arrive just in time as the bus pulls up. Selene gets two tickets for Sandyford, and we find a seat.

The bus ride to Sandyford is filled with an uneasy silence, broken only by my inquiry into Selene”s unusual determination.

“Did something else happen?” I whisper, not wanting anyone else to hear our conversation.

Selene’s features tighten. “No. I just want to help.”

She isn’t telling me everything and seems unwilling to talk this morning. So, I leave her alone and glance out the window. As the cityscape blurs past the window, I realize that perhaps, for Selene, this is more than just solving a crime; maybe it’s a way to take control in a world where we truly have none.

When we finally arrive at Rian”s place, I”m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly isn”t this. The building itself is one of those new, nondescript blocks that seem to have sprung up overnight to cater to the city”s ever-desperate demand for living space. It”s clear from the get-go that Rian”s apartment, like many others here, was designed with functionality in mind over comfort, intended for those willing to compromise space for a place to call home.

Stepping inside, the contrast is startling. Every inch of Rian”s studio apartment is consumed by his work. The walls are plastered with photographs, notes, and maps, all connected by a spiderweb of strings that trace patterns only he could decipher. Timelines stretch across the walls, and stacks of books and papers clutter every available surface, creating a chaos that”s both bewildering and strangely ordered. A single corner stands out in stark contrast—clean and carefully arranged, the dedicated space for his video podcasts, a slice of normalcy in a room swallowed by obsession.

Selene”s voice cuts through my initial shock, her words tinged with dark humor. “Feels like we”ve stepped into the den of a serial killer, doesn”t it?” she comments, and despite the gravity of our visit, I can”t help but let out a laugh. The tension in the room lightens, just a fraction, as Rian turns to greet us with an energy and warmth that”s immediately disarming. He pushes his glasses up on his nose as he smiles warmly at us.

I can’t help but smile back; his open and friendly approach makes me trust him. I glance at Selene. She”s more guarded.

“We wanted to talk about Andrew O’Sullivan,” Selene starts. Rian isn’t put off by the instant jump to why we are here.

The moment the name is mentioned, Rian springs into action, adding another string to his complex web of information—the physical connection of string to pin, linking Andrew O”Sullivan to the woman.

“Do we know who the woman is?” Selene’s question weighs heavier than anything else in the room; that’s why we are here, after all.

Rian speaks with a confidence that”s both reassuring and concerning. “No, not yet. But the best lead we have is through the medical examiner”s office,” he asserts, his eyes scanning his network of clues as if they might reveal a new path at any moment.

Selene”s interest piques at this, her mind already racing ahead to the logistics. “Do you have any fake IDs or something that could get us in?” she asks, her voice a blend of hope and practicality.

Rian shakes his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips. “No, nothing like that. But, if the body is being claimed by a possible family member, there might be a way to gather enough information to aid our investigation without needing to sneak in.” He moves to a small fridge and extracts three frubes, offering one to me and the other to Selene. I decline again, just like I did the day I met him, and he doesn’t seem put off as Selene declines, too, with the curl of her nose. I’m not sure how he can eat when we are talking about a dead body.

“Why does milk turn into yogurt when you take it to a museum?” Rian reads the joke before he rips off the top of the plastic.

“I don’t know,” Selene says.

“I’m intrigued,” I say.

Rian smiles. “Because it turns into cultured milk.”

As he drinks his yogurt, I try to get us back on track.

“You do realize that getting involved with this could be dangerous for you, right?” I warn him, hoping he understands the gravity of our situation. I’m saying it for me and Selene also.

“I don”t care about the danger,” he says, his focus unwavering. It”s clear that the pursuit of truth, the unraveling of this mystery, outweighs any personal risk in his mind.

“Okay, so you can go in then?” I ask.

“Oh no, they know who I am; I could never get in. You two will be going in by yourselves,” Rian states matter-of-factly.

His words settle over us. I want to protest that this is getting out of hand.

I look over at Selene, ready to protest, ready to turn and leave. We can forget we ever started down this path. We can remain ignorant.

We can remain safe.

But something gleams in Selene’s eyes. Determination. A grim kind of resolution. Her gaze flickers to mine, and when she speaks, I find myself nodding despite my fears.

“We’re in.”