Chapter 19
I’d been downstairs for an hour, reviewing the evening’s schedule with Ashen and Rael, when I heard the first sound of her heels on marble. Her step was slow and controlled. And then I saw her, I took in a deep breath as my world stopped.
Layla descended the staircase like every man in the room had just been condemned to worship her or die trying.
The dark burgundy silk clung to her curves like it was made to be torn off by my hands.
The deep neckline framed her breasts like an invitation only I was allowed to accept, while the slit up her thigh gave me a flash of long, perfect legs with each step.
Her hair was loose, tumbling around her shoulders in soft waves, and her lips, fuck, were painted deep red, the same shade I’d once seen smeared across my knuckles when I’d wiped my mouth after kissing her too hard.
Every part of her was a wet dream tonight, and fuck if she didn’t have me wanting to drag her back upstairs to bed and just forget about the fucking function.
I stood before I realized I’d moved, the chair skidding back across the floor.
Ashen muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer. Rael just grinned.
I saw Gideon standing behind her with a smirk on his face.
My men know that her looking like a bombshell is going to lead to trouble.
She met my eyes halfway down the stairs and for a moment the air between us was so tight, so electric, I took a step forward then I stopped before I drag her back up to our bedroom and make her late.
When she reached me, I let my gaze travel the length of her, my eyes slow, unapologetic. “You’re trying to kill me before we even get there,” I murmured, voice low so only she could hear.
Her smile was innocent. A lie. “It’s just a dress.”
“It’s a fucking declaration of war,” I corrected, my voice dropping into the kind of low, dangerous register that made her breath hitch.
My hand slid to the small of her back, fingers pressing into the silk like I wanted to leave my mark there through the fabric.
I leaned in, close enough that my lips brushed the shell of her ear.
“Every man in that room is going to want you. They’re going to imagine your legs wrapped around them, imagine that mouth gasping for them. ”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t shy away, she never did.
“And I will make sure,” I went on, my tone sharpened to a promise, “that every single one of them knows they can’t have you. That if they so much as breathe too close to you, I’ll take their tongue and feed it to them. That you’re mine, not just tonight, but in every way that matters.”
Her cheeks flushed, her pulse fluttering under her skin. She held my gaze, and there was that little spark in her eyes, a challenge, and something that told me she liked it when I got like this.
I straightened, my hand still splayed at her back, guiding her toward the door. “Let’s go, baby,” I murmured. “Let them look. I want them to know exactly what I get to take home.”
We left the mansion in the black Escalade, Gideon in the front passenger seat, Ashen and Rael in the SUV behind us. Lucien would meet us at the venue, he was bringing a date, which was rare for him.
The ride was quiet, but I kept my hand on Layla’s thigh the entire way, my thumb tracing circles against her skin under the slit of her dress .
The venue was one of the oldest hotels in the city, a monument to wealth and old blood. Gold-trimmed columns lined the entrance, and inside, a grand chandelier spilled light over marble floors and velvet drapes. Crystal glasses caught the glow like fire.
Our table was near the stage, front and centre, exactly where they’d want me, the high-profile donor on display for all the cameras and society vultures.
I pulled Layla’s chair out, the motion smooth, controlled, but my eyes were already sweeping the room, cataloguing faces, movements, and ensuring that the exits were unobstructed.
I saw politicians polished smiles and empty eyes, all shaking hands while stabbing each other’s backs.
Businessmen in tailored suits, their egos bulging bigger than their wallets.
Old money families who thought their lineage made them untouchable, who’d never had to kill to keep what was theirs.
And the new money, the desperate ones, all flash and no backbone who were here to be seen, to buy influence, to sniff around for a way in .
They all looked dangerous to each other. None of them had the faintest fucking idea what a real predator looked like.
That was fine, I preferred it that way. Let them mistake me for another overpaid, overindulged power player.
Let them see only the suit, the cufflinks, the smile I could fake if I had to.
Because if they ever saw the truth in my eyes or the hunger, the violence, the centuries of blood under my nails, they’d start running and wouldn’t stop until they were continents away.
But tonight, I wasn’t here to hunt. Tonight, I was here to ensure Layla had a good time, that she had a normal night out with me. And that meant I wasn’t going to let my guard down for a second.
Lucien arrived minutes later, sharp in a black suit cut with military precision, his date a tall brunette in a deep emerald gown that clung like it had been sewn onto her skin.
The slit in her skirt flashed a long, toned leg as she moved, and the glint in her green eyes said she knew exactly the effect she had on a room.
Her beauty wasn’t just physical, it was the kind that could disarm without a single word, and the way she walked at Lucien’s side told me she wasn’t just decoration. No, this one had teeth .
“Brother,” Lucien greeted as we clasped hands, his grip firm, his eyes scanning the room the same way mine did, cataloguing all the exits, threats and weaknesses.
“Lucien.” I glanced to his date. “You brought trouble with you tonight.”
His mouth curved just slightly. “She’s useful trouble.”
“Roman,” she said smoothly, her voice a low, confident purr as she extended a hand.
I took it, noting the strength in her grip. “And you are?”
“Celeste,” she answered, her smile poised.
Lucien looked to Layla. “Layla,” he said, his tone softer than I’d heard it in weeks, “you’re looking well.”
“Thank you,” she replied warmly. “It’s good to see you outside of the mansion.”
Lucien’s smirk was almost imperceptible. “For now.”
Layla glanced at Celeste. “I love your dress.”
“Thank you,” Celeste replied, the warmth in her voice genuine but her gaze still calculating. “Yours looks stunning too. ”
Layla smiled at that, and I caught the way Lucien’s eyes softened for just a fraction before returning to their usual cool watchfulness. I gestured to the empty seats beside us. “Sit and keep your eyes open. Tonight’s for charity, but the wolves are still in the room.”
Lucien nodded, leading Celeste to her seat, already scanning the crowd again like me. That was the thing about my brothers, we could dress like kings, move in polite society, even smile when needed. But underneath, the predator never slept.
When I went up to give my speech which was short, direct, and more generous in the donation amount than most people in this room would see in their lifetimes. My attention was split, as always, between the words leaving my mouth and the woman sitting at my table. And I didn’t miss a damn thing.
From up on that stage, I saw the way men were watching Layla. The subtle glances. The not-so-subtle stares. Some leaned forward a little too far, their eyes tracking the line of her legs when she crossed them. Others wore the kind of smirk that made my hands twitch for a throat to crush .
I locked eyes with a few of them mid-sentence, never breaking the flow of my words, my expression smooth but my gaze a blade. I let them see just enough, just enough to know I’d marked their faces, that I’d remember exactly who they were, exactly what they’d been thinking.
And I would remember, if they ever crossed paths with me again, they should pray that I was in a good mood.
It didn’t matter if it took days, weeks, or years as there’s no expiration date on the kind of memory I keep.
When my speech ended, the applause was polite, a ripple of sound over the clinking of glasses. I didn’t smile or bow my head. I just turned, walked back to my seat, and put my hand on the back of Layla’s chair claiming her without words, without apology.
Halfway through the evening, the temperature in the room shifted.
The doors at the far end opened and in walked Connor Flannery, the Irish Mafia’s dom.
He wore a dark suit, tie loosened like he’d just left a fight, and his smile was pure provocation.
My senses sharpened instantly, the hum of conversation fading to a distant thrum as our eyes met across the room .
I didn’t move, neither did he. But the hate was there, it was thick, raw, the kind that doesn’t fade easily.
He strolled toward our table, his gaze flicking to Layla for just long enough to make my blood spike, then back to me. “Roman,” he said smoothly, as if we were two old friends meeting by chance.
“Flannery,” I replied, my voice flat steel.
“I see you’ve brought… company.” His eyes cut to Layla again, lingering.
I leaned back in my chair, the picture of ease, one arm draped lazily over the back of Layla’s seat, but every muscle in my body was coiled tight, ready to spring. My gaze locked on his with the kind of calm that only came before something catastrophic.
“Careful, Connor,” I said, my voice low, almost conversational, but edged with steel. “I’d hate for you to choke on your own tongue in a room full of witnesses.”