Chapter 19 #2
The corner of his mouth twitched, but his eyes were sharp, pale, and cold, like shards of winter ice, they didn’t waver.
His hair was the kind of blond that looked almost white under the ballroom lights, slicked back with precision, the style clean enough to pass for respectable but calculated enough to hint at vanity.
His tailored three-piece suit was black as sin, the fabric too fine for anyone without blood money in their veins, the cut designed to make him look broader than he was.
Even so, I could see the wiry build beneath, his lean muscle, quick rather than strong, the kind of frame built for slipping a knife between ribs in a crowd.
His skin was pale, but not the natural pallor of my kind but more like the pallor of someone who lived in shadow, always watching, always calculating.
He knew exactly what I meant. I wasn’t talking about embarrassment. I was talking about the fact that if he said one wrong word to me or looked at Layla one second too long, I would make sure the next breath he tried to take would be his last.
Around us, laughter from some oblivious table carried over, the clinking of glasses and polite conversation filling the air. To everyone else, it was two men exchanging words. To us, it was a loaded trigger, halfway to being pulled.
Connor shifted slightly, his hand curling loosely around his drink, his own mask of composure settling in place. “Wouldn’t want to cause a scene, now, would we? ”
“Good,” I murmured, my gaze cutting briefly to Layla before returning to him. “Then don’t.”
From beside me, I could feel Layla go still. She didn’t speak, but I could feel her pulse flutter through the bond, quick and uncertain. She was reading the danger in my voice, seeing the way I hadn’t moved an inch, yet was one heartbeat away from starting a war in the middle of a ballroom.
He smirked, like we were sharing a private joke. “Enjoy your night.” Then he turned and walked away, his men trailing him like shadows, silent and controlled, but with the kind of alertness that told me every one of them had a weapon within reach.
Lucien’s hand brushed his date’s back, the movement subtle, but I caught the tightness in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes.
He was as keyed-up as I was. He’d been in enough rooms like this to know the scent of violence before it broke the surface.
But this wasn’t the place. Not yet, not when Layla and my child were present.
I inclined my head once, just enough for him to see it, the signal we’d used for decades.
His gaze sharpened, a slow nod in return.
He understood the order. Keep eyes on Connor until the night was over.
Track every movement, every interaction, every hand he shook and every drink he touched.
Then, when the lights went down and the masks came off, we’d make our move.
Lucien’s mouth didn’t so much as twitch, but I could read the shift in his posture.
Plans were already turning in his mind; men would be mobilized before the first toast was done.
Connor Flannery would leave this event alive because I needed him to, but before the week was out, I’d make sure he regretted breathing the same air as me.
By the end of the night, I was done playing polite.
My patience had frayed to a razor’s edge.
I got Layla into the Escalade, my hand wrapped around hers like a shackle, not to restrain her, but to anchor myself, to remind me she was here, safe.
Every time I loosened my grip, I saw Flannery’s pale, calculating eyes in my head, and my fingers tightened again.
She glanced at me once, curiosity and a hint of worry in her gaze, but she didn’t press. She knew better than to poke the animal when it was pacing in its cage.
Lucien followed behind in his car, his headlights in the rearview like a silent sentinel.
I knew he’d keep his distance, but not his attention.
The man had already read my thoughts before I said a word.
Flannery was going to be marked, hunted, and bled for daring to stand in the same room as my mate and look at her like a prize to be taken.
The road home was quiet, except for the steady hum of the engine and the slow burn of my rage.
My other hand rested on my thigh, fingers twitching, not from nerves, but from the instinct to reach for a blade that wasn’t there.
I’d smiled, I’d shaken hands, I’d spoken like a respectable man tonight, but I’d done it all while picturing my hand around Flannery’s throat.
As the mansion gates came into view, their black iron teeth parted and swung open, ready to swallow us whole.
I felt the weight of the evening still coiled in my chest like a snake waiting to strike.
Seeing Flannery had been one thing. Seeing his eyes on Layla…
that was another. That was personal. That was the thing I had been trying to avoid from the very beginning, letting him know exactly how important Layla was to me.
But tonight, there was no hiding it. Not after the way I’d touched her, the way I’d watched her, the way every man in that room had looked at us and known. She belonged to me, and anyone with half a brain could see it. Including him.
And now that Flannery had that knowledge, he’d use it. I had no doubt about that. But what he didn’t know, what none of them knew, was how far I was willing to go to keep her untouched by their world.
The war with the Irish wasn’t just about territory anymore. It was about her. And in that kind of war, there was only ever one ending, mine, or theirs.
The Escalade crunched up the long gravel drive. The front doors were already opening before we came to a stop. Ashen was the first to step out, Rael a half-step behind him, both of them reading the storm in my face and knowing better than to ask questions.
I stepped out first, pulling Layla with me, my hand still wrapped around hers.
The night air was cold, but I barely felt it, as my blood was too hot, my jaw locked too tight.
She gave a soft smile to Gideon as we walked past, but I didn’t slow.
My focus was on getting her inside, away from the prying eyes of anyone who might still be lurking in the shadows beyond our gates.
Inside, the familiar scent of the mansion wrapped around us, the polished wood, the faint incense, and the subtle undertone of steel and leather from the weapons hidden in the walls.
I didn’t stop in the grand entry hall. I took her straight toward the main staircase, my palm firm against the small of her back.
“You’re quiet,” she murmured, glancing up at me as we climbed the steps.
I met her gaze briefly. “I’m thinking.” My voice came out rougher than I intended, edged with the restraint I was still holding onto by my teeth.
She didn’t push, smart woman.
At the top of the stairs, I caught sight of one of my men posted near the hallway leading to our wing. He straightened at our approach. “All clear, my lord.”
“Good,” I said, not breaking stride. “Double patrols tonight. No one comes near this floor unless they answer directly to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Only when I had her inside our rooms, the door shut and locked behind us, did I finally release her hand.
But even then, I didn’t step far away. The image of Flannery’s pale, cold eyes was still burned into the back of my mind, and I knew it would be there until I decided exactly how to erase him from the equation permanently.
She stood there in the middle of the room, still in that deep burgundy dress that clung to her like sin, her hair slightly mussed from the wind outside, her lips parted as she searched my face.
“What happened tonight?” she asked softly. “You’ve been… different since you saw that man.”
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I closed the distance in three strides, my hand cupping the back of her neck, thumb grazing the line of her jaw. “Because he looked at you,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “Because he looked at you like he was allowed to.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away. “Roman…”
“I told you before,” I murmured, leaning in so my lips brushed her ear, “you’re mine. It’s not a title, not just a claim. It means you are mine, body and soul, in a way that means anyone who tries to take you from me doesn’t walk away breathing.”
Her pulse fluttered against my fingertips, quick and warm. I traced it down the column of her throat, across the bare skin the dress exposed.
“Take it off,” I said.
She blinked. “What…?”
“Take it off,” I repeated, already sliding the zipper down the back. The silk slipped away from her shoulders like water, pooling at her feet in a slow, decadent fall. My eyes drank her in, the long line of her legs, the soft curve of her hips, the flush rising on her cheeks.
I bent and lifted her into my arms without warning. She gasped, but her arms went around my neck automatically. “Roman” she murmured.
“You think I’m going to bed with the memory of Flannery’s eyes on you and not burn it out of my head?” I asked, already carrying her toward the bed.
I laid her down against the dark sheets, bracing one hand beside her head as the other traced a slow path over her stomach, her ribs, the swell of her breasts. “No,” I said, my gaze locking to hers. “I’m going to make sure the only thing you remember from tonight is me. ”
Her lips parted to speak, but whatever she meant to say vanished as I kissed her hard, claiming. The kind of kiss that stole her thoughts, her breath, that owned every inch of her passion.
When I pulled back, my forehead rested against hers. “I hated tonight,” I admitted. “Not because of the function. Not because of that fucking Irish bastard, but because of how much I wanted you and I wasn’t able to do what I wanted to do.”
“You can now,” she whispered.
That pulled a dark, satisfied smile from me. “Not nearly enough.”
The rest of the night, I made sure she understood exactly what I meant, again and again, until the memory of any other eyes on her was buried beneath the weight of mine.