25. Aoife
Aoife
I lie in the tangle of sheets, my body still humming from the intensity of what we just shared. Eamon’s arm is draped over my waist, his fingers tracing absent patterns on my hip. The silence between us is comfortable, but my mind is anything but.
“What happens next?” I ask softly, breaking the quiet. “What does this mean for us?”
Eamon shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me. His gaze is steady. “It means exactly what I said, Aoife. Now that I’ve found you again, I’m not letting you go.”
I sit up slightly, clutching the sheet against my chest. “It’s not that simple, Eamon. My life is in Belfast?—”
“Not anymore,” he interrupts, his voice firm but calm. “Your life is here. With me.”
My mouth opens to argue, to tell him it’s not that easy, but the sharp trill of his phone cuts through the air.
He leans over, grabbing the device from the bedside table. “Hold that thought,” he mutters, swiping to answer the call.
I watch as his expression hardens almost immediately. “Yes, I was expecting him,” he says, his tone clipped. “Send him up.”
He hangs up and places the phone back on the table, turning to me. “Your brother’s here.”
I exhale slowly, not surprised but still uneasy. “Of course he is.”
Eamon swings his legs over the edge of the bed, standing and pulling on a pair of slacks. “Get dressed,” he says, his tone softening slightly. “We’ll handle this together.”
I slip out of bed, grabbing my dress from the floor and pulling it on. My hands tremble slightly as I smooth the fabric.
“Don’t be nervous,” Eamon says, stepping closer. He places his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “You’re with me now, Aoife. No one, not even your brother, is going to take you away from me.”
His words are meant to be reassuring, but they only fuel the tension tightening in my chest. “You don’t know Ruairi like I do,” I murmur. “He won’t back down. Not easily.”
A knock at the door cuts off any further conversation. Eamon’s jaw tightens, and he gestures for one of his guards to answer.
The door swings open, and Ruairi strides in, flanked by two of his guards, their imposing figures lingering just behind him.
His green eyes, a mirror of my own, lock onto me with an intensity that feels like a physical blow.
His expression is thunderous as his gaze shifts briefly to Eamon, narrowing with barely concealed fury.
“What the hell is going on?” he demands.
I stand tall, refusing to cower. “What does it look like?”
Ruairi’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as he steps closer. “It looks like you’ve lost your damn mind,” he snaps.
“No,” I reply sharply, standing my ground. “I’ve finally made a decision for myself. I’m with Eamon.”
“You’re with him?” Ruairi’s laugh is bitter and humorless. “You must think this is some kind of game? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I shoot back. “I’m making a choice, Ruairi. One you can’t control.”
“This? Him? You’re playing with fire.” He turns, jabbing a finger toward Eamon, his voice dropping dangerously low. “And you. What is this to you, O’Sullivan? A game? A way to get under my skin? Because if it is, you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
Eamon steps forward, unshaken, his expression cold and calculating.
“This isn’t a game, Quigley,” he says, his voice steady and razor-sharp.
“Aoife isn’t a pawn, and I’m not some fool looking to provoke you for sport.
She’s with me because she chose to be. Maybe that’s what you can’t handle, that you don’t control her anymore. ”
His lips curl into a faint smirk, his tone turning deadly calm. “And as for mistakes, I don’t make them. But you’re in my home, in my city. You’re dangerously close to making one yourself.”
Ruairi ignores Eamon’s challenge, his gaze snapping back to me. “You go to a party, and somehow, you end up with him?” he says, his tone dripping with disbelief and anger.
I lift my chin, refusing to flinch. “I didn’t end up with him,” I reply evenly. “I met Eamon in the Maldives. We’ve been together since.”
His eyes narrow, a cold fury simmering beneath the surface. “You told Bridget you were coming to Belfast to spend a weekend with a friend.”
I falter, my confidence wavering for the first time. “I?—”
“Save it,” he snaps, cutting me off before I can find the words. “It doesn’t matter. We’re going home.” He steps forward, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist.
“Ruairi—”
Before I can finish, Eamon moves. His fist connects with my brother’s jaw.
Ruairi stumbles but recovers quickly, shoving me aside as he lunges at Eamon. “You bastard,” he snarls, throwing a punch that Eamon dodges.
The two of them collide, fists flying. The room erupts into chaos. The sound of grunts and thudding impacts mingle with my shouted pleas.
“Stop it,” I yell as I try to get between them. “What the hell are you doing? You’re going to kill each other.”
Neither listens, their focus locked entirely on each other, the fight spiraling into something primal and vicious. I whip toward the guards standing uselessly at the door. “Are you just going to stand there? Do something!”
They shift uncertainly, caught between loyalty and fear, but no one moves.
The fight spirals—raw, brutal, and unrelenting. Ruairi and Eamon are locked in their own world, all violence and betrayal, years of tension exploding in fists and fury.
Then, a sharp click pierces the chaos. The sound of a safety being switched off freezes everyone in place. One of Eamon’s guards has drawn his weapon, the barrel trained on Ruairi.
“Enough,” the guard says coldly.
I push between them, placing a hand on Eamon’s chest to keep him back while glaring at Ruairi. “Both of you need to stop,” I say, my voice firm and unyielding. “Beating each other to a pulp isn’t going to solve anything.”
Eamon’s chest heaves beneath my hand like he’s holding himself back by nothing but sheer will. I glance at him, and he nods once to his guard, who lowers the weapon but doesn’t holster it.
Ruairi rubs his jaw, his glare darting between me and Eamon. “This is what you want, Aoife? To be O’Sullivan’s little plaything? Warming his bed and letting him pay your way through life?”
“Watch yourself,” Eamon growls.
“Don’t you dare try to reduce me to that,” I say, stepping closer to Ruairi, my anger rising to match his. “I’ll be paying my own way working for Eamon.”
That stops them both.
Ruairi’s eyes widen, his composure snapping as his anger boils over. He rounds on Eamon, his voice sharp with disbelief. “You’re letting her work in your Syndicate? What kind of man allows a woman to get involved in this world?”
Before Eamon can respond, I step forward, cutting him off. “A man who respects me enough to give me a chance,” I say, my voice steady and firm. “Unlike you. You’ve had every opportunity to let me prove myself, and you refused.”
The room seems to darken, the weight of my words settling heavily between us. Ruairi’s expression twists, and a storm brews in his eyes.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” he says, his voice low. “You think you’re in control here, but you’re not.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I reply. “I’m in complete control.”
Ruairi’s voice drops into a growl. “You’re making a mistake, Aoife. A dangerous one.”
“And so are you,” Eamon cuts in, his voice smooth but edged with steel. “You’re in my territory now, Quigley. Tread carefully.”
Ruairi’s glare burns into him for a long moment before he turns back to me. “Fine,” he says, his voice cold. “I’ll leave. For now. But this isn’t over, Aoife.”
His gaze shifts back to Eamon, his tone darkening. “And when I come back, my sister’s coming home with me.”
With that, he storms out, his guards trailing behind him, the air left heavy with his parting threat.