47. Aoife
Aoife
A server approaches the table, carrying a bottle of the restaurant’s finest champagne. “Compliments of the owner,” he says, pouring two glasses before setting it on the table and leaving.
My stomach tightens as I glance across the restaurant.
Eamon sits at the bar, his posture relaxed, although I know he’s anything but. He lifts his glass in a mock toast, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips.
I keep my expression blank, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Cian glances over his shoulder, then lets out a low chuckle as he picks up his glass. “And what do you suppose that’s about?”
Offering an innocent smile, I ask, “What’s what about?”
Cian leans back in his chair, swirling the champagne in his glass. “O’Sullivan sending over a bottle of his best. Toasting you from across the room.” His voice is laced with something suspicious.
“Perhaps he’s just being a good boss.” I shrug. “You talked to him more than I ever have. Did he say anything to you after I left?”
Cian hums, unconvinced. “I don’t trust him,” he says. “Do you know he started a war with Ruairi?”
“Ruairi doesn’t tell me anything about the Syndicate. And I didn’t even know my boss was involved in that world until you told me the other night,” I say, a trace of defensiveness creeping into my voice despite my best effort to sound calm.
His eyes search mine, looking for any sign of a lie. “You sure about that?”
“What Ruairi does with the Syndicate has nothing to do with me.” My voice is steady, matter-of-fact. “And unless my job suddenly involves having to make backroom deals, I don’t see why any of it matters.”
Cian seems convinced, for now. He lifts his glass again, but instead of drinking, he asks, “Have you heard anything about the fire at Obsidian?”
My fingers rest against the cool stem of my glass, trying to read between the lines of why he’s bringing it up.
A quiet unease coils in my chest. If Cian had a part in it, he’d never admit it.
But if he suspects his name’s being whispered in the wrong corners, he might be here to get ahead of it. To see just how much I know.
I keep my expression neutral. “Only what the other employees are whispering about?”
“And what exactly are they whispering?” he asks.
Cian meets my eyes, his stare lingering a second too long before an easy smile curves his lips. “Just curious.”
Then, without missing a step, he changes course. “Come back to Belfast with me.”
The shift is so abrupt it takes a moment to register.
“Why would I do that?” I ask. “I just got to Dublin.”
His tone is measured, but his eyes give him away. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here. Not with everything going on between your boss and your brother.”
“I’m sure my boss doesn’t know I’m related to Ruairi, or why else would he have hired me?” I say, trying to sound confident even as doubt creeps in. “He wouldn’t take the risk, especially if things are as tense between them as you say they are.”
Cian’s brow lifts slightly, his voice low. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“No,” I admit, eyes narrowing as I study him, “but I’m sure you can tell me why Ruairi’s going after him?”
He hesitates, swirling the liquid in his glass before finally responding. “I’m not sure how much I should say.”
“Really? That’s interesting, considering you brought me to a Syndicate meeting, but now you’re hesitating to answer a simple question?” I sit back.
Cian’s lips press into a thin line. He still doesn’t answer.
I sigh, shaking my head. “I thought you were different. But I see that you’re content treating me the same way Ruairi does,” I say, letting just the right amount of frustration seep into my voice. “Like I’m too naive to understand. Like I should sit back and let the men handle things.”
I pick up my napkin and toss it onto the table. “I should’ve figured. I mean, you do work for my brother. Why would you be honest with me? Why would you see me as anything other than a weak woman who needs protecting?”
The chair screeches across the floor as I stand. “I don’t need another man like that in my life.”
Before I can turn, Cian’s hand closes around my wrist, his grip forceful as he pulls me back down into my seat.
“You don’t know anything about me,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost coaxing. “But I’d like to change that.”
I watch him carefully. “And how do you plan to do that?”
His hand drifts under the table, fingers skimming up my leg, his touch bold.
I don’t react. Not outwardly.
He leans in close, the heat of his breath ghosting over my jaw, deliberate and intimate.
“Ruairi didn’t try to set us up, Aoife. He chose me for you.
Gave his blessing like it was already done.
” His voice is velvet-wrapped steel, smooth but unmistakably possessive.
“So let me show you why. Let me show you what it means to belong to a man who knows exactly how to handle you.”
I smile slightly, meeting his gaze. “Dating me is one thing. Spending the night with me? That’s something else entirely.”
His fingers trail higher. The urge to push him away burns under my skin. But I stay still, letting him think he’s in control while I draw him further into my web.
“We need to be smart,” I murmur. “Think our moves through. Keep Ruairi’s blessing.”
Finally, he exhales, pulling back with a reluctant nod. “I want you to understand what’s really happening, Aoife,” he says, studying me like he’s weighing his options. “Ruairi wasn’t ready to take over.”
I don’t react, but my pulse quickens.
“He’s making decisions that aren’t in the best interest of the Syndicate.” He pauses, letting the words hang between us as if he’s waiting for me to challenge him.
I don’t. Instead, I give him exactly what he wants, my curiosity. “And what would you do differently?”
“Your brother’s weakness is his temper. He reacts instead of thinking things through and responding. He’s making reckless mistakes.” His lips curl as he sits back. “I’d make sure we’re running things right. No reckless feuds. No emotional decisions.”
Cian lets out a soft, humorless laugh, his eyes never leaving mine. “No.”
He leans forward slightly, voice dropping. “Because I’m not just here to take something from Ruairi.”
A pause. Calculated.
“I have a proposition.”
My brows lift. “Go on.”
“I want to take over the Syndicate,” he says smoothly, “and I want to run it with you.”
The words land like a weight in my chest. For a moment, I can’t tell if it’s ambition or nausea twisting in my stomach.
He says it like it’s inevitable. Like I’ve already agreed. What he doesn’t see is the way my nails press into my palms beneath the table, how hard I work to keep my face still.
He thinks I’ll be flattered. Empowered.
But all I feel is the cold, calculating truth settling into place.
He doesn’t want me as a partner. He wants me as leverage. As a crown to place on his stolen throne.
But I’ve worn prettier masks than this. And I’ve played far more dangerous games.
“You’re a smart young woman, Aoife,” he continues, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. “Too smart to be working a front desk. You’re a Quigley. That makes you royalty. You should be doing something deserving of your name.”
I let my lips part slightly, as if mesmerized, as if no one has ever seen me like this before.
“I know you want more. You’ve been pushing to prove yourself, and your brother still won’t let you in. You belong in this world. And with me? You’d have power. Real power,” he says as if he’s offering me the world in silk and chains.
I inhale slowly, as if overwhelmed. “What about Ruairi?”
“If he willingly steps down, he’ll be offered another position in the Syndicate.”
I sit back, crossing my legs, like I’m genuinely thinking it over.
Cian lets the silence stretch, his eyes never leaving mine as he waits for my answer. Then his phone vibrates on the table. He glances at the screen and then back to me.
“Excuse me,” he mutters, pushing back his chair. “I need to take this.” He stands, adjusting his jacket. “Wait here for me?”
I give him a small smile, nodding. “Of course.”
The moment he’s out of sight, I push away from the table. My heart hammers as I walk briskly across the restaurant toward a side entrance.
Jerry Callahan’s still there, slouched in his seat beside Eamon.
As I pass, he whistles low, turning slightly toward me.
“Leaving already, sweetheart?” he drawls, his voice as sleazy as the way he looks at me.
“Shame. You looked bored out of your mind with that old bastard.” He leans in just a little, voice dropping to something rougher, darker.
“I could show you a much better time tonight. Something slow, hard, and worth remembering.”
I stop and turn in his direction, ready to put him in his place, but before I can get a word out, Eamon moves. The punch lands hard and fast, Jerry’s head snapping back before he even registers what’s happening.
Eamon’s guards react immediately. One grabs me, yanking me back, while the other hauls Jerry out of his seat. Everything moves in a blur. I don’t fight as I’m led through the kitchen to a back entrance and ushered into the elevator. By the time I step into the penthouse, I’m fuming.
I don’t know what pisses me off more. Cian treating me like some delicate thing he can manipulate, trying to lure me back to Belfast with half-truths and veiled warnings.
Jerry thinking he could say whatever he wanted like I was just another pretty face in a tight dress there for his entertainment.
Or Eamon thinking I need him to fight my battles.
I cross my arms, pacing the room, my anger burning hotter with every step. I had it handled. I always do. But now? What if Cian gets wind of my boss starting a brawl over me? He’s going to ask me more questions. Questions I don’t have good answers for.
I’ve been playing this game carefully, staying close enough to Cian to pull information without tipping him off. But if he starts connecting dots, if he suspects there’s something between Eamon and me, then it’s over. He’ll shut down.
And then what?
Blowing my cover now means losing the one advantage I have in this war. And for what? Because Eamon couldn’t keep his damn hands to himself? Because he needed to throw a punch to mark his territory?
Frustration coils hot in my chest as I stop pacing and press my fingers to my temples. Rage and disappointment throb behind my eyes. I don’t need anyone stepping in for me— not Cian, not Ruairi, and especially not Eamon.
He thinks he’s protecting me. What he’s really doing is underestimating me.
Let them all circle like vultures, mistaking me for something fragile. They forget—it's not the damsel they should fear. It's the reckoning she brings.