Chapter 12 Siobhan
SIOBHAN
The Shelbourne Hotel drips with old money and older secrets.
Crystal chandeliers throw prismatic light across Dublin’s elite, all of us dressed in our finest armor—tuxedos and gowns worth more than the charity we’re pretending to support.
I smooth the silk of my black Valentino dress, the fabric clinging to curves I’ve deliberately put on display tonight.
Not for anyone here, certainly not for the silver-haired politicians and their botoxed wives making the rounds, but for myself.
And apparently, also for Liam.
Connor O’Neill isn’t here as he was expected to be. His son is.
Liam stands across the ballroom, devastating in his black-tie attire. The tuxedo fits him like a sin. It’s the kind of tailoring that whispers bespoke in Italian. He’s surrounded by a cluster of businessmen, nodding at something one of them says, but his eyes keep finding me across the crowd.
Every. Single. Time.
“You’re staring.” Fiona appears at my elbow with two Champagne flutes, pressing one into my hand. “Not very subtle, boss.”
“I’m surveying the room,” I reply smoothly, accepting the drink. “It’s called networking.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” She follows my gaze to where Liam has extracted himself from the businessmen and is now being accosted by a woman in red—councilwoman Brady, if I’m not mistaken.
Her hand rests on his forearm with familiarity.
“Because it looks like you’re about to burn a hole through Councilwoman Brady’s head with your mind. ”
I take a deliberate sip of Champagne, the bubbles sharp on my tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Mm-hmm.” Fiona’s smirk suggests she’s not buying it. “For what it’s worth, he’s been staring at you just as much. Actually, more. I’ve been counting.”
Christ. “Don’t you have donors to charm?”
“Already charmed three into increasing their pledges.” She grins, unrepentant. “I’m taking a break to watch whatever this is unfold.”
“There’s nothing to unfold.” I scan the room, cataloging faces. Kelly associates on one side, O’Neill connections on the other, neutral parties blissfully unaware they’re navigating a minefield of criminal politics disguised as philanthropy. “This is a professional event.”
“Right. Professional.” Fiona drains half her Champagne. “That’s why Liam O’Neill looks like he wants to commit murder every time another man approaches you.”
Before I can respond, Judge Brennan materializes beside us with the unsettling timing of someone who’s been watching for an opening. “Ms. Kelly. Lovely to see you again.”
“Judge Brennan.” I offer my hand, which he takes with dry formality. “I didn’t realize you’d be attending tonight.”
“The children’s hospital is a cause close to my heart.” His pale eyes assess me with the same clinical detachment he showed at my auction. “My granddaughter was treated there last year.”
“I’m glad she recovered.” I withdraw my hand, resisting the urge to wipe it on my dress. Something about Brennan makes my skin crawl. Maybe, it’s the judicial authority hiding O’Neill loyalty. Or just his general reptilian demeanor.
“She did, thank you.” He glances toward Liam, then back to me. “I understand you’ve had some business dealings with the O’Neill organization recently.”
There it is. Not even bothering with subtlety anymore.
“The gallery occasionally intersects with various business interests,” I reply carefully. “As you know, Dublin is a small city in many ways.”
“Indeed it is.” His thin smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “One must be careful about such intersections, of course. Reputations can be fragile things.”
The threat is barely veiled. I’m being warned, though, whether it’s on Connor’s behalf or Liam’s, I can’t quite tell.
“I’ve always found reputation is built on action, not association,” I counter. “But I appreciate your concern, Judge.”
Fiona shifts slightly beside me, tension evident in her posture. She knows enough to recognize danger, even if she doesn’t understand its source.
Brennan inclines his head. “Of course. Enjoy your evening, Ms. Kelly.”
He retreats into the crowd, leaving a chill in his wake.
“What the hell was that about?” Fiona whispers once he’s out of earshot.
“Politics.” I down the rest of my Champagne in one go, needing the fortification. “The boring, bureaucratic kind.”
“That didn’t sound boring. That sounded like—”
My phone vibrates in my clutch. I extract it with a sinking feeling, already knowing who it’ll be.
Dad.
“I need to take this.” I thrust my empty glass at Fiona. “Back in a moment.”
I navigate toward the edge of the ballroom, finding a quieter alcove near the grand staircase before answering. “Hi, Dad.”
“Where are you?” Michael Kelly’s voice carries the wheeze that’s become more pronounced in recent weeks, a reminder that time is running out for both of us.
“At the children’s hospital gala. I told you about it last week.” I keep my voice low, aware of the other guests moving past. “The one I’m co-sponsoring through the gallery.”
“Connor O’Neill was supposed to attend that event.”
My stomach drops. Of course he knows. Of course he’s tracking O’Neill movements. “I believe he sent his son in his place. I haven’t spoken with either of them.”
The lie comes easily. Too easily.
“Liam O’Neill is there?”
“Among about two hundred other attendees, yes.” I watch said attendee across the ballroom, now cornered by the hospital administrator.
He looks bored, restless, nothing like the focused intensity he’d shown when we were pressed together in that alley.
“It’s a large event, Dad. I’m here representing the gallery, he’s here representing his family’s interests. That’s all.”
Silence stretches on the other end, filled with my father’s labored breathing and my own increasing pulse.
“Stay away from him, Siobhan.”
“I just said I haven’t—”
“I mean it.” His voice hardens despite the physical weakness beneath it.
“Whatever game Connor’s playing, his son is the executioner.
Liam O’Neill isn’t some society boy playing at crime.
He’s the real thing. Dangerous. I don’t want you getting caught up in whatever carnage they intend to dish out. ”
Too fucking late for that. The memory of his body against mine, the controlled violence in every movement, the cold calculation in those winter-storm eyes. Dangerous doesn’t begin to cover it.
“I understand,” I say, the dutiful daughter performing her role, because sometimes, it’s just fucking easier than arguing.
“Chris will be stopping by the gallery tomorrow. He has some questions about the quarterly reports.”
My free hand clenches into a fist. “The quarterly reports are confidential gallery business. They don’t concern Chris.”
“Everything concerns family, Siobhan. You know that.” A pause, a cough he tries to suppress. “He’s positioning to take over certain operations when the time comes. You’ll cooperate.”
When the time comes. Not if. When.
“Of course,” I lie again, rage simmering beneath the false compliance. “I’ll make time for him tomorrow.”
“Good girl.” The condescension stings more than any insult could. “Enjoy your event. And Siobhan? Remember who you are.”
The line goes dead.
I stand there for a moment, phone clutched in my hand, breathing through the fury and fear twisting in my chest. Remember who you are. As if I could forget. As if the Kelly name isn’t branded into my fucking DNA, a mark I can’t escape no matter how far I run or how successful the gallery becomes.
“Bad news?”
I spin around to find Liam standing three feet away, hands in his pockets, expression carefully neutral. How long has he been there? How much did he hear?
“Family check-in,” I reply, slipping my phone back into my clutch with hands that aren’t quite steady. “Nothing catastrophic.”
“You look like you want to commit murder.” He steps closer, just enough to invade my carefully maintained personal space. “Should I be concerned?”
“Only if you’re the one who sent Judge Brennan to threaten me earlier.”
Something dark flashes across his face. “Brennan approached you?”
“With all the subtlety of a brick through a window.” I cross my arms, a defensive posture I immediately regret when his eyes drop to my cleavage, then drag back up with deliberate slowness. “Warned me about reputation and intersections. Your father’s message, I assume?”
“No.” The single word carries absolute certainty. “Connor doesn’t use Brennan for warnings. He uses him for legitimacy and legal maneuvering. This was something else.”
“What else?”
Liam glances around the alcove, assessing our privacy before responding.
“Brennan has his own interests beyond O’Neill loyalty.
He’s been angling for a position on the high court for years.
Anything that threatens his reputation—like being associated with both sides of a family dispute—would concern him. ”
“So he was warning me away from you.”
“Or warning me away from you.” His mouth curves slightly. “Hard to say which of us he considers the greater threat to his political ambitions.”
Despite everything—my father’s warning, the Judge’s threat, the impossible situation we’re creating—I smile. “Probably you. I’m much more respectable.”
“Are you?” He moves closer still, close enough that I can smell his cologne. Something expensive and dark that makes my mouth water. “Because right now, Siobhan Kelly, you look like the most dangerous thing in this room.”
My breath catches. “Is that your professional assessment?”
“Personal observation.” His eyes hold mine, pupils dilating in the low light. “That dress is a weapon.”
“Good.” The word emerges breathier than intended. “I wore it to make a statement.”