Chapter 17
Declan
T hree fucking attacks in the last week. Aleksandr is getting bold, but finally, we have a new lead. Connor, thanks to Maxim’s phone and computer, intercepted some communications between a man named Ivan Gorbov and Aleksandr. My men caught him, and now it’s time for a chat.
I head to the warehouse and enter the empty room where Ivan stands, chained to the ceiling, still untouched. Connor leans by the door, and Kian stands by my side as we approach.
“You know who I am,” I say, my voice calm but cold.
“The Irish fucker,” Ivan spits, his lips curling into a mocking grin, that thick Russian accent.
“Something like that.” I keep my tone light, amused. “Is Aleksandr in town?”
“Fuck you,” he snarls.
“Yeah, that’s not the right answer.” My lips turn into a smirk. I can see in his eyes not only the anger but the fear; he knows that he will never leave this room alive.
“Aleksandr and Anton will kill you all,” he says, defiance flashing in his eyes.
“Are they? The fuckers who blow shit up while hiding in the shadows because they don’t have the balls to face us?” I chuckle, looking at Kian.
Today, I’m feeling a lot more patient than usual; fucking Viviana last night has taken all the edge I’ve been accumulating since the wedding and seeing her in that fucking black gown. She looked like a beautiful black widow ready to strike her venom, and she’s been like that since—until last night.
“I can face you, fucker!” Ivan snarls, cutting into my line of thought, thankfully, because my cock is already giving me signals. Ivan’s muscles flex against the chains like a bear being poked, dangerous, his eyes flickering with intense fire as the lit room casts shadows on his face; he looks like a good adversary.
I smirk, blood simmering with anticipation. Ivan’s a big guy, and it’s been a while since I’ve thrown real punches outside of spars with my brothers. This might be fun. “Okay, let’s see about that,” I say, loosening my tie and handing it to Kian.
My brothers exchange worried looks but say nothing as I shrug off my suit jacket and roll up my sleeves. I probably should’ve worn an older shirt for this.
“Release him,” I ordered.
Kian hesitates for a moment, then unhooks Ivan from the chains. The moment Ivan’s arms are free, he lunges at me like a bull, tackling me hard against the wall. Pain shoots through my back, but I can’t help laughing. The Koslovs and their men were never known for playing fair.
Ivan grins, mistaking my amusement for weakness. His fists come fast: one, two, three. I block most of them but take a hit to the ribs that makes me stagger back.
“You think you’re untouchable, Callaghan?” he sneers, circling me like a predator sensing blood.
“Not untouchable,” I say, straightening and rolling my shoulders. “Just better than you.”
He roars and charges again, swinging wide. I duck, driving my fist to his left side. He grunts but doesn’t stop, slamming his elbow against my shoulder; a spark of pain runs through it. He seems to have the upper hand, shoving me toward the table in the corner.
“You’re not so tough now, Irishman,” he says, his voice dripping with cockiness.
I let him think he’s winning, waiting for the right moment. He throws another punch, but this time, I catch his wrist mid-swing, twisting it sharply. He screams in pain as I slam my fist into his jaw, sending him walking back; blood flies from his busted lip, his eyes turning red with rage.
Before he can recover, I sweep his legs out from under him and drive him to the ground, pinning him with my knee on his chest and my hand pressing on his throat, right on his pulse.
His face turns purple, and I let him breathe a little, loosening my grip as my knee presses more into his chest; I can feel his heart beating like a drum under my knee.
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” I say, still gripping his throat just tight enough to make him suck in a breath, “let’s talk. Where the fuck is Aleksandr?”
Ivan struggles, his confidence crumbling as he realizes he’s lost. I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
“You can either give me what I need or…”
“I’m dead either way, you fucking Irish,” Ivan smirks at me, but his eyes betray him. There’s a crack in his tough-guy armour. Not fear of death, that much is clear, but fear of how he’ll die, just like Maxim.
“You’re right, Ivan. You are dead,” I say, my voice cold and deliberate. “But I can kill you fast, no pain.”
My fingers dig into the side of his throat, nails breaking the skin. He grunts in pain, his hands clawing at my arm, desperate for air. I let him catch his breath for a second, then grab his right hand. With a swift motion, I twist, snapping his wrist.
The sickening crack echoes through the empty room, followed by his screams of agony. The sound bounces off the concrete walls, sharp and haunting.
The fucker’s tough, though. His left-hand swings up, catching me square in the mouth. Blood bursts into my mouth, metallic and warm, dripping onto my shirt. I spit crimson onto the ground, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“I’m done with this shit,” I hiss.
Grabbing his shoulder, I rotate it hard, pulling until I feel the bones grind and snap like dry twigs. The sound is sharp and brittle, like stepping on eggshells. Ivan’s scream pierces the air again, tears streaking his bloody face.
“As I was saying, Ivan,” I lean closer, pressing my knee harder into his chest, keeping him pinned, “I can kill you fast, or I can keep breaking every bone in your body.”
I drop my voice to a near whisper, leaning into his ear, “And after I’m done, my brothers and I will pay a visit to your lovely Lilibeth.”
His entire body stiffens beneath me. His muscles lock, and his breath catches. That’s the reaction I wanted. Connor did his homework. Lilibeth, his twenty-one-year-old daughter, is studying at a university in New York.
The panic on his face is pure gold. His tough exterior crumbles, replaced with raw fear. “Your choice, Ivan.”
I loosen my grip just enough for him to nod, but my knee stays firmly planted on his chest. Blood trickles from my lip, and the copper tang fills my mouth again. I shake my head, knowing Viviana will notice the cut later. The questions will come, questions I don’t want to answer. Fucking fantastic.
“Aleksandr hasn’t been in town,” Ivan finally rasps, his voice hoarse and weak. “We went to Canada. He has someone here who handles everything.”
“Who?” I demand. “Another Russian?”
He shakes his head, his body trembling as he lets out another pained groan. His bloodied lips twist into a grin, his teeth smeared red like some fucked-up vampire. “No,” he chokes out, coughing wetly. “An Italian.”
My heart lurches, the walls closing in around me. The name Giovanni burns in my mind like a brand.
“The Koslovs have a grip on you, and you don’t even know it,” Ivan laughs, spitting blood. His laughter grates on me, a taunt that snaps my control. My hands close around his neck, and before I can think twice, I twist. His neck breaks with a sickening crack, and his body goes limp beneath me.
For a brief moment, the image of Viviana flashes in my mind: her soft moans last night, the way her raven-black hair looked in my hands as I gripped it, her lips parting for me…
“Fuck!” I bark, stepping back from Ivan’s lifeless body. My chest heaves as I try to regain control.
Kian places a hand on my shoulder and offers me a towel. I take it, wiping my bloodied mouth. My lip still bleeds, staining my shirt further.
“It’s Giovanni,” Connor says from the corner, his voice steady but grim.
“I know that. But what if—” I trail off, my voice cracking under the weight of realization.
“Viviana isn’t a part of this,” Connor says firmly, handing me a small bottle of alcohol and a piece of clean paper to press against my lip.
“Are we sure about that?” My gaze flickers between them. They both look away, staring at the floor, the doubt written on their faces.
We can’t be sure. Giovanni Morelli is too fucking smart. He’s been playing this game longer than I’ve been breathing, like a master poker player who never shows his hand. This was his plan all along: working with the Koslovs, weakening us from the inside. And maybe, just maybe, sending Viviana to distract me.
“What are we going to do?” Kian’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I know how he and Connor feel about Viviana. We’ve all grown used to her fiery presence, and the idea that she can be involved with her father’s betrayal is like a knife to the gut.
“We don’t do anything,” I say, rolling down my bloody sleeves and pulling on my suit jacket. “No one can know about Ivan or what he said.” I turn to face them, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “If the Irish Consortium finds out—”
“They’ll come for Viviana,” Connor finishes, his voice dark, his fists clenched.
“This is a Callaghan problem,” I say, looking each of them in the eyes. “And only we will handle it.”
Both nod.
Arriving home, I take a deep breath, steadying myself as my hand grips the door handle to my room. The events of today weigh heavy on my shoulders. Still, as I push the door open, her scent envelops me, a sweet embrace that momentarily dulls the edge of my thoughts. Jasmine, with a hint of something warmer, sweeter, lingers in the air.
The room is mostly dark, the faint glow of the lamp on the nightstand casting soft, golden light over everything.My breath catches as I see her.
She’s lying in my bed, her figure relaxed, bathed in that soft glow that makes her look almost ethereal. Her pale skin glows like moonlight against the dark sheets, the deep contrast of her raven hair spilling over her back, making her look otherworldly, like a goddess descended just for me.
She’s wearing a black lace nightgown, the hem barely brushing her thighs, the delicate fabric teasing more than it covers. Her chest rises and falls with the rhythm of her peaceful breaths; her lips slightly parted in what looks like a faint smile. One side of her breast peeks out just enough to be maddening, the swell moving gently with each inhale.
I stand frozen, taking her in. She’s a firecracker, stubborn as sin, relentless in defiance, yet here she is, looking impossibly soft, delicate even. This contrast shouldn’t exist; it can’t. The scent of her, the image of her serenity, clashes violently with the chaos of the day.
It can’t be her.
That thought reverberates through my head, shaking me to the core. She left her father, her sister, and everything tied to his world because she hated this life—my life. There’s no way she can be part of this, of him.
My hand trembles as I step closer, my fingers still stained with Ivan’s blood. Slowly, I trail them along her leg, her skin smooth and warm beneath my touch. A soft sigh escapes her lips, her body stirring slightly, and my chest tightens. Please, don’t let it be her.
Unable to stay, I turn away and head for the bathroom, the tension in my chest coiling tighter with each step. I crank the shower handle, and the sound of rushing water fills the space. Steam clouds the air almost instantly, but it does nothing to clear my thoughts.
Leaning against the cool tiles, I let out a shaky exhale, my forehead resting against the wall. The heat of the water pelts against my back, but it doesn’t wash away the ache clinging to me, the weight pressing into my ribs. My hands press harder into the tiles as if I can force the answers out of the cracks.
How did it get so complicated? Ivan’s face flashes in my mind, his blood coating my hands. And then, unbidden, another face: Elva. The memory is a gut punch. First Elva, and now—
Her touch stops me cold.
Her hands glide over my back, soft and caring, and my breath stalls in my throat. Her lips press gentle kisses to my shoulder blades, the warmth of her mouth soothing the bruise Ivan left on my left side. Her fingers trace the mark slowly, carefully, as if trying to erase the pain beneath.
I feel her pause, her breathing hitching as her fingers find the darker bruise near my ribs. She knows I’ve been in a fight.
Slowly, I turn to face her.
Her gaze is fixed on the bruise, her expression torn between concern and anger. The way she looks at me like she’s searching for answers in the lines of my body, makes my stomach twist. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. The steam swirls around us, the water dripping from my skin mingling with the silence.
For a moment, we just stood there, her hands resting lightly on my sides, my chest still heaving from everything that’s been building inside me.
Her hair is in a ponytail now, her eyes still on my bruise. My eyes go wide, and I see worry in them. Then they start to turn red as she sees the cut on my lip.
“What happened?” Her voice sounds so little, fragile. Is she this worried about me?
“Just a workout that got too rough.” I release a chuckle, and her eyes darken.
“Don’t lie to me, Declan.” Her eyes narrow, her voice clipped as her hands press on my chest, right on the bruise from Ivan’s punch. I try to hide the wince.
“Just taking care of business, Viviana.” I tilt her chin up with my pointer finger. “Do you really care that much for me?” I wink.
She studies my face and rolls her eyes. She knows I’m not telling her the entire truth, but this is the best I can do now. “I just don’t want to go back to my vibrator,” her tone teasing as fuck.
I pull her closer and crash my lips into hers, my tongue pushing inside her mouth as I devour every inch of her warmth. I drag my hand down the side of her body, my nails marking her soft skin. When I reach her ass, I pull her leg up so I can align my throbbing cock to her entrance.
Fuck this height difference. I pick her leg up and straddle her to my hips as I turn and pin her against the wall. She inhales sharply as the cold from the tiles makes her beautiful nipples press on my chest like little daggers. Her hand travels to my cock, and she guides it to her entrance, her eyes stuck on mine. I don’t see anything but lust in them. Am I wrong about her?
I close my eyes and thrust slowly into her silky, soaking-wet cunt. Her back arches from the cold tiles, pressing her breast even more into my skin. I sink my face into her neck, and her whimpers of pleasure make my entire body ripple with need, with possessiveness.
I need her, I want her, and my control goes out the window between wanting to fuck her and wanting to hurt her.
Gripping her hair firmly, I pull her head back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. Her breath hitches just before my teeth sink into her soft skin, hard enough to leave a mark. She winces, a sharp intake of air breaking her composure, but her eyes, when they meet mine, are filled with raw lust, her pleasure shining through the pain.
“I owe you a punishment, firecracker,” I grunt, my voice dipping an octave, low and rough.
“You do?” she murmurs, the sound melting into a moan as the question escapes her lips.
I smirk against the soft curve of her neck, my teeth grazing the sensitive spot where her pulse pounds. Her scent is intoxicating, her heat pressed against me, igniting something primal deep inside. My grip tightens slightly, and my smirk turns wicked.
“Don’t pretend you don’t remember,” I murmur, my words laced with dark amusement, my breath hot against her skin.
Her body quakes against mine, anticipation rolling off her in waves. She knows exactly what I mean.
Her nails claw at my neck, her breathing becoming more unsteady, and I feel her inner wall clench on my hard cock. I removed it fast and put her legs on the floor. She whimpers, her eyes full of fury, looking straight into my soul like the Grim Reaper.
“What the hell, Declan?” she screeches, and I let out a laugh.
“I told you I was going to punish you.” I grab her throat and push her to the wall, the water falling on me. My mouth kisses her collarbone, circling my tongue around her hard-as-rock nipples, biting on them as she cries out my name.
Tightening my grip on her throat, I stand, hovering over her. “I’ll let you choose, firecracker,” I say. biting her bottom lip and sucking on it to calm the sting. “I either edge for an hour, or I’ll spank your ass twenty times with my bare hand.” I see her gasping for air, but I don’t release her.
Her pupils are so wide that her beautiful olive eyes are barely noticeable; she looks like the depths of hell that will take my soul.
“The—,” she struggles to speak under my grip, so I release enough for the air to enter. She gasps, her chest moving up and down faster. “The spanking,” she manages, and my eyebrows shoot up. I really thought she was going to choose the edging. She doesn’t look like the type who enjoys being spanked, especially not by me.
“Head to the bed, get on all fours, your ass up at the edge of the bed,” I order in a primal growl. “And wait for me.” My firecracker’s eyes glint with amusement as she bites her lip.