9. Cassie
CASSIE
T he black dress Roman’s stylist had chosen for me was way out of my league, more movie star than…well, an average person like me.
I stared at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror of our bedroom, trying to recognize the woman looking back at me.
The silk clung to my curves like it had been painted on, the neckline just low enough to be elegant rather than scandalous.
Diamond earrings—real ones—caught the light every time I moved my head.
I looked like I belonged in Roman’s world.
I felt like a fraud in designer heels.
"You look beautiful," Roman said from behind me, his reflection appearing in the mirror. He moved with a predatory grace that made my pulse spike, adjusting his cufflinks with practiced ease. The black tuxedo transformed him from a dangerous businessman into something even more lethal—a man who commanded empires while looking like he’d stepped off a magazine cover.
"I feel like I’m playing dress-up," I admitted, smoothing my hands down the silk.
His eyes met mine in the mirror, and for a moment, something softer flickered across his features. "You’re not playing anything, Cassie. Tonight, you’re my queen. Act like it."
The words sent electricity straight down my spine. Queen . Like I was something precious instead of a pawn in his inheritance game.
Roman stepped closer, his hands settling on my waist with possessive warmth. I could smell his cologne—expensive and dark, with notes that reminded me of whiskey and smoke. His mouth found the curve of my neck, pressing a kiss that made my knees weak.
"The Flanagan Foundation Gala is where the real power in this city shows its face," he murmured against my skin. "Politicians, judges, business leaders—all of them owing favors to the families that built this place. Tonight, they’ll see that the Creed name isn’t going anywhere."
I leaned back against his chest, feeling the solid strength of him. "And me?"
"You're proof that I’m thinking about the future instead of just surviving the present." His arms tightened around me. "But Cassie? Some of these people will smile to your face while planning your funeral. Stay close to me."
The warning should’ve terrified me. Instead, it made something fierce and protective flare in my chest. Let them try. I’d survived five months working for Roman’s world without even knowing the rules. Now that I understood the game, I wasn’t backing down.
The ride to the Four Seasons was quiet, Roman’s hand resting on my thigh while he reviewed something on his phone.
Every few minutes, his thumb would stroke across the silk of my dress, an absent gesture that made heat pool low in my belly.
By the time we arrived, my heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with nerves.
The hotel’s ballroom had been transformed into something out of a fairy tale—if fairy tales included armed security and guests who looked like they could order hits between appetizers.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over tables draped in emerald green, and Celtic knots were woven into the floral arrangements.
Everything about the space whispered old money and older secrets.
"Mr. Creed." A woman in a shimmering gold gown approached us, her smile bright and calculating. "How wonderful to see you. And this must be the famous fiancée we’ve all been hearing about."
Roman’s hand found the small of my back, a claiming touch that sent shivers up my spine. "Margaret Flanagan, meet Cassie James. Cassie, Margaret runs the foundation and half the charitable organizations in the city."
"All in service of our community," Margaret said, though her eyes were already cataloging every detail of my appearance. "I do hope you’ll consider joining our board, Miss James. We always need fresh perspectives."
Fresh perspectives. Code for young blood to replace the old guard. I smiled, channeling every lesson my mother had taught me about dealing with women who saw other women as competition.
"I’d be honored to contribute however I can," I said. "Roman speaks so highly of the work you do."
Margaret’s smile faltered —she’d expected me to be intimidated, not polished. "How lovely. I’m sure we’ll have much to discuss."
She glided away, and Roman’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Well done. She was expecting a trembling little mouse."
"I’m not trembling," I said, though that wasn’t entirely true. My hands were steady, but my stomach had been churning all evening. Nerves, I told myself. Just nerves.
The evening progressed like a choreographed dance.
Roman moved through the crowd with effortless authority, introducing me to judges and city councilmen, business owners and charity board members.
Everyone knew who he was, and, more importantly, they knew what he represented.
The Creed name carried a weight that went back generations.
"To the sons and daughters of éire," called out Judge Thomas O’Sullivan, raising his glass during the dinner toast. "May our heritage remain the last sacred thing in a world that’s forgotten the meaning of loyalty."
"Sláinte," the room responded in unison, glasses lifted toward the emerald and gold banners hanging from the ceiling.
I raised my glass with the rest of them, the Gaelic words feeling foreign but somehow right on my tongue. Roman’s eyes were on me, and there was pride in his gaze that made my chest tighten with emotions I didn’t want to examine too closely.
But as the evening wore on, I started noticing things. The way conversations stopped when certain people walked by. The subtle tension in Roman’s shoulders every time his phone buzzed. The way his eyes constantly scanned the room like he was expecting trouble.
"Roman," a man appeared at our table, tall and broad-shouldered with the kind of face that had seen too much violence. "Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was hell."
"Sean." Roman’s voice was carefully neutral, but I felt him go tense beside me. "This is my fiancée, Cassie. Cassie, Sean handles my personal security."
Sean’s handshake was firm but respectful, his eyes already moving to scan the room.. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss. Roman has told us a lot about you."
"Has he?" I glanced at Roman, who was watching Sean with laser focus. "All good things, I hope."
"Nothing but," Sean said, but his attention was already elsewhere. "Boss, we should probably?—"
"Later," Roman cut him off, though his jaw was tight. "Enjoy the party, Sean."
Sean nodded and melted back into the crowd, but I could see Roman’s wheels turning. Whatever had made Sean late, it wasn’t traffic.
The real shift came when Declan appeared.
Roman’s consigliere moved through the crowd like a shark cutting through the water, his pale eyes scanning faces with predatory calculation. When he reached our table, he leaned down to whisper something in Roman’s ear that made his expression go cold.
"Excuse me for a moment," Roman said, his voice perfectly controlled. But I could see the storm brewing beneath the surface. "Cassie, stay here. I’ll be right back."
He stood, straightening his jacket with movements that were just a little too precise. The mask of polite civility slipped, revealing something harder underneath. Something dangerous.
I should’ve stayed at the table like he’d asked. Should’ve smiled and made small talk with the other wives and girlfriends who looked like they’d been born into this world.
Instead, I waited exactly thirty seconds before following him.
The hotel’s service corridor was dimly lit and mostly empty, the sounds of the gala muffled by heavy doors. I moved carefully, my heels silent on the carpeted floor, following the low murmur of voices around a corner.
"—surveillance footage from the warehouse hit," Declan was saying, his voice tight with tension. "The face is clear this time. It’s definitely her."
"Marina." Roman’s voice was deadly quiet. "That bitch should be dead."
"Well, she’s not. And she’s been following her brother’s footsteps. Talking to the Torrinos just like Anton did."
My blood ran cold. I pressed myself against the wall, heart hammering as I processed what I was hearing. Anton—the traitor Roman had mentioned, the one who’d nearly gotten him killed. His sister was here. And she was working with rival families.
"How long?" Roman asked.
"Best guess? Three months. Maybe longer."
Three months. Long enough to plan whatever they were planning. Long enough to get close to people Roman trusted.
"The meeting is in forty-eight hours," Declan continued. "Our contact says it’s happening at the pier. Marina and two Torrino lieutenants. If we move fast?—"
"We’ll be walking into another trap," Roman finished. "Just like last time."
"Maybe. Or maybe we will finally end this."
I heard footsteps and quickly ducked around another corner, my heart racing. End this. That could only mean one thing. Roman was planning to kill Marina. Planning to go to war with another family.
And I was right in the middle of it.
By the time I made it back to the ballroom, my hands were shaking. I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downed half of it in one gulp, trying to calm my nerves. The bubbles made my already queasy stomach worse, but at least it steadied my hands.
Roman returned ten minutes later, slipping back into his seat beside me like nothing had happened. But I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes kept moving to scan the crowd. He was planning something. Something dangerous.
"Everything alright?" I asked quietly.
"Fine," he said, though his hand found mine under the table, fingers interlacing with almost desperate pressure. "Just business."
Business. Right. The kind of business that got people killed.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of forced smiles and polite conversation.
I watched Roman work the room with renewed understanding, seeing how every interaction was calculated, every word carefully chosen.
This wasn’t just a charity gala—it was a display of power.
A reminder to everyone in attendance that the Creed name still commanded respect.
But I also saw the cracks. The way certain people made comments when they thought I wasn’t listening.
"The Creed name has ruled this city longer than banks."
"He’s risking it all on some girl in heels."
The hushed conversations stopped when he approached, but the subtle tension hummed beneath the surface of every interaction.
When we finally made our way to the exit, I caught even more fragments of conversation, but this one made my skin crawl. References to "settling old scores" and "cleaning house." Mentions of shipments and territories that had nothing to do with legitimate business.
By the time we were settled in the back of Roman’s car, my head was spinning with everything I’d learned. The partition between us and the driver was up, giving us privacy, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear whatever Roman was about to tell me.
"You followed me," he said without preamble, his voice carefully neutral.
I could’ve denied it. Should have. Instead, I met his gaze directly. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you looked like you were about to commit murder."
Something flickered across his features—surprise, maybe, or approval. "And what would you have done if I was?"
The question hung between us like a loaded gun. I thought about lying, about telling him I would’ve tried to stop him. But Roman had always been able to see right through me.
"I would’ve made sure you came home safe," I whispered.
The words seemed to hit him like a physical blow. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might tell me to get out of the car, out of his life, away from the violence that followed him like a shadow.
Instead, he reached for my hand.
"Someone close turned on me," he said, his voice raw with something I’d never heard before. Vulnerability. "Someone I trusted. And in forty-eight hours, I’m going to find out who."
His fingers tightened around mine, and I realized this wasn’t just him sharing information. This was him asking for something—trust, support, understanding. This was him letting me in despite every instinct that told him to keep me safe by keeping me in the dark.
"What do you need from me?" I asked.
"I need you to stay close. I need you to trust me. And I need you to understand that once you’re part of this world, there’s no going back."
My heart stumbled in my chest. Not because of fear, but because of the way he was looking at me. Like I wasn’t just surviving in his world anymore.
Like I was becoming part of it.
Like maybe, against all odds, I belonged here.