CHAPTER FOUR
CIAN
I DRAG THE towel over my skin, the fabric doing little to match the storm brewing in my head. The decision is made. Luna’s boyfriend needs to be dealt with—one way or another. I shove on a clean shirt, tugging it into place as I head out. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
It doesn’t take long to find her. She’s in the staff quarters, standing by the sink. A mug is in her hand, but she isn’t drinking from it. No, she’s just holding it, her movements slow and mechanical as she wipes the same spot over and over again. Her eyes are fixed on the red tiles in front of her, glazed and distant. What’s going through her head right now? Guilt? Fear? Both?
Sara—one of the other staff, I think—sits at the corner table, her head bent over her phone. The moment she catches sight of me standing in the doorway, she jolts upright, her chair scraping against the floor. The sound pulls my focus briefly, but I wave it off. She’s not who I came for.
“Hello, Mr. O’Reagan,” Sara stammers, her voice stiff with forced politeness.
Her words slice through the room, and Luna jerks like a string has been yanked. The mug wobbles in her grip, and for a split second, I think she’s going to drop it. Her face goes pale as death, and her eyes lock onto mine. Wide. Unreadable. But unmistakably afraid.
I step further inside, ignoring the rising tension that hums in the air like a live wire. “Come with me,” I say, my tone flat and final.
Silence. A thick, suffocating kind of silence. Sara’s gaze darts to Luna, and I can practically see the assumptions churning in her head. Luna, though, doesn’t move. She doesn’t speak. Her fingers tighten around the mug like it’s her last lifeline.
“Now,” I add, sharper this time.
That does it. Luna sets the mug down with trembling hands and follows me, her steps slow and reluctant. She thinks she’s in trouble. They all do.
I don’t look back. I don’t need to. I can feel her behind me, hear the hesitant drag of her footsteps as we make our way outside. The chill of the evening air hits, but I don’t slow down until we’re far enough from the prying eyes of the staff quarters.
Then, I stop. Turn to face her.
“Where do you want to eat?” I ask, my voice as casual as if I were asking the time.
She freezes, her mouth opening and closing without a sound. The stunned look on her face almost makes me laugh.
“What?” she finally manages, her voice barely a whisper.
“Where do you want to eat?” I repeat, slower this time. I let the faintest hint of amusement creep into my tone, just enough to let her know I’m not asking to be difficult. I’m serious.
Her brow furrows, and she blinks, clearly struggling to process. “Uh…there’s this little restaurant not far from here. It’s…nice.”
“Good.” I give a single nod. “Let’s go.”
And just like that, I start walking again, leaving her to scramble to keep up. Whatever she thought this was going to be, it’s not that.
I take the keys out of my pocket and hit the fob; the Audi flashes to life, unlocking the doors. I walk around to the passenger side and open the door for Luna. She’s hesitating again, chewing on her bottom lip as I stand as patiently as I can until she finally gets in, and I close the door after her.
Once I’m in the car, we roll down the long driveway. In the distance, I can see my cousin Jack's house not far from mine. It’s huge and dominating, just like him. We have never seen eye to eye, yet my father always seems to put us together on jobs.
We pass the opening gates and make our way into town. Luna doesn’t speak a word until I pull up at the restaurant she had suggested.
“If you are going to fire me, you don’t have to do it over dinner.”
I ignore her remark and kill the engine. “Let’s go,” I say, and she gets out.
The dark, baggy clothes don’t do her justice. Underneath the fabric, I know she’s a knockout. The kind that could ruin a man—ruin me, if I let her.
Still, I can’t stop looking. Her skin catches the faint glow of the streetlights, a soft shimmer on her collarbone where her hair brushes against it. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth nervously, the action causing my cock to twitch.
The small diner at the corner is nothing fancy, but it’s buzzing with patrons and just enough noise to drown out our words so no one can eavesdrop.
The waitress greets us with a tired smile and drops off menus. I don’t even open mine. My attention stays locked on her, the way she chews the inside of her cheek while reading.
“You’re staring,” she says without looking up.
“Can’t help it.”
Her gaze flicks up, meeting mine, and for a moment, I swear she softens.
I lean back in my chair, watching her carefully. "So, tell me about yourself," I say, my voice steady but curious.
Her shoulders tense instantly, and I catch the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She glances down, fiddling with her fingers. "What do you want to know?" she asks, her tone guarded. "It was all in my CV."
I let out a quiet chuckle, shaking my head. "Never got around to reading it," I admit, making a mental note that I will—later. I don’t miss the way her lips press together, her expression unreadable.
She shrugs as if the answer is insignificant. "I’m an only child. Grew up in the heart of Dublin. Didn’t really get along with my parents, so… I left. Started a new life down here. That’s about it." Her words are clipped, rehearsed even, and there’s something off in the way she avoids meeting my gaze.
I notice the tension still lingering in her shoulders, the slight twitch of her jaw. She’s leaving something out—I can feel it. "And you’ve always wanted to be a cleaner?" I ask, my tone light, but there’s an edge to the question.
Her head snaps up, and for a brief moment, I see the flicker of indignation in her eyes before she looks away. "I’m a qualified nurse," she says flatly.
A nurse? I wasn’t expecting that. "Really?" The surprise in my voice is impossible to hide. "Then why aren’t you working in a hospital?"
Her eyes narrow, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It’s complicated," she mutters, her tone making it clear she doesn’t want to elaborate.
Complicated. I don’t buy it, but I let it slide for now. The truth will come out eventually—it always does. Still, the thought nags at me. If she’s qualified, I could pull some strings, get her a position at any hospital she wants. But the idea of letting her go…it sits uncomfortably in my chest. I don’t say anything, keeping that thought to myself.
Instead, she shifts the conversation, her voice softer now. "What about you?" she asks, her eyes finally meeting mine. There’s curiosity there, but also caution, like she’s unsure if she really wants to know the answer.
“Ask me any question; I'm an open book.” I grin and open my arms wide for her.
The waitress appears. “Are you ready to order?”
I glance at Luna. “I’ll have a vegetarian sandwich and a coffee.”
The waitress scribbles the order down and glances at me.
“Just a coffee.”
She gathers the menus and walks away.
“You aren’t going to eat?” Luna asks, she’s still so nervous, and I want nothing more than for her to relax.
“You aren’t in trouble, and you aren’t losing your job. So relax,” I say.
“Then what are we doing here?” she glances around.
“Eating, well, you are eating, and I’m learning about you, Luna.”
Her cheeks flush, and I see the slight lowering of her shoulders. “What about your family?” She finally asks.
What a loaded fucking question. “I have two brothers, Taghd and Niall. We all work together in the family business.”
I’m waiting for her to ask what family business, but I’m sure she is fully aware we are mafia.
But then she tenses, glancing past me out the window.
Her hand moves to the edge of the table, fingers twitching like she’s ready to bolt.
“What is it?” I ask, already turning to follow her line of sight.
She grabs my wrist, stopping me. “Don’t.”
The warning in her voice is clear, but so is the fear. I glance at her hand on mine, then back at her face.
“What is it?”
She exhales sharply, letting go. “He’s here. Across the street.”
I twist in my seat, ignoring her protests, and spot him instantly. The guy doesn’t stand out much—a cheap leather jacket, a smirk that makes me want to break his jaw. He’s flanked by two others, both trying too hard to look tough. I don’t have to ask her who; this is clearly the boyfriend who uses her as a punching bag.
My fingers curl into fists. “Stay here.”
“Wait, don’t—”
I glance down at her. “He’s your boyfriend?” I already know, but I just need to be one hundred percent certain. She gives a nod of her head.
“I promise I’ll be gentle,” I lie and get to my feet. Pushing through the front door.
The air outside is sharp, but I barely notice. My focus is on him. On the way his smug expression falters when he sees me coming across the road. The alleyway they are down is directly across from the restaurant.
I glance down the street, scanning the shadows that cling to the edges of the buildings. It’s quiet—eerily quiet. No cameras, no witnesses, just the hum of the city far in the distance. Perfect. I take one last look around, ensuring there’s no one here to see what’s about to happen. My pulse is calm, steady, though the anger beneath my skin is anything but.
“You lost?” His voice cuts through the stillness as he steps forward, his cocky swagger as fake as the confidence in his eyes. Behind him, his friends linger, shifting uneasily. Smart of them to hang back.
“Not at all,” I reply, my voice cool. My hands hang loosely at my sides, but every muscle in my body is coiled, ready.
He looks me up and down, his smirk widening. “You lookin’ for something?” he says, his tone dripping with mockery.
I let the corner of my mouth curl into a grin, slow and deliberate. “Yeah,” I say, taking a step closer, “and I think I found it.”
His smirk falters, confusion flickering across his face. He doesn’t have time to figure it out. My fist connects with his jaw before he even sees it coming. The crack of bone echoes down the street, sharp and satisfying. He stumbles back, his hand flying to his face as blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. His friends lurch forward instinctively but stop themselves, uncertainty freezing them in place.
“You’re gonna regret that,” he spits, his voice dripping venom as he straightens, blood staining his teeth.
I pull the gun from my waistband, its weight grounding me in the moment. “No,” I say, leveling my gaze at him, “you will.”
His smirk vanishes as his eyes flick to the gun. His hands shoot up, palms out, the universal sign of surrender. “Whoa, man, come on,” he stammers.
I slide the gun back into my waistband. “No fun in that, is there? You like hitting people, so here’s your chance.” I spread my arms wide, daring him. “Take a swing at me.”
He hesitates, glancing at his friends, looking for reassurance. None comes. They stay rooted to the spot, just as useless as he is.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he mutters, shaking his head, but the fear in his eyes betrays him.
I step closer, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You like hitting women, don’t you? Makes you feel big, makes you feel in control. Well, here I am. Go on, big man, use me as your punching bag. What’s the matter? Afraid?”
My grin widens, but there’s no humor in it. Just sharp edges and promises of violence. He doesn’t take the bait. He’s too much of a coward for that. Instead, his hand darts to his pocket, and I catch the glint of a blade as he flicks it open.
Time slows. My gun is back in my hand before he even finishes the motion. His bravado crumbles instantly, replaced by something raw and primal—fear. Real fear. His eyes widen as I aim, my finger tightening on the trigger.
The shot shatters the stillness, loud and final. The bullet punches a clean hole through his forehead, and he collapses in a lifeless heap. His friends don’t even scream. They just run, their footsteps fading into the distance.
I tuck the gun away, my movements methodical, unhurried. There’s no need to rush. No one is coming—not yet. I turn and make my way back to the diner, the adrenaline humming low in my veins. My pulse is steady, my breathing even, as if I hadn’t just ended a life.
Inside, she’s frozen in place, her eyes locked on me, wide and unblinking. Her hands grip the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. I slide into my seat, pick up my coffee, and take a slow sip, savoring the warmth.
Behind me, the murmurs start. People press against the windows, drawn by the sound of the gunshot, but none of it matters. The only thing that matters is her.
“You killed him,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the buzz of the diner.
I shrug, setting the cup back on the table. “He had it coming.”
Her gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s something different now. Fear, yes, but something darker, something that flickers like a shadow at the edge of a flame. Intrigue, maybe. Or something far more dangerous.
I lean back in my chair, letting the silence stretch between us. “Still hungry?” I ask, my tone casual, like we’re discussing the weather.
She doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t run, either.
And that tells me everything I need to know.