Adeline
“You’re pretty,” Dermot admits.
“Fuck off,” Ciaran growls, pouring himself a finger of whiskey before thinking better of it. He hands it to Dermot, who appears surprised. “I’ve got to drive back home."
Dermot is quieter than his wise-cracking brother, but they share the same infuriating smirk. He knocks back the liquor, pushing me over to pour himself another.
“You are pretty,” he tells me again.
I bite back a smile, my hand wrapping around Ciaran’s arm. He’s tense underneath his suit jacket.
Dermot’s not leering at me. His cheeks are pink, his eyes bright and happy. Also, I truly think he has no idea how to speak to women.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
A shit-eating smirk breaks out on his face, and Ciaran growls again.
“Would you relax?” I laugh, shaking his arm.
We’ve been at his uncle’s birthday for an hour already. That means we’ve done one turn, greeting the massive amount of people. Ciaran had mentioned Cormac sending out invitations, but the man had really said, fuck it.
The city’s elite are here. Men laugh, their ladies swapping gossip.
Though it’s noticeable—at least to me—the Bratva’s absence.
Guess Cormac isn’t interested in chatting up Uncle Lev.
Dermot might like stirring his cousin up, but he wisely finds someone else to go talk to.
“He’s nice.”
Ciaran tenses again, and I laugh.
“Relax, boy,” I tease.
He lets out a deep breath, his eyes flicking down to watch me. The scowl on his face softens.
I don’t want to admit to him how tired I am. Homework assignments killed me this week, and I’d rather be at home, curled up on the couch, than standing around in high heels.
The food looks good, but I don’t want Cormac’s dark eyes to burn through me when I shove something in my mouth. Plus, this dress is really not made for eating.
I loosen my hand from Ciaran. “I’m going to head to the bathroom.”
He takes a step.
“You were joking about the peeing thing,” I tell him, my brow lifted so he knows I’m serious. A girl needs a little privacy once in a while.
Ciaran’s eyes scan the room. His uncle’s penthouse is dimly lit, and the booze is freely flowing.
“It’s fine,” I murmur, my spine straightening. Since Jack, I’m prepared for every scenario. I will kill a man with my stiletto if I have to. Though, hopefully, I can just go pee in peace.
Ciaran nods his head, directing me to a restroom. It’s not the one I’d been eyeing up, but I appreciate how tucked away it is.
It’s nothing but a tiny powder room, situated in a small hallway that leads to the kitchen. I smooth the fabric of my dress, taking deep breaths. I really want my bed, but that will have to wait.
I fix my lipstick, ensure my hair isn’t a mess, and then prepare myself for more socializing.
The hallway is dark, the silence odd in comparison to the buzz of activity in the living room.
Instead of going back that way, I head to the kitchen. The plan is to just poke my head in, be nosy, and see what it looks like and then head back to Ciaran. I’m surprised at how calm it is; the caterers are already packing up. I guess the food portion is over and we’re solely on to the liquor.
A woman nods to a flute of champagne on the counter, and I smile in thanks.
Because it’s so calm and empty, I wander through, picturing Ciaran and his cousins eating lunch here in between work meetings. There’s a giant butler’s pantry, and I assume the hallway will spit me back out into the living room when voices root my heels to the floor.
“Icarus Knight thinks he owns Las Vegas.”
This voice is new. It’s also so bitter and harsh, my eyebrows raise.
“You sound like you aren’t so sure about that,” Cormac O’Connell says.
Don’t do this, some part of me says. I step into the doorway of the butler’s pantry. Because that’s completely natural, just hanging out here. Definitely not snooping.
“I could say the same about you,” the nameless bastard says. “You’re not a fan of the Knights either.”
“I may or may not have gotten into it with them back in the nineties,” Cormac says.
“So we’re in agreement?”
“I don’t know, Wallen, are we?” Cormac sighs.
I’m on high alert. Cormac is speaking to Wallen. To put it simply—they sound like they’re in cahoots.
Except that’s too light of a word. That’s for little kids running around making a mess of things.
These are two grown men speaking with animosity about another man. Whatever agreement they’re working on will only bring misfortune to whoever Icarus Knight is.
My brows are furrowed, my head aching. I’m pissed when I realize I don’t know the name. And I’ve done everything to ensure I know everyone in this city.
Movement has me pressing my spine into the wall. The door to the pantry is open, but it’s dark. I hold my breath when footsteps get closer.
“Vegas is ripe territory,” Wallen says.
“More like expensive territory.”
“I’ll be frank, I’d rather do business with you.”
Wallen wants to get closer to the O'Connells? If that’s the case, he must not know Ciaran took out one of his soldiers. Unless. . .
Ciaran had to have known Wallen was coming to this party days ago, but he only told me on our way over.
But Ciaran’s never liked Wallen. He killed Jack, and he makes a face anytime Wallen is mentioned.
He could be acting.
The thought strikes terror down my spine.
Wallen and Cormac were talking about Vegas. A place Ciaran just traveled to. I pull up the internet on my phone and search for Icarus Knight.
Pictures of not just one, but several, handsome men pop up. Along with a website for Knight and images of a casino.
All right, so he owns one of the largest casinos in Las Vegas. I’m not sure what the Knight family has done to piss off Cormac and Wallen, though.
Could this be a timely opportunity between the two men with similar interests? Or do Cormac and Wallen go further back?
I unlock my notes app and type down Knight. Now is not the time for more research, and I have several lines of inquiry that need investigating.
Like, how well do the O'Connells know Wallen? How well does Ciaran know Wallen. . .
The light in the butler’s pantry flicks on, and I nearly combust.
“You all right?”
Seamus frowns, his finger still on the light switch.
“S-sorry.” My hand tightens around my phone. I lift the champagne flute in my hand. “I grabbed this, and then my mom called.” I shake my head, hoping my smile isn’t suspicious. “I just ducked into. . .”
He shrugs slightly, taking my word for it before ducking out of the doorway. “She’s over here.”
Ciaran appears because, of course, he tracked me down. He shares an unreadable look with his cousin, who promptly walks away.
“What are you doing?” Ciaran asks, frowning at a bag of marshmallows. I’m not sure why he’s so judgmental. His own family is in charge of the grocery shopping.
“Mom called.”
“Adeline.” Ciaran eyes the phone in my hand, not for a second believing me. “Notes app again?”
My brow wrinkles at the way he says it. So casual, yet dismissive. A hint of disappointment.
“Hey!” I snap when he plucks my phone out of my hands like it’s nothing. He types in my code easily. “What the fuck!”
I don’t like how he easily claims the device like it’s a given he’ll get access to it, which he technically does, thanks to his hacking skills.
“Knight?” He frowns.
I grab my phone back. His hand is quick—wrapping around me before I can tug away.
“Christ, Adeline.” His head leans forward, his tone low. His uncle and Wallen walked away, but my heart ramps up at how cautious he is. “Stop being stupid.”
“W-what!” I struggle with the word, annoyed with how infuriated he sounds.
“Stop typing out little notes on your phone.” He squeezes my hand but lets go.
I clutch my phone to my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
There’s a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows, his mouth pursed. But he runs a hand through my hair, his thumb gently rubbing circles along my temple.
“Some notes shouldn’t be written down.”
My shoulders are tight, but his hushed words don’t sound like a threat. More like advice.
He taps my phone. “Did your parents not teach you anything about leaving evidence behind.”
My cheeks heat. Secrets are only kept when you tell no one. That’s what Dad always told his daughters.
Ciaran taps his temple. “Keep it in here. All right?”
I nod.
“Who were you listening to?” he asks, taking it for a given that I was snooping on someone.
“Your uncle.”
He stills.
“And Wallen.”
Ciaran’s head jerks back. “What?” His eyes glance at the phone in my hand like he’s remembering the name I typed down.
“Las Vegas is ripe for the picking,” I quote.
Relief loosens my shoulders at how confused Ciaran is. This isn’t acting. His eyes glaze over as he thinks. His brow is furrowed just like when we used to go out for lunch and he cautiously attempted to speak to new contacts.
“Wallen doesn’t like the Knights. And neither does your uncle.”
He scoffs. “No, that was just the fights back in the day.”
My back bumps into the wall as I rock back and forth on my heels. “Your uncle seemed awfully cozy with Wallen.”
He pulls me out into the hallway. “Says the woman spying on them from a fucking pantry.”
I look down the hall. A door is open, and I spot a large desk. If I’d kept walking, I would have made it into Cormac’s office.
“I just wanted to see the whole place.” It’s not a lie. “Then some asshole started talking, and the urge to hide came naturally. I didn’t realize Wallen’s voice would sound so evil.”
He’d easily get typecast as the villain if he went the Hollywood route.
Ciaran’s shoulders relax. “There’s no point in making an enemy out of the Knights. There’s also no point telling Wallen that, at least not tonight. Cormac was probably just letting him run his mouth.”
I nod, tucking away these details. Later, I will untangle and examine them. I want to know everything that Wallen is up to.
I grab Ciaran’s hand, pulling him through the kitchen. “I spotted the cake earlier.”