Chapter 6
Chapter Six
IVY
T he Dublin club owned by my brothers, aptly named Irish Pricks, sparkled under dim lights while confetti rained from the ceiling. I stood in the center of the room, the bar right behind me, when shouts filled the crowded space.
“ Happy Birthday! ”
Balloons floated to the ceiling. “Birthday” by Selena Gomez flooded the room as my best friends ran up to me wearing stilettos and looking like a million bucks while I felt like I’d been run over by a freight train. I’d been trying to dig up everything I could about Sofia Volkov and her twin daughters so I could avenge Athair’s death, but all I’d managed to do was run into roadblock after roadblock. It was clear I was no match for the psycho villain.
“Are you surprised?” Juliette asked, smothering me in a hug.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit much?”
She frowned, stepping aside so I could see my other friends’ disappointed expressions.
“But it’s your twenty-fourth birthday.” Davina kissed my cheek. “You're almost a quarter of a century old.”
“Almost doesn’t count.” Smiling, I kissed her back, then embraced Wynter and Juliette. “But it’s perfect because you’re all here.”
“The entire DiLustro clan came,” Wynter beamed. “Even Aisling.”
I winced. “And Priest is okay with that?”
I didn’t even know why I cared. His issues with his biological mother should be none of my concern, but despite his rejection, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“He’s ignoring her,” Juliette answered. “Nothing’s changed there.”
“He can’t hold a grudge forever,” Wynter muttered. “Nobody holds a grudge forever.”
Davina and I shared a glance but said nothing. Christian “Priest” DiLustro was known as an unforgiving mafia prince in the underworld. After all, it was the reason he was able to climb to power at such a young age and run Philly with an iron fist. He even chased the Corsican mafia out of Philadelphia.
My world tilted as someone picked me up by the waist and spun me around. The spinning stopped and Bren’s face came into focus as my feet still dangled a foot off the floor.
“Happy birthday, baby sister.”
Aemon was right behind him, looking impeccable with his hand tucked into the pocket of his suit. “I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday.”
“Mama would be proud of the woman you’ve become,” Caelan drawled.
I smiled, hiding all my doubts and insecurities behind it. My brothers still didn’t know I’d overheard their discussion, nor did they know I’d been snooping around Aemon’s office.
Sofia Volkov would pay for Athair’s death. He and my brothers might have shielded me from this life, but it was part of me. I was born into this world, tainted by its deeds and sins, and no, it didn’t bother me. It was just the way things had to be.
“I’m glad you recognize that I’m no longer a little girl.” I brushed a piece of nonexistent lint off his shoulder. “You should let me go back to the States.”
A dry grunt of amusement escaped him as Bren set me back on my feet. “It’s safer this way.”
“Like I was ever in any danger over there,” I said, stepping between them, knowing it was my oldest brother who called the shots. “I would even be willing to accept a bodyguard.”
I fluttered my eyelashes innocently while Aemon gave me a half smile, bringing a glass of whiskey to his lips.
“You mean you’ll accept a bodyguard only to lose him the second you touch down in New York.”
“She’d never do that,” Juliette chimed in.
“Besides, Ivy’s always been the responsible one,” Wynter added, lying shamelessly. We all knew Davina took the cake on that one.
My brothers let out a collective sardonic breath. “I’m sure she is.”
“Come on,” I whined, pouting. I’d learned how to work my brothers over the years. It was a necessity for surviving life in this family; otherwise, they’d smother you with their overbearing ways. “That’s all I want for my birthday. I won’t stay as long as I did last time.”
My brothers gazed behind me at the same time, and I turned to see a man I didn’t recognize—gray suit, short hair, a glint of ruthlessness in his eyes.
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“None of your business,” Aemon responded, his eyes locked on the man as he approached. He pulled me against his chest in a hug. “Happy birthday. Stay at the party.”
“Sure.” He palmed my face playfully, then he and Bren disappeared.
Juliette bumped shoulders with me as she followed their winding path through the sea of people—most of whom I’d only ever met once. “Isn’t that Aiden Callahan?”
Aiden Callahan was brother-in-law to Luca King DiMauro, often assisting with the Omertà. He also ran the Callahan Irish mafia.
“He looks like a walking red flag,” Wynter muttered and she wasn’t wrong. The man had a reputation and was a walking red flag if I’d ever seen one.
I shrugged. “Not my kind of red flag,” I answered, uninterested. My heart jolted for one man and one man only lately, and I hadn’t seen him in six months. “Speaking of, where are your husbands?”
I couldn’t outright ask where the arrogant mafia prince was. He wasn’t interested; fine. Neither was I.
Wynter flicked a glance over her shoulder, and I followed her gaze to the VIP section where Liam Brennan, Davina’s husband, sat alongside all three DiLustro men. My heart hitched, stopping my breath, and I couldn’t keep my gaze away from him.
He looked up and I gasped, holding his gaze as he sat like a king waiting to be serviced.
“Whenever I see a man”—one blond man with blue eyes, to be specific—“who might as well be a bold red danger sign, I just paint my nails to match.”
In truth, I’d thought about him too many times late at night—the rough glide of his palm against my cheek, the press of his lips against mine, the heat of his body.
“You know there’s a term for that,” Juliette deadpanned as strobe lights flashed red, purple, and yellow across her stunning face.
“Yeah, a ‘fix-a-ho,’” Davina chimed in. “Meaning, you find a bad boy and try to fix him.”
“A fix-a… what?” I repeated softly, wondering if there was a way to fix him. I didn’t think so, which left only one other alternative: accept him as he was. But then we were back at the beginning—at the fucker not wanting me. A thorny, painful feeling ripped through me. The one I pushed somewhere deep down every time I thought of him: rejection.
“Let’s dance,” I announced. “It is my birthday, isn’t it?”
Not long after, I was lost in the bottom of shot glasses, bathroom trips, and a heady, uninhibited rush in my blood. The club was crowded with pulsing bodies moving together, sweat dripping down our backs. My friends laughed as their husbands joined them, and I threw my head back, luxuriating in the bizarre energy that came with turning another year older. I danced like my life depended on it, Priest’s burning gaze watching my every move. The lights cast a glow against my bare arms and sage-green dress.
I lifted my heavy red strands off my shoulders and looked up. Priest’s gaze was still on me, dark and vehement.
Holding it, I rolled my hips slowly. Seductive.
A few men started dancing around me, taking advantage that I was the only one dancing alone in our group. Holding his stare, I pressed up to one of them, hands on his chest. Rotating my hips, I thrust my chest out and raised my arms. The blood in my veins heated, my nipples tightening.
His eyes darkened and I smiled, lifted a hand, and blew him a sweet kiss.
Take that , I thought smugly. You’re not the only fish in the sea.
Turning my back to him, I continued dancing with a handsome stranger whose smile was admittedly beautiful.
He leaned over. “What’s your name?”
His voice was rich and deep, the kind that made you feel like you were the only girl in the world as it caressed your skin.
I blushed. “Ivy. You?”
A hot sensation trailed down my spine before I heard another voice. “Do you value your limbs?”
I turned slightly and my heartbeat incinerated in my chest. Priest’s eyes flicked to my dance partner and narrowed.
To my surprise, he didn’t miss a beat. “I actually do like my limbs. Very much. And so do the ladies.”
“You’d be wise to stop touching her.”
The guy took my hand in his and kissed it like a gallant gentleman, ignoring Priest’s cold presence.
“I’m Tyran Callahan and, my dear Ivy… it’s been a pleasure.”
He turned around with the grace of a panther and strode away, and suddenly, I was fighting off the urge to kill the man next to me.
“What is your problem?” I hissed, my body still moving to the beat, careful not to attract attention—especially from my brothers. The last thing I needed was a brawl resulting in an attack on a member of the DiLustro gang. I had no interest in starting a war.
Priest slid his hand into his pocket, the heat of his gaze burning right through me. How was a girl supposed to forget him when all he did was demand attention?
“No problem. It’s a nice evening.” He was toying with me—he had to be—but I refused to play this game. “Happy birthday.”
I rolled my eyes, then did what any sane person would do: I turned my back on him and carried on like he didn’t exist. It must have worked because he disappeared, leaving me to dance alone.
It wasn’t long before I stumbled off the dance floor on shaky legs, disappointed that the stubborn mafia prince hadn’t plowed through the sea of dancers and insisted that I dance for him. None of these feelings made any sense, and all it left me was frustration.
I drifted upstairs in search of a restroom to quiet the thumping pulse of music in my head. Thanks to soundproof walls, it felt like a completely different world up here. Eerily quiet.
Five minutes later, I exited the restroom and paused, my hand still on the knob. A familiar blond stood with his back to me. He had a phone to his ear, although I couldn’t hear what he was saying.
I took a step back when his back tensed. He hung up and slowly turned, the stark blue of his eyes hitting me square in the chest. We stared at each other and a thick, almost suffocating tension filled the air. The scent of his cologne made me feel warmer and more intoxicated than any of the alcohol I’d consumed.
His hair was slightly longer on the top, just enough to run my fingers through it and hold on.
The thought reminded me of another hallway in another club, his mouth devouring my pussy like it was the most delicious fruit he’d ever tasted.
I shoved the memory aside.
“Happy birthday, angel.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “Don’t call me that.”
Something dark moved through his eyes, but as soon as he leaned back against the wall, it disappeared. “Why?”
“Because I said so. Besides, if you wanted me to have a happy birthday, you’d make yourself scarce and stop scaring off my dance partners.”
His lips lifted. “I sincerely doubt Tyran was scared.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “You know him?”
“I know of him. Trust me, he’s not for you.” My mouth dropped open, and he let out a deep chuckle. “If you keep your mouth open like that, angel, I’ll find something to fill it with,” he said softly.
His words set fire to my blood and my legs wobbled, threatening to give out under the desire to fall to my knees and taste him.
As if he could read my thoughts, he took a step toward me and I took one back, hitting the wall behind me. His hand appeared above my head and the pressure of his chest against mine sent a tremor through me. He had me pinned in more ways than one.
The walls felt as if they were closing in, like there wasn’t enough oxygen for the two of us.
I couldn’t think with him so close to me, the idea that he might touch me sending every nerve ending in my back tingling with brutal desire.
One I intended to resist at all costs.