Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
R onan
Kiera hesitated just outside the car, her hand resting on the doorframe as if she were debating whether or not to get in. Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, the deep green of her gown catching the dim light of the garage.
She looked like she belonged in a ballroom, not in the shadowy underbelly of my world.
I stepped closer, my hand brushing hers as I guided her into the passenger seat. She didn’t protest, though her narrowed eyes told me she wanted to. Instead, she settled into the leather seat, her posture stiff and guarded, like she was ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
I closed the door behind her, rounding the car and sliding into the driver’s seat. The quiet hum of the engine filled the air as I shifted into gear, the vehicle gliding smoothly out of the garage and onto the quiet streets of the city.
For the first few minutes, neither of us spoke. Kiera stared out the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her jaw set. But I could feel her glancing at me out of the corner of her eye, her curiosity burning as brightly as her defiance.
“Where are we really going?” she asked finally, breaking the silence.
“Dinner,” I said, my eyes on the road.
Her brows furrowed, and she turned to face me fully. “Dinner?”
“Yes, Kiera. Dinner. You need to eat.”
She scoffed, leaning back against the seat. “I thought you’d be too busy planning my next punishment to bother with dinner.”
I smirked, my grip on the wheel tightening slightly.
“Don’t tempt me, love.”
She huffed, but didn’t push further, her attention drifting back to the city lights streaming past the window.
I drove for a while longer until we pulled up in front of Blackstone Prime, one of my favorite restaurants in the city.
The steakhouse was as grand as it was understated, tucked into the corner of a high-rise with dark, tinted windows and the golden glow of candlelight spilling out onto the sidewalk. The valet took the car without a word, and I offered Kiera my arm as we stepped inside.
Soft leather chairs, dark wood paneling, and low-hanging lights created an atmosphere of quiet luxury. A pianist played softly in the corner, the notes weaving seamlessly into the low hum of conversation.
Kiera looked around, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and suspicion.
“This is where you take someone for dinner?” she asked, her voice low as she leaned toward me.
“This,” I said, guiding her to a more private table at the back of the restaurant, “is where I take you for dinner.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away, pretending to study the menu as I took my seat across from her.
The meal started quietly, the tension between us thick, but not unpleasant. She pushed her salad around on her plate before finally setting her fork down and meeting my gaze.
“How dangerous are they?” she asked abruptly, her voice quieter than I’d expected.
“The Benedettis?” I asked, arching a brow.
She nodded, her fingers twisting in her lap.
“Dangerous enough,” I said, setting my glass of whiskey down with a soft clink. “Especially if they think you’ve crossed them. Marco has a reputation for making examples of people who piss him off.”
Her brow furrowed, and I could see the questions spinning in her mind.
“What kind of examples?” she asked, her voice trembling delicately with an edge of fear.
I leaned back in my chair, studying her for a moment before speaking. “A few years ago, a rival of his—someone who owed him money—decided to test Marco’s patience. He kept running his mouth, refusing to pay, thinking Marco wouldn’t dare escalate things. Marco proved him wrong.”
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.
“They found the guy,” I continued, my tone matter of fact, “in a shipping container at the docks. Bound, beaten, and—well, let’s just say he didn’t die quickly.”
Kiera’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of her napkin. “That’s… brutal.”
“The Benedettis don’t play nice,” I said, lifting my glass to my lips.
Her voice wavered just slightly as she asked, “And you? How dangerous are you?”
I set the glass down slowly, holding her gaze. For a moment, I let the silence stretch, the weight of her question settling heavily between us.
“More dangerous than Marco Benedetti,” I said evenly.
Her breath hitched, and I saw the faint tremor in her hands as she gripped the napkin tighter. But I didn’t elaborate.
I didn’t need to.
She shifted in her seat, her discomfort clear, and I tilted my head slightly, letting a faint smirk tug at my lips.
“Are you afraid, Kiera?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed, the fire flickering back to life.
“No,” she said proudly, defiantly even as she lifted her chin.
I chuckled softly, leaning forward just enough to lower my voice. “You should be.”