Chapter 2
Two
“Some truths don’t shatter your world. They burn it down, then light a cigar, and ask if you’d like a taste.” – Aria Boschett.
In one swift, disjointed motion, I grab for my abandoned dress and flee behind Hayden, my fingers fumbling with the fabric as I scramble to cover myself.
Why hadn’t Hayden warned me he had a guest?
I stumble, yank my dress over my head, pulling it down, and step out from behind Hayden.
I expected an awkward introduction, maybe some weird excuse on his part.
Instead, the room has transformed into a den of wolves.
An icy chill seeps into my bones as my gaze sweeps over the five men in the room.
Four of them stand like sentinels, radiating a quiet menace, the kind that doesn’t need raised voices to command obedience.
The fifth sits like a king on a throne, legs spread, a tumbler of amber liquid in one hand.
Then my gaze snags on his eyes—those impossible blue-green eyes.
The stranger from the festival booth. No jeans, no paddy cap.
Now he’s in a suit, radiating a sharp, commanding presence.
The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the soft clink of ice against glass as he lifts his drink to his lips.
The light catches on the burnished liquid, reflecting off the sharp lines of his Van Dyke beard.
His expression is unreadable. A sickening realization settles over me.
Was I being followed? My eyes dart to Hayden, but the sight of him only spikes my fear.
His usual peacock confidence has turned to stone.
That playful aura of his is gone. His face is paper-white, his limbs stiff.
If I ever needed evidence that these men were dangerous, Hayden’s behaviour just gave it to me.
The stranger swirls the drink in his glass.
“Hey, Hayden. You and your lady should have a seat.” The Irish lilt is no longer teasing or smooth; it’s cold, clipped.
A man accustomed to control. The kind that expects obedience.
I stay still while Hayden moves forward, like a puppet with yanked strings, taking stiff steps toward the cream loveseat and dropping his butt down.
Hell no. There’s no way. I’m staying here.
“I, uh… Hayden… looks like you’ve got company.
” My voice is too bright, too forced but I can’t help it.
“We should reschedule, okay, Hayden?” I gulp, grabbing my overnight bag, which had fallen to the floor earlier during that heated moment between Hayden and me, a moment that now feels like eons ago.
I throw a desperate glance at Hayden. He doesn’t move.
Doesn’t even blink. My heart hammers as I pivot toward the door.
“Stop.” The single word is an ice bath down my spine, a command, not a request. I freeze, pulse roaring in my ears. Run, don’t stop, my inner voice blares through my head. Hand trembling, I reluctantly turn to face the stranger.
“I re-ally can’t stay. I-I.” I’m mumbling as my brain scrambles for an excuse..
He tilts his head. “Listen here, lass, I’m not in the habit of repeating myself.
..” His words have no effect as I don’t move.
He seems to sense that, unlike Hayden, I’m not blindly about to follow his instructions.
I take an irrevocable step back. He’s studying me with the patience a predator has before pouncing.
“Dove, I said… have a seat.” He says again, I stay planted to the spot.
Like the kingpin he appears to be, he snaps his fingers, and the largest of the men takes a single step forward, looking more than ready to sit me down if I don’t comply.
I stare at the hulk of a man with an orange mohawk and skull tattoos and make a split-second calculation.
With reluctant steps, I proceed into the den of vipers.
“Oi, Hayden,” Mr. Kingpin takes another sip of his drink. “Don’t be rude. Introduce me to your friend, will ya?” Every muscle in my body locks. No, I don’t want him to know my name. The less he knows about me, the better.
“This is Aria, my... my friend. We were celebrating my birthday.” I nearly sag onto the couch with relief when he doesn’t call me his girlfriend. Yes, that’s right. I am a nobody, not important to Hayden at all.
“Aria.” My name is drawn out, slow and deliberate, it sends an unwanted shiver through me. Why does my name sound different coming from his mouth? Like something dangerous and forbidden. He drains his glass, his gaze never leaving mine. “Troy?”
“Yeah, C?” So, the stranger’s name is C.
His eyes flick between me and Hayden. “We’re friends, so how come you never offered me a birthday fuck?”
“Because just friends don’t do that shit,” Troy replies.
“Exactly what I thought.” He sets his empty glass down on the coffee table. “Never in my life has ‘just’ a ‘friend’ modeled lingerie for me.”
Troy snorts. “Exactly, the fucker’s lying to you, C.”
His stare pins Hayden. “So, we’re lying to each other now, Hayden? Trying to pull a fast one on me, are you?”
“N...no, Cyan, I’m not lying.” Cyan. The name slams into place, like his eyes. A shade that shouldn’t exist in nature, too vivid to be real, too piercing to ignore.
“Alright, Hayden, it’s grand to hear you didn’t lie to me.”
Hayden’s hands visibly shake as he stutters out words. “Y-yes, Cyan. I-I, this is n-new. We have not yet reached that type of relationship. I swear, we haven’t… haven’t even slept together. This is new. We haven’t...” I wish Hayden would stop talking.
Cyan leans back, tapping the ring on his finger against the chair’s edge.
“Alright, Hayden.” He shrugs. “Just conveniently left out a few details, then. Like how you shaved a few numbers, that equals a little over ten million dollars off the ROI on my investment portfolio.” I whip my head toward Hayden, my stomach dropping into free fall.
Did I hear that correctly? Hayden stole money from these men.
My Nonna’s voice echoes in my mind, clear as day.
“If a man never argues, he’s either a saint…
or a liar.” As a kid I’d laughed, thinking it was just another one of my Gran’s dramatic lessons. But now I understand.
Hayden’s entire body is trembling now. “I-I-Cyan, I-just found m-my-self tangled up, really tangled, C-Cyan, and I swear, swear I’d... have put it all back,” Hayden stammers out his foolish excuse.
“See, Collin, I told ya it isn’t what we thought.” Cyan taps the man to his right, addressing the second red-haired man in the room. “Hayden didn’t steal from us. No, the lad just borrowed ten million behind our backs and fudged the books to make it look like nothing was missing.”
Collin tilts his head at Hayden. He eerily resembles Cyan—they must be related.
“Borrowed without our knowledge…what’s the difference?
Sounds like stealing to me.” Collin’s tone is cool and measured.
His accent carries a slight Irish lilt, but it is less pronounced and more American.
My gaze flickers between them, the resemblance undeniable.
Unlike the other men, these two share the same raw, untamed intensity, their features almost identical, broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, and red-haired.
Yet the differences between them are just as striking.
Cyan has a beard and seems to be older. Collin is clean-shaven, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, and then there are his eyes.
If Cyan’s gaze is a frozen blade, cold yet alive with an underlying heat, Collin’s is pure void, a frostbite-inducing stare that seems to suck the warmth from the room.
He watches us, listening, not moving an inch, as if he’s waiting for Cyan to give him the go ahead.
The fact that a man like that… answers to Cyan makes this kingpin infinitely more terrifying.
I can’t believe this shit. Hayden stole from these men. Even an amoeba would know better.
Cyan’s smile becomes razor thin. “You’re right, Col. It’s stealing.” He shrugs. “Never trust a man who cheats on his wife.”
The words barely register before I hear myself gasp. “Married?”
Cyan’s gaze snaps back to me, the barest flicker of a smile curving at his lips. “Ah. Seems I’m not the only one Hayden’s been feeding lies to.” He leans back, stretching. “Go on, little brother. Handle it how you see fit.”
Collin unsheathes a machete. I inhale sharply, pressing into the couch, my heartbeat a riot in my chest. I feel the uncontrollable tremors vibrating through Hayden as he, like me, knows that we’re about to die, as there’s no way these men will leave any witnesses alive.
“Cyan, ple-ee-ase, I ca–can return the–the money, I swear.” Hayden, the lying bastard, brought this shit to me.
I blink and blink again, hoping that this is a dream.
In a last-ditch effort to wake myself up from the body-paralyzing nightmare, I pinch my outer thighs with such force that I’m sure it will leave bruising.
I look on with no hope as the other men pull out their guns. A frigid chill seeps into every cell in my bones.
My lips burst open, a sound rips out of me, wild and unhinged, a crack in the unbearable tension.
Hayden was to be my unicorn. I thought I had found it all in this slimy, thieving, cheating jackass who stole ten million dollars from the mob.
Yeah, these men are giving me Godfather vibes, then I feel something wet against my thigh.
I glance down; apparently, my laughter made Hayden piss himself.
There is a noticeable yellowish liquid on the couch. I can’t help but laugh harder.
“Cyan, p...p... please don’t kill me,” the cheating motherfucker sits wallowing in his filth, pleading for mercy.
Not once has he thought of me, so if death is to be my fate this evening, I’ll meet it with laughter.
Surely, they’re all thinking I’ve lost my mind.
Then, to my utter surprise, Cyan chuckles.
A rich, velvety sound, darkly amused. Some men chuckle with him, their weapons lowering a little.
Hayden, the cheating slime, starts laughing too, his terrified giggles a sharp contrast to the surrounding scene.
Then Cyan moves, knocking the glass off the table; it shatters as it hits the floor. Before I can react, his hand clamps around my throat. He stifles my bubbling laughter.