19. Eamon
Eamon
The restaurant is quiet at this hour, tucked just off one of Dublin’s busier streets.
Neutral ground—but public enough to make a point.
The soft murmur of conversation from the few remaining diners barely touches the private corner where I sit.
Across from me, Liam O’Connor shifts in his seat, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the edge of the table.
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light as I let the silence stretch. He hates silence. It makes him nervous. Makes him talk. I’ve always used that to my advantage.
“Liam,” I say finally, my tone calm but cutting through the tension like a blade. “Do you know why I called you here tonight?”
He forces a smile, though it falters at the edges. “I have an idea,” he says, his voice tight.
I set my glass down, the sound of it hitting the table louder than it should be. “Enlighten me.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, glancing around the room as if looking for support. There’s none to be found. My men are scattered throughout the restaurant, subtle but present. He knows that.
“Eamon, if this is about the Docklands?—”
“It’s about you trying to take something that doesn’t belong to you.” I cut him off, my voice dropping lower. “It’s about you thinking you could steal from me and get away with it.”
“It wasn’t stealing,” he blurts out, leaning forward in his chair. “It was a business opportunity. I saw a gap and?—”
“You saw a gap?” I interrupt, my voice cold. “The Docklands are mine. There are no gaps. Everything that moves through there, every shipment, every deal, is accounted for. You don’t take a business opportunity without going through me first.”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” he says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “You know I’ve always been loyal.”
I lean forward, my elbows resting on the table as I lock eyes with him. “Loyalty has nothing to do with what you say. It’s what you do. And what you did was disrespect me and my Syndicate.”
His face pales, and he stumbles over his words. “Eamon, please?—”
I hold up a hand, silencing him. “You thought I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t notice? Do you think I got to where I am by being blind?”
The table between us feels like a thin line separating predator from prey, and he knows it. His hands tremble as he reaches for his glass of whiskey, knocking it back in one gulp.
Right on cue, his phone buzzes on the table between us. He doesn’t move to check it.
“Go on,” I murmur, gesturing toward it. “I think it’s something you’ll want to see.”
Liam hesitates, then snatches the phone with a huff of annoyance. His eyes drop to the screen. Unlock. Tap. The moment the video starts playing, the color drains from his face.
I don’t need to look. I know what he’s seeing.
His house is engulfed in flames. The camera’s steady, too steady to be accidental. A slow pan across the property as fire devours everything. Windows shattering. The roof caving in. Smoke billowing into the sky.
Controlled chaos. Precision-wrapped panic.
Liam’s hand trembles as he lowers the phone. “What the hell is this?”
I take a sip of my drink before answering. “Heard it was a gas leak. Very unfortunate.”
He stares at me, stunned into silence, trying to decide if he’s angry, afraid, or both.
“You son of a—” he starts.
“Here’s how this is going to go,” I cut him off, my voice laced with menace. “You’re going to pull out of the Docklands completely. Every deal you’ve made, every contact you’ve established, you sever them all. And you’re going to make sure everyone knows exactly why.”
Liam leans forward, jaw tight. “You’re asking me to walk away from everything I’ve built there. Do you know how long I’ve worked on those contacts? If I pull out now, I lose face. I lose money.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I slide my phone across the table. The screen lights up with a photo of his wife and two children walking hand-in-hand along a quiet seaside path. The kind of place meant for peace. The timestamp is from this morning.
Liam freezes. Then he snatches the phone, staring at the image like it might change if he blinks enough. “How the hell did you?—”
“It’s a lovely neighborhood,” I say calmly. “Hope they’re enjoying the holiday. It’s a quiet little rental. Right near the beach, yeah?”
His face pales, the color draining fast.
“Nothing happens in my territory without me knowing,” I continue, voice dropping. “No one moves, no one breathes, without it crossing my radar. You should’ve known that before you started making moves that weren’t yours to make.”
He says nothing. Doesn’t have to. I see it in the way his hand tightens around the phone, in the way his confidence collapses in on itself.
“Unless you’d prefer I drop in on their holiday,” I murmur, leaning forward, “I’ll assume you’re ready to do it my way.”
He nods quickly, his head bobbing like a puppet. “Yes, of course. Consider it done.”
My gaze never leaves his as I lean back. “And if I so much as hear your name in connection with the Docklands again, I won’t be as generous as having this conversation. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Eamon,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.
“Good,” I say, finishing my drink. “Now, get out.”
He stumbles to his feet, mumbling something that might've been gratitude, and practically runs for the door. The tension in the room eases slightly, but only just.
Seamus steps forward, his expression unreadable as he watches Liam’s retreating figure. “Think he got the message?”
I smirk faintly, adjusting the cuffs of my jacket. “If he didn’t, he’ll wish he had.”
I’m about to signal for another drink when I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Well, well. Eamon O’Sullivan in the flesh.”
I turn slowly, my eyes landing on a blonde in a fitted red dress that clings to every curve. She moves toward me with the confidence of someone who’s used to turning heads, her lips curling into a sly smile.
“Maeve,” I say evenly, nodding as she steps closer.
She slides into the chair Liam vacated, crossing her legs in a way that’s clearly meant to draw my attention. “It’s been a while,” she purrs, her tone dripping with suggestion. “What’s it been? Six months? A year?”
“Something like that,” I reply, casually leaning back in my chair.
She studies me with her sharp blue eyes. “I heard you were in the Maldives. What were you doing out there?”
“Business,” I say, voice flat.
“Hmm,” she hums, swirling her drink before taking a sip. “You look distracted. That’s not like you.”
I don’t respond.
She leans forward, her perfume wafting toward me, a scent I once found enticing but now barely registers. Her gaze flicks briefly to Seamus, and the smirk that follows tells me everything I need to know. He’s responsible for her presence here this evening.
“I know how you like to unwind after handling business,” she purrs, her voice low and sultry. “What do you say, Eamon? Come back to my flat, and let me take care of you.”
For a moment, I try. I try to feel something, anything.
Maeve is stunning, confident. I know exactly how good it was between us. The way her body fit against mine, the heat of her skin, the way she’d moan my name like she couldn’t get enough. She’s the kind of woman I never thought twice about taking to bed.
What I used to crave.
I shake my head, pushing back from the table. “Not tonight.”
Maeve blinks, her surprise quickly morphing into irritation. “Really? That’s it?”
“That’s it,” I say firmly before standing.
Her lips twist into a smirk, but there’s no humor in it. “Didn’t think I’d see the day Eamon O’Sullivan would lose his appetite. Maybe you’re not the man I remember after all.”
Seamus whistles low, leaning back slightly. “That’s a hell of a parting shot.”
I glance at him, then back at Maeve, my expression cold. “She’s all yours,” I say dryly, the corner of my mouth lifting in a humorless smirk.
Maeve’s eyes flash with indignation, her jaw tightening as if she wants to fire back, but I don’t stick around to hear it. I walk out without a backward glance.
The night air hits me, but it does little to settle the storm inside. Maeve’s words were meant to sting, to cut at my pride, but they barely register.
Because all I can think about is Eve.
The way her green eyes sparkled when she laughed. The way her hair felt like silk in my hands. The way our bodies fit together as though we were made for each other. The way she left without a trace and took a part of me with her.
I clench my fists, trying to will her image away, but it’s useless. She’s in my head, under my skin, and nothing—not Maeve, not anyone compares.