Chapter 39
AOIFE
Outside the Shelbourne, Dominic pauses on the steps. His gaze drifts along the street to Rory Kavanagh’s house.
The sight makes my stomach twist.
‘Come on,’ Dominic says, guiding me towards the BMW waiting for us. Lewis and James are standing beside it. He helps me in, then slides in beside me.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, twisting to look at him.
I still can’t believe this big, beautiful, dangerous man is my husband.
My eyes roam over the dark stubble dusting his jawline, then dip to his torso.
He’s wearing dark jeans and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
His tattoo peeps out from the top of his open shirt buttons.
His inky eyes glint, framed by those thick black-rimmed glasses.
‘It’s a surprise,’ he reaches for my hand. He hasn’t stopped touching me since the second I let him. After feeling lonely for my entire life, it gives me comfort I didn’t realise I craved. ‘Do you trust me?’
‘You know I do.’ I glance down at myself, smoothing the sundress Sheila packed in my overnight bag. ‘Where are our cases?’
‘In the boot.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘Sheila told me to tell you she’s got you covered.’
A laugh slips out of me. ‘That’s what worries me.’
When we reach the airport, Lewis and James drop us at a private terminal.
‘Aren’t they coming with us?’
Dominic shakes his head. ‘No, sweetheart. They’re needed here.’ His voice is sombre. It hits me then—the enormity of what our marriage means. We’ve started a war.
My mind drifts to Ciaran, my favourite of Dom’s brothers. Admittedly, I don’t know him well yet, but his sense of humour is addictive. Even Abby was laughing by the time he’d finished dancing with her.
I can only pray none of The Syndicate members die because of me. The thought twists my stomach, but I force myself to think of all the women that Rory trafficked. All the innocents who will be saved if he’s taken out.
‘You’ll be safe with me. No one knows where we’re going. Not even my brothers. It’s better that way. By the time we get back, things should be more settled.’ He pulls me against his chest. ‘Trust The Syndicate to do what we do best.’
A shiver rips over my spine. I drag myself back to the present, suck in a deep breath, and blow it out slowly.
We pass through private security, with blacked-out glass, where we’re met by a limousine that transports us the short drive across the tarmac to a jet. My eyes widen as I take it in. Dominic watches my reaction with a small smirk. ‘Wow.’ I exhale heavily. ‘You’re really pulling out the stops.’
‘Wedding present,’ he says. ‘From Sean Beckett.’
‘Shut. The. Front. Door.’
‘Just to borrow, of course.’ He helps me out of the limo, then guides me to the narrow steps leading up to the jet’s open door, his palm remaining reassuringly on the small of my back.
‘Why wasn’t he at the wedding yesterday?’
‘Our friendship isn’t well known.’ His lips tip up. ‘The Syndicate provides security for his club because his family knows nothing about it—and that’s the way it has to stay. I know he looks like a respectable businessman, and he is, but he’s also one hell of a kinky, depraved fucker.’
‘Will you take me back to the club soon?’ My breath catches, pulse spiking at the memory of all those eyes on us.
‘That’s a given.’ His smile grows into a wolfish grin.
I swallow thickly, eyeing the jet. How is this my life? A couple of months ago, I was working three jobs to make ends meet; now I’m boarding a private plane to God knows where, but knowing my husband, it’ll be lavish. ‘Where are we going?’ I’m utterly in awe. ‘Tell me, please.’
‘Milan for five nights,’ he finally drawls. ‘Then on to a cottage in Lake Como.’
‘Wow.’
We mount the stairs and step inside where we’re met by two beautiful air hostesses. ‘Congratulations Mr and Mrs Kincaid,’ they greet us warmly. ‘Sean sends his regards. He’s sorry he couldn’t make your reception yesterday.’
Dominic thanks her, then guides me through to the lounge area of the jet.
I’ve never even been on a plane before, let alone a private one.
I glance around the cabin, drinking in every detail.
Rich wood veneers and gold accents line the walls.
The lights are controlled with integrated touch panels.
There’s a state-of-the-art entertainment system with a retractable screen and surround sound speakers.
A built-in bar with a wine chiller, crystal glassware, and every type of whiskey Beckett’s has ever produced.
Dominic guides me into the cream, custom leather seats.
‘What do you think?’ He asks, reaching for the bottle of Beckett’s Black Label champagne that’s chilling in an ice bucket on the table beside us.
I think I’m going to need a new liver.
‘It’s… it’s a lot.’ I’m utterly overwhelmed, to be honest. ‘You and Sean must be really close if he’s lending you his family plane.’
His lips slash open and he flashes me a grin that makes my stomach spin. ‘I told you, we have the same interests.’
I wet my lips, accepting the glass of champagne he offers me.
‘To you, Mrs Kincaid.’ His voice is low and deep, and it does things to me in my stomach and lower.
Mrs Kincaid—who’s sipping champagne on a billionaire’s jet with the leader of Dublin’s most feared organised crime syndicate—who I just so happen to be married to.
It’s official.
I need to write a book.
He clinks his glass against mine.
When the plane finally touches down in Milan, an SUV is waiting outside the airport for us.
As we cruise through the city, I soak up the lights, the architecture, the throngs of people tumbling out of clubs and bars.
I’ve never seen anything like it. Excitement ripples through me.
Dominic watches me through the darkness.
‘You like it?’
‘I love it.’
He reaches for my thigh; fingers tracing small, teasing circles over my bare skin. My nipples peak beneath my dress and he smiles. ‘We’re nearly at the hotel,’ he murmurs.
Good, because I need him like I’ve never needed anything before.
Ten minutes later, the car glides to a silent stop outside a building comprised of sleek stone and glass.
I lift my eyes to the facade. Soft uplighting illuminates the entrance to the Bulgari Milano, turning the entire building into a quiet, expensive glow against the Milan night.
A doorman in an immaculate coat steps forward as if he’s been waiting specifically for us.
Dominic reaches for my hand as a porter takes our luggage from the boot, and I take a seat on the plush ivory couch in the lobby while Dominic checks in at the reception desk.
Finally, he spins to face me with a promising glint.
‘Let’s go. We’re on the top floor.’ We follow the porter along the wide marble-floored hallway to the lift.
The mirrored doors glide open silently. He steps inside with us, but Dominic shakes his head, prising the suitcase from his grip.
He reaches into his suit pocket, plucks out a fifty euro note and tosses it to him. ‘No, da qui faccio io.’
As the lift doors close, and it rises, so does my body temperature.
‘Where did you learn Italian?’ I gawp at him.
‘The mafia.’ He winks, and it takes me a minute to get that he’s joking. At least I think he’s joking.
‘My mother was Italian. Well, half Italian. Her father was from Rome, her mother was Irish. She insisted all of her kids learned her native tongue. We could speak it fluently before we were four.’
‘So that’s where you get your colouring from. And your temper.’ I tease.
‘And my passion.’ His pupils drop to my lips. Raw sexuality rolls from him in undulating waves that I could drown in.
‘Aoife, if you keep looking at me like that, I will take you right here, right now in this lift.’ He swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. He steps closer, brushing his lips over mine.
‘You wouldn’t dare.’ The words rush out of my mouth in a whisper.
‘Don’t make me prove it.’ His inky eyes blaze.
Hot flames lick over every inch of my skin. His all-consuming scent seeps into my lungs again. I inch closer, acting on pure animalistic instinct. How have I lived without sex for my entire adult life?
‘Kiss me,’ I whisper, and before the words have fully left my lips, his mouth slams onto mine.
In one quick, fluid movement, he pins me against the mirror wall with his hips, and there’s no missing his arousal; it digs into my stomach deliciously.
An incessant ache forms between my legs.
His tongue steals into my mouth as his hands reach for my breasts.
The lift comes to an abrupt stop, and he tears his lips from mine, black eyes burning into me.
He ushers me out of the lift to a warmly lit corridor with one door.
The shiny brass plaque next to it says Penthouse.
His huge palm splays over my lower spine.
He swipes a keycard over the lock, and it clicks open.
I’m not sure how much of this city I’m actually going to see.
Because the only thing I want to see is my husband, naked and hard for me.