Chapter 9 #2
"You were about to."
A faint smirk appears on his mouth. The fact that I can already predict his reactions bothers me more than it should.
Domenico walks farther inside and stops near the edge of the conference table. His attention shifts immediately to the screens in front of me still displaying the Keegan intelligence.
"This is more organized than I expected." He says.
"Were you expecting incompetence?"
"I expected ambition without infrastructure." His eyes flick briefly toward me. "Instead I found both."
I ignore the strange satisfaction his approval sparks in me. "Why are you here?"
Domenico reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and places a black envelope on the table between us.
"No phones at the event." He says. "No external weapons beyond approved security personnel. Facial recognition at every entrance. Internal surveillance throughout the estate."
I glance down at the embossed crest pressed into the envelope. Keegan. My stomach tightens slightly.
Domenico watches me for a second before continuing. "Fergus Keegan is officially stepping down next month." He says. "They are hosting a private succession party at the family estate in Ireland."
His voice lowers slightly. "The grandson takes control that night."
"Darragh Keegan."
His gaze sharpens briefly in acknowledgment.
"Elites from half the world will be there."
I pick up the invitation slowly, studying it. The level of access this could provide is enormous. Also incredibly dangerous.
"Security?"
"Near impossible to breach externally." He says. "Which is why we are not breaching it."
I look up at him. "You already have access."
"I already have an invitation."
"How?"
Domenico’s mouth curves slightly. "That answer would make you nervous."
Which probably means the truth is worse than I imagined.
I set the invitation back down carefully. "And your plan?"
His eyes hold mine steadily. "You attend with me."
The words settle heavily between us. Not because the idea itself is surprising. Because I immediately understand what it requires. Public proximity. Physical familiarity. The appearance of trust around people trained to notice weakness and deception instantly.
"You want us to pose as a couple."
"I want us to survive the evening without attracting suspicion."
I lean back slightly in my chair. "You sound very confident we can convince people."
"We can."
The certainty in his voice is deeply irritating.
"And if I am not interested in pretending to be your date for an entire evening?"
Domenico’s gaze drifts over me slowly. "Then this operation becomes significantly more difficult."
I fold my arms. "Convenient answer."
"It is the truthful one."
The room feels smaller suddenly. Quieter.
Domenico steps closer to the table, lowering his voice slightly. "Powerful men underestimate women beside dangerous men." He says. "Especially beautiful ones."
There it is. That subtle edge between strategy and provocation.
I narrow my eyes immediately. "Do you flirt with everyone you work with or am I receiving specialized treatment?"
A low laugh leaves him.
"Relax, Elf." His gaze lingers on me deliberately. "Try not to fall in love with me and we will both survive the evening."
I stare at him flatly for half a second.
"The only thing I am currently tempted to do," I say calmly, "is leave you in Ireland permanently if you keep calling me Elf."
His smile widens slightly. "And yet you still have not told me to stop."
"I have told you several times."
"Yes." He says thoughtfully. "But you have not made me."
A quiet laugh leaves Domenico as he moves around the table, clearly entertained by how easily he manages to get under my skin.
I ignore him and pull one of the Keegan files closer instead.
"Focus." I say coolly. "Unlike you, some of us are trying to run an operation."
His mouth twitches slightly. "And here I thought threatening to abandon me in Ireland was part of the operation."
I shoot him a flat look. Domenico only looks more amused by it.
The conversation gradually settles back into business after that, though the tension between us never fully disappears.
It lingers beneath discussions of timelines, contingencies, and the countless small details that determine whether operations succeed or fail.
By the time the last adjustments have been made and the final routes agreed upon, the city beyond my office windows has disappeared completely into darkness.
Domenico gathers the remaining documents from the table before finally straightening. "We leave for Ireland in two weeks."
I nod, already mentally rearranging schedules and priorities.
"Be ready before then." He says. "Once this operation starts, there won't be an easy way out of it."
His tone remains calm, but something about the way he says it feels heavier than operational advice, as though he means more than Ireland and more than the Keegans.
Our eyes hold for a moment before he turns toward the door. Then, just before leaving, he glances back over his shoulder.
"Oh, and one more thing."
The look in his eyes immediately makes me suspicious.
"This isn't a one-night performance. For the Keegans to believe us, we'll need to look convincing before the party too."
I narrow my eyes slowly. "Define convincing."
"We'll be in Ireland for a week." His gaze moves over me with deliberate calm. "Which means that, for one week, you're mine."
The words land with far more weight than they should.
Before I can respond, amusement flickers briefly across his face.
"Publicly." He adds, as though that somehow improves the situation.
"Get out."
His laugh follows him out of the office a moment before the door closes behind him.
I lean back slowly in my chair, my gaze settling on the files still scattered across the desk as my thoughts return to the operation waiting for us in Ireland.
The Keegans, the information buried deep enough to stay hidden for years, and the risks attached to uncovering it.