Chapter 17 #2
The exchanges are brief and effortless. Watching him work a room is fascinating.
Nico becomes exactly what people expect him to be. Charming. Polished. Approachable. The dangerous edge never completely disappears, but he hides it well enough that most people only notice the confidence.
Only someone looking carefully would recognize the predator beneath the expensive suit. Unfortunately, I am looking carefully. Which means I notice everything. Including the way he never stops observing the room.
Even while smiling or shaking hands or making polite conversation. his eyes are constantly moving. Measuring exits. Counting guards. Tracking people.
Working. Always working.
Eventually, we approach a group gathered near one of the towering windows overlooking the estate grounds. Several older men stand together discussing international markets and shipping routes while their wives and daughters linger nearby with glasses of champagne.
The moment they notice Nico, their expressions brighten. "Lucien. There you are. We were beginning to think you'd abandoned us."
"I was occupied." Nico replies smoothly.
One of the men laughs. His gaze immediately shifts toward me. "And who is this?"
Nico's hand settles more firmly against my back. For the briefest moment, his eyes meet mine. Then he turns back toward the group. A practiced smile appears.
"Allow me to introduce my fiancée."
I immediately feel half a dozen pairs of eyes turn toward me. And just like that, the performance begins.
The introductions continue for far longer than I anticipated. And every time I think Nico has finally reached the end of his seemingly endless list of acquaintances, another influential guest appears from somewhere within the crowd.
One conversation flows seamlessly into the next, and before I can fully process one name, I am already being introduced to another.
"Vivienne, this is Lord Alistair Vance." Nico says smoothly. "The man responsible for making sure a significant portion of Britain's shipping routes continue functioning."
The older gentleman laughs. "Lucien gives me far too much credit."
"And not nearly enough caution." Nico replies.
The conversation moves on easily after that, drifting between shipping delays, political changes, and names I recognize from newspapers and financial reports.
Similar introductions follow throughout the evening, each one connecting Nico to another corner of a world that seems to stretch far beyond Ireland.
As the evening progresses, it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore the larger picture slowly taking shape around me. These aren't isolated relationships. They are pieces of something much larger.
The deeper I look, the more disturbing the realization becomes.
The Keegans aren't simply a powerful family operating inside Ireland. They're woven into systems far larger than themselves. Their influence stretches through governments, corporations, financial institutions, transportation networks, and industries that quietly shape entire economies.
Standing in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by crystal chandeliers and expensive champagne, I suddenly understand why people fear families like this. Not because of what they can do directly. Because of how many people help them do it.
A subtle pressure against my lower back pulls me from my thoughts. Nico.
I don't react outwardly. Instead, I continue smiling at a group of investors while casually turning my head toward him.
"What is it?" I ask softly.
His expression never changes. "Two additional guards."
My smile remains perfectly in place. "Where?"
"East staircase."
I take a sip of champagne. "Armed?"
His eyes flick briefly toward mine. "When aren't they?"
The longer the celebration continues, the more information we quietly collect.
At one point, I notice a familiar figure standing near one of the champagne towers. Roisin. Even from across the ballroom, something about her immediately catches my attention.
She looks stunning. The dark silk gown is high-necked and long-sleeved, its elegant lines softened by intricate embroidery and subtle detailing that catch the light whenever she moves.
Despite covering almost every inch of skin, the dress somehow only makes her more striking, carrying the kind of quiet extravagance that demands attention without ever asking for it.
Throughout the evening, guests continually drift toward her, drawn in as much by her presence as by her beauty.
Yet there is a distance in her eyes that wasn't there before. Or perhaps it was. Perhaps I simply failed to recognize it.
My gaze shifts toward Axel. The man rarely leaves her side. Whenever she moves, he follows. Whenever someone approaches her, he inserts himself into the conversation.
His hand repeatedly settles against her back as though reminding everyone exactly who she belongs to. A familiar feeling of unease settles in my stomach.
Nico notices the direction of my attention. "Don't."
I glance at him. "Don't what?"
His voice lowers. "Start a war in the middle of the ballroom."
I look away from Axel. "I wasn't planning to."
His expression suggests he doesn't entirely believe me. Unfortunately, I can't blame him.
A short while later, the orchestra gradually falls silent. The shift immediately captures everyone's attention. Conversations taper off. Guests turn toward the front of the ballroom. And Darragh steps onto the raised platform.
The room quiets almost instantly. Watching him command attention is strangely fascinating. He doesn't need to raise his voice. He doesn't need to demand silence. People simply give it to him.
"My friends." Darragh begins, raising a glass. "Tonight is not merely a celebration of succession. Tonight is a celebration of everything the Keegan family has built and everything we will continue building together."
Applause follows.
Darragh continues speaking. And the crowd hangs on every word. Several guests nod along in agreement. Others raise their glasses whenever he pauses.
It occurs to me then that this is why men like Fergus and Darragh remain so powerful. People want to believe them.
By the time the speech concludes, the ballroom erupts into applause. Music returns. Champagne begins flowing again.
And slowly, almost imperceptibly, the atmosphere starts to change. The formal structure of the evening begins to dissolve. People relax. Alcohol loosens tongues. Groups break apart. Guests drift between lounges, terraces, gardens, and bars.
What had once been a carefully organized event gradually transforms into chaos. Exactly what we have been waiting for.
As midnight approaches, the strain on the estate begins to show. Staff members rush frantically between guests. Several security personnel abandon their assigned positions to deal with increasingly intoxicated visitors.
Nico and I eventually find ourselves standing near one of the massive glass windows overlooking the lake behind the estate. Beyond the glass, darkness blankets the grounds. Inside, the ballroom continues pulsing with life.
Then the first firework explodes. The sound reverberates through the entire estate. Conversations stop instantly. Brilliant emerald light floods the ballroom through the towering windows.
Another explosion follows.
Within moments, guests begin abandoning conversations entirely as they move toward the windows and terraces to admire the display. The distraction spreads through the room exactly as planned.
People stop paying attention to each other. They stop paying attention to the estate. And to everything except the sky.
Beside me, Nico never looks up once. His attention remains fixed elsewhere.
"What do you see?" I ask quietly.
"The opening."
My pulse quickens. "You got the cameras?"
His gaze remains fixed on the residential corridor. "Already handled. The loop's running."
I turn to stare at him. "And when exactly did you pull that off?"
"About five minutes ago."
I blink. "How?"
He lifts his wrist slightly. The watch.
My eyes narrow. "That wasn't part of your outfit earlier."
One shoulder rises in a small shrug.
"Where did you get it?"
The shrug remains my only answer. Of course.
Another mystery to add to the growing list of impossible things surrounding Domenico Valenti and the alarming ease with which he seemed to smuggle equipment into places that should have been impossible to breach.
"How much time do we have?"
"Eleven minutes." The answer lands heavily in my stomach. Not enough.
Nico must read it on my face because he finally looks at me. His expression has changed completely. The charming fiancé disappears. The playful teasing vanishes.
"We get in." He says quietly. "We open the locker and take whatever Fergus is hiding. And we leave." Simple. Terrifyingly simple.
The opportunity we've spent days waiting for finally stands in front of us.
Nico studies the final security movement near the residential wing before turning fully toward me.
His dark eyes lock onto mine. "It's time."