Reckless Covenant: a Second Chance Mafia Romance, page 5
I don’t dare look down at it, but something cruel seems to simmer in the black pits of his eyes.
“I couldn’t agree more. This one is definitely going to be entertaining. Talk of the season, for sure.” Ryan’s expression is peculiar as he speaks those words, his teeth gleaming with a disturbing sense of pride. “And with the demand of the business, I could definitely use the entertainment.”
The fact that I have no clue what they’re talking about makes me uneasy. I don’t have a good feeling about this.
“Business takeover is going well, I gather? My condolences for your father.” The Serpent’s politeness is borderline deranged, yet so natural.
It makes it worse. Not that I expect him to be some rude thug lashing out at people, but his interaction is so proper, it makes one question his reputation as a terrifying organized crime boss. Or one of them. He and his friends all seem to be in charge of their mafia empire.
“Very well. The changes I’m making are quite… fruitful,” Ryan answers.
Since no one’s paying attention to me, all I can do is listen to them, feigning boredom as I study my nails. I wasn’t aware that these two knew anything of each other’s businesses. It shouldn’t surprise me though, the black-eyed snake somehow knows everything that moves through Queenscove. Even through the cryptic conversation they’re having now, I can tell he knows a lot about Ryan’s, or better yet, his late father’s business. And here I am, completely clueless about my boyfriend’s party, where even The Serpent is invited.
I look up at him, wondering why even after all this time it’s still hard—no, uncomfortable—to look at him. He’s always been stupidly handsome, but goddamnit, the years have been good to him.
Everything about this man is laced in obsidian, from his eyes to his hair, the thick stubble covering his jaw, and even his clothes. He wears a black tie over a shirt of the same color, and the dark jacket is fitted ridiculously well over his wide, round shoulders of his six-foot-something frame. I hate that I can note the trace of his pecs under the soft fibers of his shirt.
I snap out of it, pulling my gaze away since I have no fucking business noticing the lines of this asshole’s sculpted body. Only, my eyes stop on his square jaw, drawing along the sharp line of it, and up his soft, thick lips that seem tense. Then over his mostly straight nose, apart from a slight bump on one side of the bridge, and on those thick lashes that would make any woman jealous.
I’m ready to scream at myself to wake the fuck up, but there’s no need. Not when I focus on his eyes and remember how they looked at me when he broke my young heart and shattered my entire world.
I can’t deny The Serpent is attractive, but he better screw off and be attractive somewhere else, because I have a damn date to escape from. And my resentment for him is not improving my damn mood.
“Sounds good to me,” Ryan says.
Wait. What sounds good? I should have been listening.
“I will see you then. Enjoy the rest of the evening.” The Serpent ends the conversation, then turns to me, nodding yet again.
Only this time, he lingers for a moment longer on my hands. When his eyes draw back to mine, the gaze in those dark pits is… grave.
Does he know?
The Serpent’s interruption wasn’t on purpose. Right? No, it couldn’t have been. A mere coincidence.
Is it also a coincidence that in the last seven or eight years, we’ve only ever interacted three or four times? One of those times was this year. Yet we’ve just met twice in two fucking days.
“What was that about?” I turn to Ryan.
“Nothing you need to know of yet.”
Somewhere at the backend of his words, I find a bit more strength to fight with the man.
“Why do you do this? What happened to you to have changed you so much? This shift… You were never this person, never talked to me this way.”
His expression is one of exasperation, as if I’m a problem and he’s brainstorming a solution. Does he even care anymore? Only, a deviant grin spreads over his lips, a mad look in his eyes.
“I did not change.” Four words, only four words he speaks, and they’re enough to shake my soul. They imply too much, they change my view of him, our relationship, our past, they change everything.
Even my future.
CHAPTER 4
VINCENT
“TELL ME AGAIN WHY we’re here?” Finn asks. He’s standing beside me, along with Carter and Madds, in the grand doorway of the Rosenberg Hotel ballroom.
The aroma of fresh flowers and vanilla assaults me as I lazily drag my eyes over Queenscove’s elite. The way they’re not so inconspicuously stealing glances at us whilst forcing themselves to carry on their conversations is almost comical.
I push down a sigh as I prepare myself to lie.
“You know why, Finn. We need to find out what Ryan Holt knows about Boseman.”
“If we’re to believe Crowley’s confession.”
I turn at his words, catching as he wiggles one eyebrow at a beautiful bleach blonde woman passing by, her arm hooked around the elbow of a man three times her age. Her eyes sparkle at the sight of our very own surfer boy, bright, blue eyes, and shoulder length, curly hair wild against the contrasting tailored suit.
“That’s why we have to get close. Since Liam O’Rourke invited us here and, according to Carter’s sources, he’s going into some sort of business with Holt, then this is our best way in.”
Finn, or the others, for that matter, doesn’t need to know the real reason I personally wanted to come. Yes, the O’Rourke and Holt part was true, but I could have arranged that any other time. I wanted to be here so I could see her.
I want her to look into my fucking eyes with the bright green of hers when she shares with the world why we were all invited here today.
But… that brightness was dangerously dull when I saw her last.
Truth is, I’m not sure what I’m hoping to achieve by coming here. The sadist in me needs to burn this place to the ground as punishment for the celebration that’s to come. But it’s the masochist side that decided to be here, to witness this—them. I broke my own fucking heart once; I wonder if I’m going to burn the leftover shards today.
I thought I had time to get to her… I really thought I had more time.
“Can’t we just tie them to a chair and extract it the old-fashioned way?” Madds grunts, the slight amusement in his tone pulling me out of my self-destructive thoughts.
I don’t need to look to know that amusement hasn’t registered in his deep, amber gaze. Very few things make the man laugh, or smile even. Most happen within our inner circle, but outside of it… I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile at anyone else. Not for a long time anyway.
“I second that,” Carter follows.
I catch a glimpse of the man, and his hazel eyes, bleeding into blue, are utterly impassive. He’s serious. But then again, this man never, ever, says anything he doesn’t mean. That is, if he says anything at all. I’ve known him for about twelve years, since we were around sixteen years old, yet I’m still not sure if his lack of a filter is intentional or a sign of something that would require a diagnosis.
“We all know the answer to that,” I say to them.
I would love to. Eventually we will, because O’Rourke, that goddamn son of a bitch, deserves my fucking fury tenfold. And Ryan Holt… I’m starting to believe he may deserve it just as much.
I take a step in, and don’t miss the collective twitch in the crowd’s flesh. Like a pack of gazelles noticing the rustling in the bushes and the sparkling gaze of the lions peeking through.
“So we’re socializing,” Finn says with a sigh.
“Yes. O’Rourke is desperate to get into business with us, and by association, Holt is, too. If we play our cards right, we’ll find out not only what we need to know about Boseman, but why they’re so desperate too. Our business is based on a wealth of information that we accumulate and wield to our benefit or our allies’. But right under our noses, something is happening that we’re not privy to, and that just won’t do.”
As we walk through the middle of the crowded space, people don’t fail to make room, most of them averting their gazes, and I see O’Rourke and his wife noticing us.
No daughter…
I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s somewhere in the back, tending to the pristine look she’s adopted in recent years. She used to have this untamed aura about her, red curls flowed freely, makeup free fresh face, freckles on full display. Now, she’s different, her hair slick, no stray strand, no loose thread on her expensive clothes, makeup always perfect. It feels—it looks forced on her. She’s clearly changed, adapting to fit into this society she was fighting so hard to reject all those years ago. There’s a tinge of disappointment in the back of my mind.
I would much prefer to see her disheveled, with runny makeup, wild hair… tangled limbs between my sheets.
Fuck.
Clearly, I’m not quite that bothered about her new look. My cock certainly isn’t.
“I’m struggling to figure out what the connection between Holt and Boseman is. How would they know each other, or of each other?” Finn asks, pulling my thoughts from that dangerous direction.
“Well, that’s why we’re here. This whole thing gives me a really bad vibe, and we need to get our foot in it. These sons of bitches can’t move without us knowing about it,” I say to him, just before we reach O’Rourke and his wife.
“Gentlemen, thank you so much for joining us!” His enthusiasm appears to be genuine, and I resist the urge to cock an eyebrow.
If I didn’t know any better, I would say he forgot our past, what he did. Or maybe he thinks I forgot. No, he’s just feigning ignorance since he now has something to gain from me, from us. No one forgets something like that.
I think the party we were invited to about five months ago was to test the waters, observe my reaction to him. Now he’s diving all the way in.
One by one, he shakes our hands, pulling Finn’s attention from yet another blonde in a skimpy skirt. We all nod to Mrs. O’Rourke, a woman in her early fifties, wearing a form-fitted dark blue dress that’s just… too much. Too sparkly, too overfilled with lace details, too flashy and most likely an intentional choice. They’re the type of people who have this burning need to stand out at all times.
What definitely stands out is the look O’Rourke gives her every time she touches that high neckline. It could do with a little tugging down to give her some room to breathe, but he doesn’t seem to approve.
“Thank you for inviting us, and congratulations to you both.” Fuck, bile rises in my throat with those words. It hurts my vocal cords to say them, but I had to. He has to believe I have no emotional connection to that past.
Mrs. O’Rourke looks slightly flustered as her gaze flickers to her husband, unsure of her next move.
“Thank you. Sheila will take you to your table,” he says with a nod, the movement staggered. “I do hope we can have a… drink together later. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”
I nod in return and follow the woman.
The tables are all round, ranging in size from four to eight seats, and luckily, we are led to one which sits four. Good, it will be just us. I watch Mrs. O’Rourke as she moves away, and I can’t help but wonder what that woman’s life is like at home. She has this smug, proud aura about her, ready to flaunt her wealth and status, but when her husband looks at her, she’s like a soldier—still, waiting for the next order.
Gripping the wooden frame of the chair, I start pulling it away, but freeze. I see her red, silky hair first, flowing in large waves around her alabaster skin, bouncing with each slow step. The tips of the strands touch the V-neckline that plunges low between her breasts, the black satin dress held only by two thin straps, covering just enough that you want to beg for more. The smooth fabric of the knee-length dress clings to her full curves without being tight, and in proper Morrigan fashion, instead of the pumps the women around us wear, the high slit reveals the end of thigh-high leather boots.
Never in my life have I noticed all these details in the way a woman dresses. Yet I always do with her. And I was right. There’s no hair out of place—pristine.
Someone intentionally clears their throat, and as I turn, Maddox follows my previous line of sight, eyes widening and stilling. He takes one more moment before he turns and takes a seat. Finn, though, he has a stupid grin plastered all over his face, and Carter just… watches me. The scrutiny is uncomfortable. I might have a talent for making people talk, but I swear Carter just reads your fucking mind.
“She’s off limits, man. Especially now,” Finn whispers as we all take our seats.
There are no limits when it comes to Morrigan O’Rourke.
I swipe my gaze back to the redhead, her steps light as she heads toward her parents, arm curled around Holt’s, her green eyes stern. Only, the look in them shifts in an instant the moment they fall on me, her surprise evident before irritation replaces it. It brings me joy, seeing that flustered side of her, her control stripped, even if for a moment. I hold that gaze because it’s a challenge. She would rip her eyes out before she would submit to me. And doesn’t that sound fucking fun.
Her nostrils flare when she approaches her parents and has no choice but to look away. A tinge of a grin pulls at my lips at the slight victory.
“Jesus, she looked like she could gut you right here, right now,” Finn says with a smirk.
“Knowing her, she probably would,” Madds continues as he snatches the Bourbon bottle from the waiter after he fills his glass. I want to fucking punch him for what he just said.
“Sorry, but how well do you guys know her, exactly?” Finn slides his empty glass toward Madds, who regards me from under his eyebrows.
He is the only one who knows exactly who Morrigan was to me back then. Carter and Finn were at university, one buried in computers, the other probably in pussy. Madds and I were still here, putting the bases down for what was going to become our empire, along with the man Finn doesn’t allow us to speak of. They knew of her because it was impossible not to, but not of how deeply her and I were involved. If they did, they have never mentioned it to me.
It ended before they came home, before it could become more. So I never told them everything. It was better that way.
“Knew her,” Madds corrects his previous words. “She was hard not to notice. A firecracker. We watched her beat the shit out of this guy once. She broke his jaw… put him in the hospital.”
What the fuck has gotten into him?!
In all these years, he’s barely acknowledged her existence or uttered two sentences about her. All of a sudden, he’s in her presence for more than ten seconds and he speaks of the past with such ease that I want to shove that whole Bourbon bottle down his throat to shut him up. I know why, though, don’t I? Morrigan O’Rourke had an impact on Madds even back then, when she was barely sixteen. He never said a word, but it was hard to miss it when this man never warmed up to anyone but us. I know he’s been keeping his mouth shut out of respect.
“Watched her? You didn’t intervene?” Finn asks.
Carter stays silent. He’s paying attention though, far too closely for my liking, his head cocked as he files in every single word for future use. Or research.
“I didn’t need to. She was doing fine on her own,” Madds says with a shrug.
“That’s not what I… fucking hell, man.”
Finn’s laugh turns some heads, even above the music that seems to be getting louder. Although people haven’t exactly stopped stealing glances at us. Private events are not our scene, but O’Rourke wants to make a statement with our presence. We’re letting them have their moment until we get what we need.
* * *
My sweet tooth led me to the dessert table stacked with multi-level ornate cake stands, filled with macarons, meringues, fruit next to a decadent chocolate fountain, and dozens of different mini cakes in all the colors of the fucking rainbow. Now I understand why the crowd gathered around it the whole evening.
Just as the person who stands next to me begins to move away, I lean over and reach for a mini chocolate éclair, when my hand bumps into another, sending the tips of their fingers straight into the chocolate stream of the fountain.
“Fucking hell!” She curses loud enough that the person standing between us is gone in a split second.
I swallow my apology, when I realize before I even look up who that voice belongs to—Morrigan.
“You!” she seethes when her eyes land on me.
“Hello.” I allow a moment to take her in, her enchanting eyes gleaming with fury, the slight flush on her high cheekbones, and the freckles barely visible under the makeup. All framed by her smooth, brick-red waves falling over her bare shoulders, grazing the smooth skin of her chest.
I prefer the natural, wild curls on her.
“I don’t get it. What the fuck are my parents playing at? Why are you here? All of you?”
That’s one way of saying hello back… I guess.
She notices the chocolate dripping from her fingers onto the white tablecloth, and the vixen does the goddamn unthinkable. One by one, she slides those digits into her mouth, and I freeze. There’s no sexual intention in the gesture, but time slows down, nonetheless. I’m mesmerized. Utterly fucking mesmerized as I follow those lush lips sucking every drop of chocolate, leaving a faint red lipstick ring on them.
This woman… this goddamn woman.
The blood flow shifts from my brain to my cock, and I yank her fingers to me, hand wrapped tight around her slim wrist, stopping it inches from my face. She parts her lips to spit her protest, but her jaw locks as her eyes fix onto mine. I don’t know if hunger gazes back at her, or pure fury that she did this in public, for others to see the magic, too.
I have to force myself not to drag her away, and make her do all that again, just for me. Instead, I break eye contact, still feeling her thunderous gaze on me as I grab a bunch of napkins from the stack farther down the table and push them in her trapped hand. I really don’t want to, but I release her wrist before I do anything stupid, like clean her fingers with my own fucking tongue.
