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Jerry shifts beside me, catching my line of sight.“Christ,” he mutters, letting out a low whistle.“That’s a sexy piece of ass.”

I don’t look at him.Don’t take my eyes off Aoife.

“I’d kill for a taste of what’s between those legs.Bet it’s just as pretty as the rest of her.”He chuckles darkly, taking a sip of his drink.“Think she’s looking for some fun tonight?”

“She works the front desk,” I say evenly, voice smooth and disinterested.

“I thought she looked familiar.Bet she knows how to be real accommodating.”

Keeping my expression unreadable, I warn, “I’d be careful where you point your appetite.”

Jerry snorts, unfazed.“Relax, man.Just talking.”He raises his hands in mock surrender, but there’s a glint in his eyes like he hasn’t decided if he’s scared or amused.

It takes everything in me to play along, to keep my pulse steady, when all I want to do is slam his face into the bar.Instead, I glance back at the table, watching as Aoife crosses her legs, deliberately slow, her dress riding up just enough to keep every man in the room interested.

Includinghim.

The whiskey burns as I swallow it down, my restraint hanging by a thread.

Let her test boundaries, bend the rules, and pretend it’s just a game.

Because once you step into the dark, it stains you.And Aoife’s already wearing my mark.

Aoife

A server approaches the table,carrying a bottle of the restaurant’s finest champagne.“Compliments of the owner,” he says, pouring two glasses before setting it on the table and leaving.

My stomach tightens as I glance across the restaurant.

Eamon sits at the bar, his posture relaxed, although I know he’s anything but.He lifts his glass in a mock toast, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips.

I keep my expression blank, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Cian glances over his shoulder, then lets out a low chuckle as he picks up his glass.“And what do you suppose that’s about?”

Offering an innocent smile, I ask, “What’s what about?”

Cian leans back in his chair, swirling the champagne in his glass.“O’Sullivan sending over a bottle of his best.Toasting you from across the room.”His voice is laced with something suspicious.

“Perhaps he’s just being a good boss.”I shrug.“You talked to him more than I ever have.Did he say anything to you after I left?”

Cian hums, unconvinced.“I don’t trust him,” he says.“Do you know he started a war with Ruairi?”

“Ruairi doesn’t tell me anything about the Syndicate.And I didn’t even know my boss was involved in that world until you told me the other night,” I say, a trace of defensiveness creeping into my voice despite my best effort to sound calm.

His eyes search mine, looking for any sign of a lie.“You sure about that?”

“What Ruairi does with the Syndicate has nothing to do with me.”My voice is steady, matter-of-fact.“And unless my job suddenly involves having to make backroom deals, I don’t see why any of it matters.”

Cian seems convinced, for now.He lifts his glass again, but instead of drinking, he asks, “Have you heard anything about the fire at Obsidian?”

My fingers rest against the cool stem of my glass, trying to read between the lines of why he’s bringing it up.A quiet unease coils in my chest.If Cian had a part in it, he’d never admit it.But if he suspects his name’s being whispered in the wrong corners, he might be here to get ahead of it.To see just how much I know.

I keep my expression neutral.“Only what the other employees are whispering about?”

“And what exactly are they whispering?”he asks.

Cian meets my eyes, his stare lingering a second too long before an easy smile curves his lips.“Just curious.”