“LaMalfa’s in deep with La Cosa Nostra. That’s all you need to know.”
“You’re an Irish mobster saying this,” I scoff. “Where’s your room to judge?”
To my surprise, the corner of his mouth twitches, vaguely resembling a grin. “I’m a regular Prince Charming compared to a monster like LaMalfa. Take my word for it.”
I roll my eyes and redirect my attention to the art pieces on display. We retreat into tense silence for the rest of the event. We wander through the gallery with our security detail trailing behind us.
Tonight it’s Killian, Eddie, and Fionn forming a protective perimeter that feels a little over-the-top considering the high-class crowd.
The art is beautiful, so many thought-provoking pieces I wish I could appreciate them more. But it’s hard to focus on anything with Ronan’s brooding presence at my side.
Eventually, I manage to steal a moment alone with Chantal near the back of the gallery, away from prying eyes and ears.
Ronan’s distracted enough himself, Killian having pulled him aside for a word.
“Are you two planning your honeymoon yet?” Chantal asks. “Greg is taking me to the Maldives for a couple’s retreat. You two should join us!”
“Definitely not happening anytime soon. Listen,” I say quietly, leaning in close. “I might need another one of those business cards from you.”
Chantal blinks at me, confused for a second. Then her eyes go wide. “Oh. Ohhhh! I’m picking up what you’re putting down, girl. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe Greg might even be able to help.”
“You are a lifesaver.”
“What are besties for?”
I smile at her then wind up distracted by a glance in Ronan’s direction. His side bar conversation with Killian looks… serious.
Very, very serious.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess some bad news has been delivered.
My brows push together as curiosity gets the best of me. I excuse myself from Chantal and wander back over.
Ronan senses me before I announce myself, looking up with tension visibly hardening his jaw.
“We’ve got to leave,” he says without preamble. “Something’s come up.”
“What? But we’ve only been here for barely an hour. The artist from the main installation hasn’t even?—”
“There’s no time,” he interruptssimply. “C’mon.”
Eddie and Fionn materialize at my sides, and suddenly I’m being herded toward the exit, through the crowd, and out the door. They’re leading me toward the waiting towncar before I can even process what’s happening.
“Wait,” I say, stopping on the sidewalk. Ronan and Killian have started toward a black SUV parked behind the towncar. “Aren’t you coming?”
He pauses at the SUV door, the look on his face inscrutable. “Eddie and Fionn will get you home. Don’t worry about the rest.”
Then he’s climbing into the SUV. Killian heads around to the driver’s side. They merge into traffic and disappear among the dozens of other cars.
As I settle into the backseat of the towncar, I’m certain I’ve read the situation correctly. Something has gone wrong.
I just wonder what it could be…
The ride home feels long and monotonous, the towncar gliding through the late-night Manhattan streets. Outside the tinted windows, the city pulses with life, an excitement in the air you can find at any hour in the Big Apple. Restaurants spill warm light onto the sidewalks, couples stroll hand in hand, and clusters of friends laugh their way from one bar to the next.
Even in winter, the city never truly sleeps.
As I stare out at the sights and sounds, a sense of dread creeps up on me. I can’t exactly explain why.