Page 96 of Attraction (Mobsters + Billionaires 3)
Anthony and I make our way to our guys at the same time, and Mads stretches up on his tiptoes to kiss Anthony’s jaw. Ford smiles as I put my arm around him, palming his ribs. He leans closer, putting his head on my shoulder, smacking me with his ornate mask.
“Sorry!” He laughs, touching my face.
What this man does to me.
We find our table and sit as the main course is being served. With everything going on, I appreciate having a moment to relax and enjoy a meal with my little group of friends-like-family.
Even Hughes seems to be enjoying the food, though if Hopper were seated any closer, he’d be in Hughes’ lap. At least Fallon has kept to his side of the ballroom.
I check in with Anthony, and he tilts his head toward Ford, who is having a very intense conversation with Hopper as they walk to the wine station.
I don’t even want to know.
Just as I’m starting to enjoy a second glass of red, Fallon drifts by like a piece of barge garbage.
Hughes stiffens as Fallon leans over to whisper in his ear, and his jaw clenches. He whispers back furiously, and I wonder what their history is. I recognize a few bits of Irish mixed in with English but can’t make sense of any of it in a room full of people chatting and clinking utensils against fine china.
All I catch as he ends the conversation is, “See ya later,dray har.”
Dray har?
Whatever he means by that, it sounds like an insult.
With two glasses of wine in his hands, Hopper is waiting for Fallon when he turns around.
While a lot of people would characterize Hopper as unhinged, he mostly does a decent job of hiding exactly how murderous he can be. Until, that is, the moment calls for it.
Fallon, still sneering from his encounter with Hughes, takes a beat to clock Hopper at his shoulder. His pleased expression hangs for a second too long, then drops into a downward tilt as he automatically steps back. The way prey does when it recognizes an alpha predator.
Hopper stretches his neck out, cracking it, letting a hint of murder into his eyes. Fallon, son of a millionaire trying to play Mafia games, swallows hard.
Hopper finally speaks, his voice uncannily calm. “Mr. O’Shea, if you are rude to Liam again, I’ll keep you alive for a month.”
He punctuates this with a smile. It’s not a good smile.
Hughes runs his hand over his jaw. “I can take care of myself, Hop. If you assault O’Shea, I’ll have to arrest you.”
Hopper blushes. “You would put me in handcuffs?”
“Ah, JesusChrist,” Hughes mutters under his breath.
In the meantime, Fallon stumbles off, hopefully to tell his boyfriend that fucking with the Stefano family is bad for his health.
Turning to Hughes, Hopper softens his smile. “I apologize for the scene. I just didn’t like your brother talking to you like that.”
Anthony and I exchange a glance. He’s seen my text thread with Ryder and is putting together the pieces right along with me.
The bit of Irish I’d picked up on—deartháir,notdray har—makes complete sense now. It meansbrother.
And if Fallon is to be believed, then Liam Hughes is William O’Shea.
“Now that’s what I call a conflict of interest,” I say as smoothly as possible, surreptitiously texting Ryder with this latest bit of information.
Hughes sees the recognition and curses under his breath. His eyes dart away from mine, following his brother across the room. Something changes, and he sits upright, his hand on the table forming a fist.
I follow his line of sight…oh fuck. Ciaran O’Shea is walking into the ball, mask in hand. Fallon and Dominick intercept him, and they begin to talk, their body language all kinds of wrong.
Whatever this is, it isn’t good.
