Page 98 of Attraction (Mobsters + Billionaires 3)
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FORD
This has beenone hell of a night. Luca tried to keep it away from me, but there is definitely some drama going on with Fallon and his new boyfriend. Not to mention the fact that Agent Hughes—Liam to Hopper now, apparently—jumped up and left suspiciously fast.
Whatever’s happening is making Luca’s jaw clench, and I decide I need a plan to de-stress my man.
Huh. The wine is making me rhyme.
I laugh, taking another sip.
Despite whatever’s going on, I’ve been having a great time with Mads and Hopper, and it was cute to watch Hop get all sweet and blushy around his RICO agent. Having only seen the man in passing, it was interesting to find out he’s got a personality.
“Hey, little bird, what do you say we go to my place after this last glass of wine?”
I kiss his cheek and down the rest of my glass. “Sounds great, lover. I just need to go to the little boys’ room first.”
Luca kisses my hand. “Use the men’s VIP lounge on the second floor,” he says, pointing behind us to a discreet staircase that leads to a second-floor overlook. “Our group is the only one who has access to it.”
Honestly, a private restroom sounds lovely. This gala season has been successful, but being around so many people gets harder and harder as the season progresses. I’ll take any quiet moment that I can.
I make my way up the stairs and squeal when I walk in. There’s something very old school-meets-modern about the luxe lounge that leads into the toilet area. There’s even a gilt-framed ceiling-high mirror, and I pause to admire my black-and-white outfit.
God, I amsodramatic.
Walking into the spacious toilet area, I admire the old-school bronze starburst ceiling fixtures as I make my way to one of the elegant urinals and take care of business. I’m humming the bossa nova from earlier as I wash my hands in one of the heavy porcelain-enameled sinks that line the wall opposite the stalls.
This is stacking up to be a great weekend. We’ll go home, make love to one another, and lounge in bed tomorrow. I bet I can even convince my gentleman mobster to go to brunch with me.
Switching to Frank Sinatra, I take advantage of the full-length mirror, adjusting my mask and ensuring my hair swoop is still fabulous.
I jump when the door opens, then laugh at myself. A familiar-looking gentleman with silver hair and a simple black mask walks in. He looks at me in the mirror and cocks his head to the side.
Huh. Definitely not part of our group.
I don’t know why, but…I don’t like him. Thisisthe mobster ball, after all, so I send him a neutral smile.
“You always did have to be extra, didn’t you?”
My heart starts to hammer in my chest before the name even comes to me. I’d remember that Irish-Manhattan accent anywhere. Shaking my head, I attempt to pass him, only to be yanked backward nearly off my feet.
“Fuck off,” I scream, scrambling to catch my balance as he rips off my mask.
“I think the fuck not,” Ciaran O’Shea says, gripping my shoulder. “I’ve got a job to finish.”
“Get away from me!”
I try to pull away while shouting at the top of my lungs, calling for Luca, but the words are drowned out by the music. Ciaran gets me in some kind of wrestling hold as he shoves me into the mirror face first, cracking it.
Pain and fear flood every synapse, and I flashback to that horrible Louis XIV-inspired dining room, with gold leaf and heavily carved wood everywhere. Ciaran O’Shea acted like everything I said that night was a flirtation when, in reality, I’d sidestepped him all evening. He and Fallon got disgustingly drunk over dinner, embarrassing his wife and painfully shy younger son.
After dinner, everyone fled to their neutral corners, and Fallon went to the bathroom—to throw up, I assume. Not wanting to spend another minute in the presence of this family, I started to make my way out of the dining room and into the foyer when Ciaran grabbed me, overpowering me as he dragged me back into that room.
Within seconds, he violently pinned me face down against the opulent dining room table, blanketing my body with his, the weight of him stealing my breath. His drunk fingers stalled out on my belt, so I fought him off of me. I got about two steps before he dragged me back and smashed my face against the table again, nearly knocking me unconscious.
Ciaran O’Shea was shockingly strong back then and is just as strong now.
But today, he’s sober.
