I had seen death countless times in my line of work as a nurse.
But this is different. This is violent, senseless and utterly personal.
This can't be happening. It can't. I won't lose Liam.
I rush to his side, staring at a lifeless body bathed in the harsh glow of the overhead chandelier lights.
But instead, I am met with Nico's familiar features.
I quickly place my fingers on his neck, desperately searching for a sign of life.
But there's nothing. His skin is cold and clammy beneath my touch.
My heart sinks.
He's gone.
A wave of grief washes over me.
I look down at Nico, his eyes glassy, his face pale and stilled.
He's gone. Forever.
The fact has me frozen in horror, my mind reeling from the sudden murderous savagery.
He... He shielded Liam from the bullet. He gave his life for his best friend.
Even if it is Nico lying motionless on the pale marble floor, and not Liam, it feels as if someone has taken a knife and plunged it into my own heart.
Time stands still for a split second, and so does everyone else around me. Then the once joyous ballroom transforms into a scene of pandemonium, screams and gunfire echoing through the grand hall.
I feel a surge of protectiveness for Liam.
"Get down! Now!" I hiss and pull him to the ground, my heart pounding in my chest.
I need to shield him from the deadly bullets dancing amidst the crowd.
Liam obeys, numb, but then he just lies there still, unmoving. His face is as pale as death.
I know he can't shake off the image of Nico's lifeless body.
I also know I have to act, to protect him from my mother. As soon as they realize the target wasn't terminated, they'll come after him.
But how can I do that when I'm surrounded by dangerous criminals?
I take Liam towards the half-crawl, half-slither away from the shootout. We're mercifully hidden by the wall of yelling guests whose lacquered shoes and high heels stampede all around us.
My hands are trembling, but I do my best to guide his path, gently tugging on his arm.
Over the din of chaos, one mournful cry pierces the air like a thousand shards of glass.
I glance back, knowing full well who that raw wail belongs to.
Siobhan.
The sight of my friend, her white wintry dress stained with Nico's blood, her eyes filled with grief, sends a violent shiver down my spine.
She points an accusatory finger at me, her voice trembling with rage.
"This is your fault! This is all your fault!"
I can't bear to meet her gaze: I do feel partly responsible for Nico's death because it was my actions that set in motion the events leading to the shooting.
But I never wanted for anyone to get hurt. Never. No one. Let alone Nico.
She must know that.
With one final lingering look at the scene, I pull Liam towards the exit, my heart heavy with the weight of loss.
As we stagger outside the mansion, leaving the bloodshed behind, Liam stumbles, his legs giving way beneath him.
"Liam. Liam, come on, please. I need you to come with me. This way," I whisper and help him to his feet, guiding him through the courtyard.
He allows me to take him wherever the hell I want, stunned, silent and helpless like a small child.
The once vibrant gardens are a scene of devastation, littered with broken window glass and lingering, suffocating stench of gunpowder.
My mind races as I navigate the debris-strewn path, one thought overpowering all the others. I have to get Liam to safety.
Away from death.
I have to protect him, just as he has always protected me.
When we get to his car after what feels like an eternity, I gently help him into the passenger seat, and then I take the driver's spot, my hands shaking as I reach for the keys.
The engine roars to life, and I welcome its familiar sound of normalcy in the middle of this chaos. Trying not to think about how it was Nico who always drives us home, I slam the car into gear and peel away from the darkness of the underworld.
***
I bang my fists on the door of Liam's mansion. It's just after midnight, and when it opens I glance up to find Nana O'Grady beaming in the doorway.
She looks at Liam and me and squeals, "Merry Christmas, Master Liam and San..!" before she can sense the dark, scary energy rolling off of us.
"But... Sandra? Master Liam?" Her sharp gaze takes in the fact Liam's jacket is gone and his shirt is covered in blood.
I lift my hand to calm her. "Merry Christmas, Nana. The blood... It's not his." Before I even get a chance to say something else, Liam, suddenly regaining all his faculties at the sight of home, stalks down the hall and into the ground floor bathroom.
The pipes in the house creak when he turns on the shower, and I bite my lip.
Nana O'Grady shoots me a questioning glance, wringing her hands.
I step inside, wildly aware of the snowflakes invading my hair, and of the tremors shaking my entire body.
"What... What happened, Sandra? I thought you were at the event in Captain Kieran's mansion? Was it cut short?" She cranes her neck to peek over my shoulder. "Has Nico parked the car already?"
How do I tell her?
How do I tell this kind-hearted, old woman who has been working in the mansion for at least twenty years, that Nico, a man she probably considered a son, is dead?
There is no easy way to go about it, so I enter autopilot mode and recite mechanical, nurse-like sentences. I've done this so many times before, in the hospital, and the words come easy to me, as if rehearsed.
Yet the feeling is more devastating than ever.
"Nana," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."
Her face pales. "What is it, child?"
I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the impact of my words. "There was a shootout at the ball and... Nico... He's gone."
A deafening wail escapes Nana's lips, and her eyes well up with tears. The poor housekeeper clutches at her heart, as if in terrible physical pain.
"No! No!" A heart-wrenching cry echoes through the mansion. "Not him! Not Nico! Not my boy!"
Before I can utter a word of comfort, or attempt to share her grief with an embrace, she turns around without another word and flees towards the kitchens.
Now left alone in the grand hallway, I can only watch her go, my heart breaking for the poor woman, as the echoes of her wail still reverberate in my ears.
Liam. I force the thought into my mind. I need to find him.
I tiptoe down the hall and lean against the bathroom door.
I press my ear to it and hear nothing but the flow of water. Steam is billowing out from beneath the crack, and I can almost imagine Liam in there beneath the scalding hot spray.
When I was abducted and locked inside that shipping container, he brought me safely home. He comforted me. I want to, I need to do the same for him.
My hand hovers over the doorknob and then, with trepidation, I give it a gentle twist.
As soon as I enter, I see Liam crouching in the bathroom corner, bottle of whiskey by his side.
Judging by the looks of it, he's already taken a good swig.
A thick veil of swirling steam hangs in the air, obscuring everything within a few feet from the door. The mirror is fogged up, the bathroom tiles are slick with moisture.
He's leaning forward, head in hands, in nothing but his briefs.
I take a tentative step forward and he glances up, his eyes bloodshot.
His shoulder wound is bleeding again, and he has a new cut on his opposite arm. He doesn't even seem to notice.
I walk towards him and grab the first aid kit and find a needle. I take a shot of whiskey for myself before sitting down on his lap to clean his wounds. There isn't a word spoken between us.
Liam remains numb. He lets me mend him, and I go about it carefully, making sure I do a good job.
"I'm sorry," I tell him softly as I put a fresh bandage over his shoulder and move on to the other cut. "I'm so sorry."
"Ye don't need to do that," he says. "Told ye once, told ye a thousand times."
"It's okay, I don't mind."
His cell flashes with the word Kieran, and Liam instinctively grabs the device, his hands shaking.
His eyes scan the message, and then he raises the phone above his head and brings it crashing down against the wall, the screen shattering into pieces.
"Liam? Liam? What's wrong?"
He's trembling in earnest.
"What did the message say?"
"Operation successful."
Thoughts whir through my head. What could that possibly mean?
And then it all becomes crystal clear.
The Albanian warehouse is engulfed in flames as we speak.
Funnily enough, while I was going through this plan with my father, I felt exhilaration, excitement. I imagined the moment when I managed to get my retribution against my mother to be something so grand, pleasing, cathartic.
Yet now that it finally happened – there's just emptiness.
To Kieran, this is the ultimate triumph over the rivaling Albanian clan.
To me and Liam, it's nothing but a Pyrrhic victory.
"That's all he cares about. All he ever cared about. Success of his operations. Not his men. Not Nico. Not me. Never me. I could've feckin died tonight too." Liam's teeth chatter in fury. "I hate him. I hate him. I hate him!"
His fist clenched, he lowers it towards the floor, and then brings it down with a sickening crunch. A single tile cracks, sending small hairline fissures radiating out from the point of impact.
The bathroom echoes with the sound of his rage.
I bring my hands to my mouth as I notice red droplets on Liam's knuckles. I rush and grab his arm to stop him from slamming his fist against the ceramics one more time.
"Please don't," is all I utter.
And it works. It instantly works.
"Liam." I clear my throat. "I can't bear seeing you like this."
For a few minutes, I try to block out everything else. All of the questions and the guilt and the death. I set the first aid kit aside and do what feels right.
I stand up, and offer him my hand; surprisingly, Liam takes it.
I gently guide him upstairs to my bedroom, away from the turmoil that just unfolded in the bathroom. I feel Liam's hand tremble in mine; when I turn around, his face is etched with sorrow.
When we come inside, I help him sit on the edge of the bed, my hand still resting on his arm.
I guess I'm subconsciously afraid he's going to start banging his wounded fist on the wall next.
Liam's body is so unbearably tense, his muscles rigid with overwhelming grief. I can physically feel the pain radiating from him – that raw, agonizing wound that is cutting deep into his soul.
I sit beside him. I want to ease his anguish so badly. It's my turn to comfort Liam, to rescue him from the prison of his mind.
Just as he has comforted me countless times already.
I reach out and gently stroke his hair, peppering tender, comforting kisses along his week-old stubble. My hands lower onto his shoulders and I press into them, massaging every knot, every tense spot.
Neither of us speaks as I work my way down his back, and after some time passes, I can feel the tension in Liam's body slowly easing.
His shoulders relax, and the rigidity in his muscles disappears almost entirely.
He takes a deep breath and buries his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling and exhaling in rhythmic fashion, breathing in my scent.
"Alexandra," Liam groans, every syllable in my name distinctly pronounced in a deep voice, hoarse with pain and longing. "I don't know what I would do without ye here, Alexandra. I need ye. I need ye so fecking much right now."
"I'm here," I whisper, realizing I'm choking on my own tears. "I'm here for you."
Liam rubs his stubble against my cheek with a groan, and then he cups my face in his giant, soft, warm palms.
His lips gently brush my forehead, then my nose, and finally my mouth, cherishing them like a rare treasure, before they take a detour and trace a path along my neck.
His touch is so light, featherlike.
My breath catches in my throat as he lingers against my pulse point, and I can almost taste the rapid beat of my heart.
A moan escapes my lips.
"Ye like that, sweetheart?"
"Oh, Liam. Yes. Oh, that just feels so good. You feel so good."
He dips his head lower still, and sucks my nipple into his mouth, while gripping my hips for support.
"And ye are going to enjoy this just as much."
The feel of his hot lips on my breast makes a moan slip out, and Liam rumbles his approval against my chest, his hand kneading my other breast.
His stubble occasionally scratches over my nipple, and it's an arousing contrast to the soft strokes of his tongue.
He takes his time with each of my breasts, licking and sucking as if he were devouring a delicious treat, until my legs are rubbery and my core pulsing with need.
Liam's hungry eyes are locked on mine, recording every reaction. He keeps my body and mind captive with his demanding touch, and my sex responds with a flood of arousal that completely stuns me.
He then lowers his head, shows my legs apart and licks my slit from my opening up to my clit.
I cry out in complete surprise and utter pleasure.
His tongue ravages my body in an animalistic way that has me speechless except for the shocked, uncontrollable whimpers I never knew I was capable of, coming out of my throat.
Then Liam ravages my dress to shreds, too: the fabric easily tears with a sharp sound, like a flimsy piece of paper being ripped in half.
He places both of my legs on his muscular shoulders to get easier access.
My core throbs and pulsates around his tongue, and I can't bear it anymore.
I blush, ashamed, having my body so exposed to him, to his penetrating stare.
My first reaction is to evade his bold ministrations, to inch backwards with my hips.
But Liam won't let me.
"No," he says with a husky, commanding voice, drilling me with his emerald eyes, darkened by desire.
His arms are like pliers: they squeeze my thighs, and there is no escape.
He inhales the smell of my sex with satisfaction and moans with pleasure.
"You smell so good. I want to taste you like this until the end of time. Until you melt in my mouth. Until you can't take it anymore and scream my name."
"Liam, please."
"Liam, please, what?" I can see he is enjoying my shyness.
"You're mean." I stick my tongue out at him.
"But you want something from me, don't you?"
"I do," I moan.
"Tell me what you want, Alexandra."
"Take me," I beg, my voice breathy, my whole body pulsing, needing attention, needing him. "Please. Please take me. Make me forget. Let me help you forget."
"I will fecking take us both into oblivion, sweetheart," Liam whispers, and presses the tip of his hard member against my soaking folds.
He eases slowly into me, stretching me, his thickness filling me up entirely little by little.
"Alexandra," he snarls, pushing his hips forward, thrusting deeper, harder, as I rock back and forth, following his rhythm, crying out his name in ecstasy.
He's so needful, so unsatiated in his movements, as he pistons in and out of me.
"Oh my god, Liam!" I scream, digging my heels into his buttocks, my fingers intertwined with his raven locks as I feel his cock pulsating, ravaging my core as I reach my peak.
My legs are shaking, my eyes are rolling at the back of my head, my chest is flushed, and I cry out in utter bliss.
When I come down from my high, I clasp his face into my hands, as droplets of salty sweat fall from his forehead on mine.
"Come with me. Let go. Let it all out," I plead with him.
And Liam does. He buries his broken self in me, buries his pain in me time and time again, and comes to his own release, letting out tortured wails, like a wild, agonizing animal.
When he rolls onto the bed by my side, a flood of tears is streaming down his face uncontrollably.
"Nico was like a brother to me," he says, his voice thick with emotion.
"I know. I'm so, so, so sorry," I say, futilely. All the words in the world can't express how sorry I am. I hide my head on his muscular chest, listening intently, my heart aching for the amount of pain Liam is carrying inside.
He continues, his voice trembling. "It was a Christmas Eve just like this one. I was but a five-year-old kid when Kieran The Knife Murphy gunned down me ma, me pa and me brother in cold blood right before me eyes."