I stir, my eyelids fluttering open: the first rays of Christmas day filter through the window, casting a warm glow across the bedroom. As I fully come to, I become aware of the sound of soft, steady breathing beside me.
Turning my head, I see Liam, still asleep, curled up against my side.
For the first time ever, he stayed with me.
I watch him sleep with a smile. Liam's face is relaxed, his features softened by slumber. In this moment of repose, he looks just like an innocent little boy, with tousled dark hair and slightly parted plump lips.
A pang of protectiveness wells up inside me. I reach out and gently brush a lock of hair away from his forehead, my fingers lingering against his warm skin.
I can't help but feel a sense of awe. Liam is so strong, so capable, yet here he is, completely vulnerable by my side.
There is this delicate balance inside him between strength and weakness, courage and gentleness.
I gaze at him for a long time, committing every detail of his face to memory. The way his thick lashes curl against his cheeks, the faint smudge of sleep beneath his eyes.
I can't imagine how on earth I would get through everything I'm getting through right now were it not for him.
My grandma's death. My mother's cold, cruel transformation. Finding out who my father really is.
The sounds from downstairs interrupt my train of thought, filtering into our intimate space, and I don't know if it's my imagination when I hear the bell ring.
I reach for my mobile phone which informs me it's half past ten, but I also get so many news notifications about the burnt down warehouse in downtown Dublin.
There's no mention of Nico's death, anywhere.
"Hey," I whisper, my voice barely audible above the din from the ground floor.
Liam stirs. He blinks groggily as he adjusts to the hazy morning light, and sits upright stifling a small yawn.
"What's going on, lass?" He murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep, and kisses the tip of my nose.
"I don't know, but it sounds like we have a visit."
"Whoever it is, they can wait." Liam pouts, and buries his face in the pillow.
"It's almost eleven, sleepyhead." I roll over him playfully.
"Eleven? I could have slept days if you did not wake me, sweetheart. It feels so good, being here, with you, Alexandra."
I smile. I know exactly what he means. I wish I could stay in this time bubble forever. Just me, Liam, sun rays seeping through the curtains and a tender touch of a kindred soul.
This golden memory will have to be enough; it will have to shield me from the harsh reality that will inevitably come.
"How are you feeling?" I rub my cheek against his.
He pulls me against his chest into a strong embrace.
"Much better than last night," Liam says, his tone now gruff, and I know he's about to be hit by a ten-ton truck loaded with thoughts of Nico. "I slept like a wee baby."
"I saw," I smile coyly. "You looked so... Helpless."
"Helpless?" Liam sticks his tongue out at me.
"Yes." I giggle.
"Let me show you just how helpless I am." With a playful grunt, he hefts me over his shoulder.
"You caveman," I faux-complain. "Where are you taking me?"
"Why, to the bathroom, milady." He grins up at me.
Moments later, the warm water is cascading down my body.
"What's happening?" I mumble.
He grins down at me, wiggling his brows. "I'm giving you a shower, silly. And meself, fer that matter. Time to clean up after all the lovely mess we made last night." His voice is laced with amusement.
I giggle, sensing my cheeks flushing. "But we have a visitor. Might be too late."
Liam tightens his grip, now holding me firmly against his chest. "Never too late for a quick shower," he declares, slapping my butt cheeks naughtily. "Especially not, for sharing one with you."
"Oh fine," I roll my eyes, giving up the struggle. I nestle my head against his shoulder, enjoying the feel of warm water on my skin.
Liam gently soaps me up, his hands moving with practiced ease.
I relish in his familiar, sensual touch. "Mmm, it's lovely."
A sense of peace washes over me, the tension and ugliness of yesterday melting away with each of his rubs.
I catch Liam's gaze, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"What are you looking at?" I tease.
"That gorgeous body of yers." He stands behind me as his palms caress my shoulders, massage my back, and then cup my breasts with agonizing tenderness, as he washes my skin.
He bathes me with tenderness that speaks of deep affection.
I turn around and he pulls me in an impossibly firm and protective hug, as I massage his scarred back.
The steam billows from the shower, filling the air with a humid embrace.
I glance up and I can't look away from the perfection of a man standing before me.
His damp and tousled hair is slicked back from his forehead, revealing his chiseled features.
My petite form feels dwarfed by his imposing presence.
"I'd like to return the favor," I hear myself say.
"I'd like that too, sweetheart," Liam hums.
I reach for the soap, its smooth, fragrant surface cool against my palm. The fragrance of the rich, creamy lather mingles with the steamy air.
As I massage the soap into Liam's skin, my movements are slow and deliberate. My fingers trace the contours of his body, lingering on the muscles of his arms, the planes of his chest and the sculpted lines of his abdomen.
We stand there for a long time, lost in each other's arms, sharing this impossibly intimate moment.
"I think we should go and see what all the fuss is about," I whisper, and Liam groans.
"I could think of a better use fer me time right now," he complains, as I sense his budding erection poke me into my lower abdomen. "But yer right. We have all the time in the world. All the showers in the world."
As we step out of the tub, Liam wraps me in a warm towel. He makes a valiant attempt at drying my hair, his fingers gently massaging my scalp.
I lean into his touch, rubbing my cheek against his stubble, melting into his embrace.
Liam dips his head and imprisons my lower lip between his teeth with gentleness, a promise of more such kisses to come. I wrap my arms around him, our bodies humming at the contact, feeling the warmth of affection coursing through my veins.
At this moment, we are perfect.
Two souls entwined, united, ready to face anything the world may throw at us.
***
With our hair still damp from the hasty shower, Liam and I race down the stairs of the mansion. There is a lingering air of melancholy surrounding him, but I am there every step of the way, squeezing his fingers in tender reassurance.
A ghost of a forlorn smile hovers over his lips at my silent comfort.
Our footsteps are still echoing in the grand foyer, when my gaze falls on the plush sofa and I freeze on the spot.
My father is sitting there, dressed in his usual impeccable white suit, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Always so calm, always so composed, as if everything around him wasn't exploding into pieces.
"Well, well, well," he drawls, his voice smooth and melodic. "What a sight for sore eyes."
He raises an eyebrow, taking in our disheveled appearance. I become sorely aware of my suddenly-flushed cheeks; a tangled, wet mess of my hair, and I look away, fiddling with the hem of the dress.
I hate myself for being so weak and vulnerable before my father. But I can't help it.
After everything I learned about Kieran The Knife Murphy last night, I see him with different eyes – not even those of anger, but those of disgust and loathing.
Anyone who can mercilessly gun down an entire family is worthy of my full resentment.
Even if they are my family. My blood.
I wish he weren't my father. I wish I never made a deal with him.
My feet instinctively begin pulling away from Liam, wanting to give him space for a private talk with Kieran.
Liam, his face set in a grim expression, remains tense and silent, and clutches my hand like a lifeline.
The message is clear: Don't leave my side.
Kieran chuckles softly. "I see you two have been busy," he observes knowingly, glancing at our firmly intertwined fingers. "Young love. What a powerful thing. I remember it well."
He pauses, his gaze lingering on me, then he stands up and comes closer.
"I must say, Liam, I am impressed with your work. Your men pulled off the heist and burning of the Albanian warehouse with finesse and precision last night."
Liam nods curtly, his eyes fixed on my father. "Thank you, Captain. I am glad to have been of service. It was a necessary step to establish our dominion," he says, his voice low and guarded.
Kieran nods. "Indeed it was. After all, it is always good to have an upper hand, isn't it?"
He glances pointedly at me, and then back at Liam, his expression turning somber. "I wish to offer ye my condolences about Nico's death. He was a good man, and he will be missed, as will so many of our members who gave their life for the cause. His sacrifice was a noble one and I am not going to lie, I prefer him to be six feet under, than ye. Ye are like a son to me."
Liam stiffens at the sentence that Kieran just uttered. His eyes harden and I feel his grip on my hand tighten.
Kieran takes a step forward and places a palm on Liam's shoulder. "I know this is difficult for you," he hisses, his voice softening some. "But alas, we must move on. The past is in the past, and it cannot be changed."
Liam pulls away from Kieran's touch almost imperceptibly, his expression unreadable. "We are just to forget about it?"
"Indeed. As of now, there are more important things at stake."
It's the first time I see Liam lose his composure before my father.
He lashes out. "I want to make sure that those who killed Nico pay fer what they did."
Kieran smiles thinly. "Now, now, Liam. Don't be hasty. The revenge has already been exacted. You executed Sandra's scheming plan to perfection and the Albanian clan is reeling with the loss of their main source of income. The warehouse burning will haunt them for years to come."
"It's not enough," Liam whispers, glancing down.
I see him blinking fast, as if he's trying to hide his tears.
"Careful there, lad. I admire yer determination, but... be wary. You're treading on dangerous ground. The one who gives out the orders and plans the next steps is... me. For the time being."
Liam swallows, his eyes blazing with fury, but he nods. "Yes, Captain."
"Now that is more like it." Kieran rubs his hands. "The Albanians, the Italians and us, we have always been the three-headed hydra prowling the streets of Dublin, have we not?"
I gag a bit inwardly at his poetic expressions. My father speaks with chosen words, but no matter how beautifully he gift-wraps his thoughts and ideas, his deeds reveal just how much blood is there on his hands.
Kieran begins pacing, continuing his monologue and I can't help but think that the man enjoys listening to the sound of his own voice a bit too much.
"Now that the revenge on my darling dearest ex-wife has been exacted, the Albanians will lie low for the time being. Before I am to attempt to extort the information about my son from her once more, I must now strike once more, and fast."
Kieran pauses before Liam and even if he is a head shorter, his imposing presence casts a shadow over us.
"I have a job for you. It's a delicate matter, and I dare not trust it to anyone else within the organization. It's a task for my right hand. It will require your full expertise and discretion."
Liam merely nods, listening intently, his expression unreadable.
My heart thuds in my chest. Kieran's assignments must be far from simple.
"In order to fully take over the monopoly on Dublin drug business, we must fully clear the path. It is time to remind the Italians just who Kieran the Knife Murphy is."
"The Italians, Captain?"
"Specifically, him." Kieran takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. He hands Liam the photograph with a cruel sneer. "He has been a thorn in my side for quite a while, and I need him out of the picture."
My eyes widen in horror, and my hands fly to my mouth to stifle a cry.
That dark, neatly styled hair. High cheekbones and strong jawline. Those deep blue eyes gazing at me with an unmovable, cold stare.
I'd recognize the man anywhere.
It's the face that still haunts my dreams.
Matteo.
The man who terrorized Siobhan and me. The man who almost got us sold into slavery.
"I see that your beloved Sandra has recognized our target in an instant." Kieran leers.
Liam studies the photograph, his eyes rapidly scanning Matteo's features, and then he spits on it. "I 'ave, too. That bastard." He clenches his fists.
This is the same ruthless man who has harassed me, the one who has orchestrated my abduction and left me to cope with an awful trauma.
"What am I to do, Captain?"
"Execute him," Kieran says, as if he's merely chatting about the weather. "You are my most skilled assassin, and the only one I trust to carry out such an order."
"Liam..." I whisper. Even if I know that Kieran is right and that Liam could do it, it also carries a great risk for him.
Liam turns to look at me and I know he can see the raw fear, the pleading in my gaze.
But then he turns away.
"This man is the embodiment of evil, Sandra. With him gone, ye would be protected. Shielded from further harm. I could make sure that what happened to you and Siobhan... Never happens again," Liam whispers.
Kieran spreads his arms. "The world is better off without such people, Sandra. Ah, the tender female heart. Don't tell me you are worried about our Liam, here? He is more than capable of completing this mission. After all, he's a killing machine. My best hitman."
Yes, Liam still has to play his part. He has to do whatever my father asks of him. Yet I can't help but feel the surge of despair.
I want us both out of Kieran's reach, not within it, being molded by him, heeding his orders.
My father just stands there with a perpetual smile on his face, eyeing us like a big fat spider would eye two juicy flies caught in his web.
"I know it's not what you expected, my son."
Liam winces at the word.
"I am fully aware that you yearn to avenge Nico's death, and I promise we'll get to that part. As they say, step by step. For the time being, you can commence your vendetta against Matteo. That should quench your thirst."
As Liam nods without hesitation, I'm helpless to do anything but watch it all unfold.
"I'll do it," he says, and my world collapses.