Page 101 of Ruthless Dream

The car slows, a sign we’re getting closer. Marco will send the other guard to watch over my Aston Martin, until we text him that we’re ready to leave.

I can already tell I was right to wear one of the most expensive dresses. It’s not that I don’t love splashing out on my clothes, but Cormac is so put together I instinctively knew to pull out my best.

“Does that mean your uncle is doing business with Wallen?” It’s a misnomer. When I say his uncle, I also mean Ciaran. The head of his family and his heir.

“Slightly,” Ciaran says, meeting my eye for the first time before quickly focusing on the road. “Uncle Cormac has known him, but they’ve never done business before. They’re friendly, though. Have you—have you met Wallen before?”

I shake my head but then think better of it. “From afar. Um, I don’t think he comes around Dad much.”

Until Jack got planted on my security team.

Ciaran squeezes my hand, silently acknowledging that he remembers too.

The thing about the world we live in—it’s full of ghosts. Enemies lurk, and villains plot. Of course, at some point I’d come across Wallen. The man has it out for my family.

But I will not appear weak. He doesn’t know that I had anything to do with Jack’s death. He must think my dad caught wind and took care of the problem himself.

Except he didn’t because I never told him how I let Jack get so close.

It’s a fact I’ve had to live with, along with the choice I made when I decided I didn’t want him to know. All I can hope is I made the right choice.

CHAPTER 26

Adeline

“You’re pretty,” Dermot admits.

“Fuck off,” Ciaran growls, pouring himself a finger of whiskey before thinking better of it. He hands it to Dermot, who appears surprised. “I’ve got to drive back home."

Dermot is quieter than his wise-cracking brother, but they share the same infuriating smirk. He knocks back the liquor, pushing me over to pour himself another.

“You are pretty,” he tells me again.

I bite back a smile, my hand wrapping around Ciaran’s arm. He’s tense underneath his suit jacket.

Dermot’s not leering at me. His cheeks are pink, his eyes bright and happy. Also, I truly think he has no idea how to speak to women.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

A shit-eating smirk breaks out on his face, and Ciaran growls again.

“Would you relax?” I laugh, shaking his arm.

We’ve been at his uncle’s birthday for an hour already. That means we’ve done one turn, greeting the massive amount of people. Ciaran had mentioned Cormac sending out invitations, but the man had really said, fuck it.

The city’s elite are here. Men laugh, their ladies swapping gossip.

Though it’s noticeable—at least to me—the Bratva’s absence.

Guess Cormac isn’t interested in chatting up Uncle Lev.

Dermot might like stirring his cousin up, but he wisely finds someone else to go talk to.

“He’s nice.”

Ciaran tenses again, and I laugh.

“Relax, boy,” I tease.