WARNING: ​​This story contains mature themes including strong language and violence. Reader discretion is advised.

My white-knuckled hand drops the lily onto a mahogany coffin. Grandma is gone. The only person who truly understood me. Fingers scrunched into balls, I swallow hard.

Get a grip, Alex.

The wet, cold, gnawing hole in the earth threatens to devour me too. I sway on unsteady legs, ready to give in to the encroaching mental darkness, when a pair of shoes with a patent leather design comes into view. Louboutin.

"Prehu ne paqe," a deep and resonant voice says.

Rest in peace.

Each syllable drips with a velvety smoothness. It commands attention with every Albanian word uttered, despite the poor pronunciation.

My gaze meets a pair of dark green eyes. A tall, striking, handsome man in an impeccable, tailored black suit stands before me. His hair, a raven's wing in its darkest hue, cascades in waves. It makes me want to run my hand through it.

A smile full of warmth curls his lips. "I'm sorry for your loss. Are you part of the immediate family?"

"She was my grandmother."

"Oh, I didn't know she had a granddaughter. You have her eyes." His warm palms offer a firm, comforting handshake. The heat of the electrifying jolt penetrates my body, giving me the strength necessary to stand upright.

"My condolences again."

"Th-thank you," I stutter.

He nods, then tilts his head with grace, as if studying me. Hot flush invades my cheeks as his gaze lingers on my breasts for a second too long.

Who is he?

"Alexandra." My mother's stern voice cracks through my thoughts like a whip. Her dark eyes assess the man with utter disapproval, and her steel grasp pulls me to our rented cloud-gray Ford Focus.

"Alexandra." The mysterious stranger's gruff tone echoes my name.

***

The city of Dublin is washed out, the sky draped in a quilt of gray clouds. They hang low, offering an Irish goodbye for my beloved grandma. The wake gathers at a local pub, the atmosphere a mix of sorrow and bittersweet celebration. Nestled in the heart of town, the dim space's weathered wooden furnishings give off a cozy and rustic ambiance. Adorned with pictures of my grandmother, capturing her life and the memories she and Mother shared. The scents of shepherd's pie, beef stew and Yorkshire puddings fill the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses.

Mother welcomes guests by the entrance with a twinkle in her eye, ready to share a joke or a heartfelt story about Grandma. She must have known these people since she was a little girl.

I sit at a corner table, feeling a bit better after a bowl of strong Irish stew. That's when I see him again. The Black Suit exudes an air of mystery and danger. The room fills with an electric buzz as our eyes lock across the crowded bar, its patrons blurring under the intensity of his decisive emerald gaze bores into mine. He strides closer with swift, long steps, his chiseled, copper-stubbled jaw tense.

He's gorgeous.

A sharp, briny scent of the sea lingers around him, transporting me to the rugged natural beauty of the Adriatic sea coast from my childhood days. His presence is tempting, like a faraway dream. A desperate escape from this fast-enveloping cloak of grief.

"Cheers, luv," he says, clinking my frosted glass with dark, foamy Guinness. "Níl na mairbh marbh ach beo i gcroi na n-éan duine."

"Beg your pardon?" I swallow a ball of nervousness.

"Gaelic. 'Death leaves a heartache no one can heal. Love leaves a memory no one can steal.'"

"Beautifully put." I clear my throat.

How many languages does he speak?

"Are you feeling a little better? At the cemetery, you looked like you were about to pass out."

"Yes...thank you." I exhale a shaky breath. Then I excuse myself to the restroom, the need for a moment of solitude driving me away from the crowd. From him. I can't talk about Grandma again.

I push through the masses until I reach a sturdy door with a weather-beaten sign and step inside. The air carries a distinct blend of antiseptic cleanliness and subtle hints of musk. Row upon row of urinals stand like sentinels in their silent watch.

Oh no. This is the male restroom. But I don't care. I don't have time. The beer is doing its job and I need to pee, badly.

Stalls line the periphery on the left. I barge in and plop on the toilet seat, massaging my temples. Luckily, the closed doors shield me from prying eyes. One minute, and then I'll come out.

The sound of doors being pushed distracts me from my deed. My heart races as I recognize the Louboutin shoes from under the stalls.

Running water emanates from all the sinks, and snippets of hushed conversation that rise over the sound send a chill down my spine.

"Zerina," an unknown voice whispers. "Liam, she's the one."

Zerina? That's my mom's name. Why would they be discussing her? Who is that other man? What on earth are they talking about?

"Aye. You go. I'll cover you," Liam says.

Their footsteps fade, each one reverberating with a distinct character and rhythm. I rush out after them, a sense of urgency building within me. But, as I return to the hustle and bustle of the main area, my mother is nowhere to be found. She was right by the corner booth. Where is she?

I search the room with a frantic gaze.

The sharp crack of gunfire rends the air, sending shockwaves through the once lively atmosphere. In a burst of activity, people scramble for cover, scurrying in every direction possible and collapsing onto the ground like dominos. Their voices blend into a cacophony of screams and pleas.

"Vriti te gjithe! Vriti te gjithe! Gjeni ate!"

The men who are shooting up my grandma's wake... They're—Albanians!

Kill them all? Find her? Oh God.

"Get down." Liam hisses. His hot breath warms the curve of my ear, and pulls me to the floor, a hint of desperation in his voice.

No time to question where the hell he came from, I stumble along beside him in a crouch, my mind spinning. My chest is tight enough to crack, and my heart is pounding in my ears. Every instinct tells me to stand up, to run, to scream for help, but I'm paralyzed by the sight of a bartender lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. "This... this can't be real," I blurt out.

"Come on. This way." He pulls my arm with an iron grip. "We need to go somewhere safe."

"Oh," is all that escapes my lips.

"So, easy-" He pauses as his icy gaze pierces mine. "If you can keep up."

I nod my understanding. His hand at my nape pulls me down. All I feel is the slight squeeze he gives, rendering me useless. "On all fours! Follow my lead. Can you do that?"

I nod again, my knees weak.

As we reach the emergency exit, Liam releases his grip and pushes me out the door first, into a dimly lit alley. The cool evening air hits me like a slap, snapping me out of my stupor. I stretch, catching a last glimpse of the lifeless bodies lying on the bar floor, their blood staining the wooden parquet. "Oh my God." I cover my mouth, frozen.

"They're...They're all dead." Except me.

"Move!" Liam's push transports me outside and I almost stumble. My legs move automatically, but then they stop and turn to jello.

How did a mundane day at the wake turn into a shootout scene from a crime thriller? Who are these people and why...why would they do that?

My feet tremble, turning my steps unsteady beneath my weight. A familiar wave of dizziness washes over me, leaving me feeling faint.

Liam turns to look at me. "Why're you stopping? Go, go, go!"

"I'm sorry," I utter, teardrops pooling in the corners of my eyes. "I...can't."

He unbuttons his suit, his hands bracket my waist, and, in one lift, he heaves me over his shoulder. I embrace his wide frame, my limbs dangling useless about him as he hurries down the deserted alley, away from the scene. The fear has a firm grip on me, but the familiar, calming maritime scent soothes me. It's almost intoxicating.

The sound of his footsteps echoes against the brick walls.

Liam turns into another alley, sets me down, and leans against the wall behind me. He shields me with his body. "I have to catch my breath, but then, we need to keep moving. It's not safe."

Then the weight and heat of Liam's palms press on my calves, applying a gentle pressure and soothing strokes. My cheeks are very hot, and a traitorous, unfamiliar warmth pools between my legs.

I don't want his palm to go away, relaxing at his expert touch.

"Are your legs better? Ready to move?"

I nod, and Liam's fingers abandon the claimed territory. Their withdrawal leaves me inexplicably cold and hungry for more. I regret losing his closeness. It made me feel safe. Protected.

Why did he protect me, when I'm just a stranger to him?

I swallow hard. His face is a determined mask mixed with a touch of desperation. He pulls out a black pistol, twisting a cylindrical attachment on the barrel.

"What are you doing?" My mouth is dry as I eye the gun. "Who are you?"

"A 'thank you fer saving my life' would've been nice." Liam shoots me a brief, assessing look. His sharp eyes scan the surroundings, his grip tightening on the gun. With his free hand, he pulls out a slick, black cell phone from his perfect suit pocket and starts typing a text.

The alley is empty, the busy streets on each end luring me to open safety.

Should I scream? Should I run in the opposite direction? "Please let me go." I say with a shaky breath. "I need to go back and find my mother."

Liam's face hovers mere inches away from mine, so close I can count the faded freckles on his nose. "She's not here, and what you need to do right now is follow me."

But I don't want to follow him. I want to know what's going on. "Stop! Please stop dragging me around the alleyways. I don't even know your name. I don't know what's happening or who those men are that shot everyone or why they are chasing me... so no, I won't move unless I get some answers. What's happening? Why is all this happening?"

"I'm Liam Cavanaugh, and right now, I'm the one keeping you alive. You stumbled upon something you weren't supposed to see. You were simply...How shall I put it? At the wrong place at the wrong time. I couldn't let them take you. I had to keep you safe." His gaze softens, betraying the weight of his words. But why? Why am I involved in all of this? And where's my mom? Is he with the undercover police or something? Something's deeply wrong. Liam groans and runs an impatient hand through his raven hair. "Shite, we don't have time for this." He grabs my arm, leading me out of the alley and to a parked black SUV with tinted windows. "Get in the car."

All alarms in my head go off.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." Desperate to get away from him, I slash at his arm with my nails, and I look around for exit points.

Liam stiffens, and then his mouth widens in a smile. "Kitty's got some claws. I like."

"Don't call me kitty." I snarl.

"We don't have time for this. Yer ma has been abducted. Now, get in the fucking car, Alex." His silken voice is a low purr, but that somehow scares me even more.

"I told you, I won't g..." The rest of the words are stuck in my throat as what he just said filters through. "What? My mom has been abducted? Why? Who has her?"

A speedy whoosh passes inches away from my left ear. He ducks me quickly and then the thwock of an impact erupts, followed by a low groan from Liam. He pushes me into the safety of the getaway vehicle with a firm grip.

He staggers into the backseat after me, slamming the door shut.

My heart drops as I catch sight of a vivid crimson stain on Liam's suit.

He's bleeding! Those men shot him!

Oh my gosh, they could have shot me too.

"Drive, Nico," he barks at the olive-skinned, burly driver.

Nico nods back in the rearview mirror. If the man is surprised by my presence in the car or by Liam's wound, he doesn't show it in the slightest. I want to protest at being hauled to an unknown location, but a red flower blooming on Liam's shoulder freezes me in my tracks. I watch him grit his teeth, trying to take out his pocket-chief.

"I can help... I'm an ER nurse," I whisper, hating how my voice trembles. "I'll dress the wound if you'd just take off..." I reach for the sore spot, the tips of my fingers caressing the warm flesh. The rock-hard tension underneath yields to my touch, shuddering as he lets out a small sigh.

"Don't fuss over me. The bullet only grazed me. I'll do it myself, when we're at my place." He swats my fingers away with a single, gruff move.

"I have to stop the bleeding, now!"

"Fuuck," he clenches his jaw, an accusatory look glinting in his eyes as he swallows any signs of pain at the pressure I'm applying. He reminds me of a proud, albeit wounded tiger. "Leave it be!"

"Don't be stupid!" I rip the sleeve of my shirt and hold pressure on the red blot on his shoulder. "Step on it, Nico," I bark at the driver who obeys, to my surprise.

Liam leans into the backseat with a sigh.

"It's the least I could do. You... you took that bullet for me," I reach again for the stubborn mule. It wouldn't take me long at all to actually dress it–"

Liam swats off my advancing fingers. "Ain't the first bullet I took. Listen, sweetheart, keep your hands to yourself."

"You saved my life."

He lifts a quizzical brow. "Trust me, a pretty thing like ye doesn't want to play good Samaritan with someone like me." His eyes flash at me with a warning: hardened emerald.

"Someone like... you?" I hug myself, trying to collect my thoughts.

And then the pieces of the puzzle click into place. It all adds up. I recoil, shrinking as far back into the corner of my seat as possible.

His expensive suit, his gun expertise.

That dangerous glint in his eyes.

Shivers race down my spine, Liam's identity erasing all illusions of safety. The man who carried me away from the shootout at the wake, and who saved my life twice already...

He's no hero.

He's one of them. A mobster.

And here I was drooling at his touch.

He's in the mafia. He's in the mafia, Alex, I repeat the words in my stupid brain hoping they'll stick. I can't believe that just moments ago, I craved his close proximity. The thought of it makes my skin crawl.

"You're one of them."

"Took you long enough, sweetheart."

"But you protected me."

"Not out of the pure goodness of my heart, I assure you. You're a wanted commodity today, and I simply had to have you before others got their hands on you." He wets his lips, his eyes staring unabashedly at my breasts once again.

"Me? What do people want with me?" I swallow, hating how my tongue darts around my lips too, mirroring his.

"Well, it's not every day one meets a daughter of the Irish crime lord."