I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, the anticipation of the grand Christmas ball at Kieran's mansion buzzing in my veins. The evening promises to be a night of glamour and extravagance.

A stark contrast to my usual dull life, but also incredibly dangerous, now that I am caught up in the illicit world of the syndicate.

As I stare at a pale-faced, hazel-eyed apparition dressed to the nines in an exorbitantly expensive Vera Wang dress, a stunning shade of emerald green, I go over the plan one more time.

The plan born out of my idea, but elaborated on over time.

Arrive at Kieran's mansion.

Help pretend-sign the deal about the purchase of illicitly manufactured firearms. Stall.

The meeting with the Albanian mobsters is going to be a mere decoy. While Kieran's men set the Albanian drug warehouse filled with at least five tons of cocaine on fire.

Simple. Elegant. I like it. Those drugs could be worth over two hundred million dollars, Liam had explained.

It would cripple the Albanian clan finances, and police couldn't be happier about it, either. They'll probably chalk it off to accidental fire once they realize what was inside.

I feel a jolt of pleasure at the thought, and even if there is a worm of doubt wriggling inside my mind, I quickly silence it.

My mother deserves this. She is not who I thought she was.

Time for me to show her I am not who she thinks I am, either.

After that, I can leave. Vanish without a trace.

The material of the dress drapes my form as a second skin, emphasizing every curve with an effortless elegance. I twirl, and the fabric billows and flows, revealing a delicate train that trails behind me like an emerald plume.

It's a visual masterpiece.

Nervousness flutters in my stomach –I know I'm stepping into a world that is both foreign and alluring. A world in which my present and my past are about to collide.

Yet let it be my big finale. My grand way out.

A gentle tap invades my pondering silence, and Liam enters the room. He is dressed in a sharp black Armani suit that accentuates his broad shoulders and muscular frame. It's tailored to perfection, hugging his form in all the right places and my heart flutters in my chest.

I try my damnedest to compose myself. For the past two weeks, as Kieran's plan was coming to fruition, we've been tiptoeing around each other again. His yo-yo treatment continued, and I hated it.

He would come close, seeking warmth, and emotional connection, and then he would pull away just as fast, pretending nothing happened between us, leaving me devastated.

Being around Liam is like standing on hot asphalt – just as my feet get used to the sensation, he's no longer there.

But I've been very careful not to chase him, not to shower him with desperate pleas for explanation and overt, smothering attention.

When and if he wanted to open up, Liam Cavanaugh would have to seek me out.

He steps closer, his piercing gaze scanning me from head to toe.

"Yer going to turn heads tonight," he says, his voice low and husky.

My heart skips a beat. His words of praise send a shiver of anticipation down my spine, fueling my excitement for the evening ahead.

"Thank you," I reply simply, coldly, and accept his arm, my head held out high, as we walk out of the room, ready to face the world.

***

As the setting sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow-covered Dublin landscape, Kieran's opulent home emerges from the twilight.

The imposing structure, almost twice as big as Liam's, nestles amidst a sprawling estate: it's an architectural masterpiece that speaks of the power my father wields within the criminal underworld.

"Kieran lives here?" I stare at the villa in front of us.

Hand-hewn sculptures dot the snowflake-peppered lawn, and along the winding driveway, a procession of luxury cars glide towards the lavish mansion, their flashy headlights slicing through the gathering darkness.

Rolls-Royces, Bentleys and Aston Martins line up in front of the grand entrance, their gleaming exteriors reflecting the last brilliance of the dying daylight.

"Yes," says Liam. "Doesn't the place just have 'Kieran The Knife Murphy' written all over it? Ye'll see when we get in: it's filled with natural woods, and original art pieces that no doubt cost an arm and a leg. One of the rooms boasts a closed infinity pool, and he even has his own gym and open-air yoga studio."

As I let the words of Kieran's wealth sink in, the wives and girlfriends of the mobsters, dressed in exquisite gowns that shimmer under the twilight sky, begin to emerge from the vehicles. Their impeccable attire ranges from elegant ball gowns adorned with intricate beadwork to sleek expensive cocktail dresses that showcase their 90-60-90 figures to perfection.

The air crackles with anticipation as we follow the other guests, ascending the marble steps. The grand entrance, framed by towering columns and adorned with intricate carvings, opens into a wide, dazzling space. The gigantic foyer is aglow with the warm glow of chandeliers whose crystal facets refract the light, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the guests' faces. The scent of champagne and cigars hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the chatter, and the strains of music drifting from the ballroom.

"Fer Christmas ball, Kieran goes all out," Liam whispers into my ear, and the way his breath tickles my eardrums turns my legs into jello.

"I see," I manage to mutter, positively breathless.

He is not wrong: the entire event is a spectacle of extravagance: a night when the illicit world of the syndicate comes together to celebrate the festive season.

My father chose Christmas Eve for his devious plan on purpose – who would suspect an open war declaration in a night of peace and festivities?

"Sandra!" Siobhan comes up beside me, incredibly elegant in a white brocade gown that pays tasteful homage to the ball's wintry theme. A magnificent pearl necklace drapes across her neck.

I blink back in surprise, totally unaccustomed to seeing her like that.

"Siobhan!"

"Stop, I told you to call me Si. Yer always so formal. I blame Liam," Siobhan chirps. "He's too stiff and such a stickler for the rules."

I blink, stunned both by the whirlwind of energy before me, and Si's beauty, and struggle as words betray me. "You look..."

She gives me a wide smile. "Why thank ye kindly. Yer outfit is absolutely stunning, too. Wait, let me take a good look at you." She places her hands on my shoulders. "Oh, you're so lovely tonight. Isn't she lovely tonight, Liam?"

I catch Liam's eye over Siobhan's head. Help me, my gaze begs jokingly.

His mouth tugs up in a reluctant smile.

A strange sensation coasts through my chest when he simply says: "Aye. That she is."

A pang of guilt reminds me Si and I never got the chance to talk about what transpired in the basement of the Angels, and I open my mouth to apologize.

Siobhan is one step ahead of me once more. She lifts a careless palm. "Don't bother, sweetheart. All water under the bridge. The important thing is, neither of us paid any price fer what happened, and let's leave it at that. Enjoy the evening, dancing, and all this fine food. It's the one night when the others are waiting on me, instead of the other way around." She winks, and disappears, her fingers intertwined with Nico's, the lapels of his pristine white attire billowing in the air.

Cedric and Mackenzie approach us next, their lithe figures cutting through the crowd like sharp blades. His scarlet suit stands out against the other mobsters, and Mackenzie is clad in a shimmering red gown that complements her fiery hair.

Her gaze coasts to me, tracking the contours of the dress, her lips curling into a faint sneer.

The piece has indeed turned many heads as Liam predicted.

"Vera Wang's latest couture," Mackenzie says instead of a greeting.

Tingles of unease crystallize beneath my skin. Not many people know that I am living with Liam, but she is certainly one of them.

Whispers are already circulating, not only about the nature of our relationship status but about the purpose of my presence at the ball.

Although everyone has been perfectly nice to me so far, the looks and murmurs hadn't gone unnoticed.

"I bought the gown myself," a familiar cold voice says in response to Mackenzie's observation, startling me.

I turn to see my father standing behind me, his eyes gleaming with predatory intensity. He is wearing a sharp black suit and a crimson collar that marks him as the syndicate's most powerful figure: the Captain.

Yet I can't help but smile at Mackenzie's flicker of surprise when he adds: "As a welcome-to-the-family gift, of course."

Mackenzie recovers rather quickly, now a picture of politeness. "Of course, Captain," she says. "How very generous of you."

"Speaking of generosity. Sandra, would you be so kind as to join me and my... associates in the study in say...half an hour?" He cranes his neck, gesturing toward a group of mobsters. "It is your big night, after all."

A group of burly bearded men is standing in the corner, looking sullen and uncomfortable, wearing dark crimson suits. Their black ties are adorned with a pin fashioned in an elegant shape of the double-headed black eagle.

I swallow. The symbol of the Albanian flag. My flag.

My smile tightens. He's too refined to ask me outright to join the meeting, but his tone of voice cannot be more clear.

It's almost time.

"Of course." I swallow, praying Kieran can't hear the thumps of my heart over the music piping through the speakers. "I'll be there."

"I certainly hope so. It wouldn't be a proper Murphy Christmas Ball without some international collaborative celebration, would it?"

I force a laugh alongside his.

Thankfully, both Kieran and the couple soon excuse themselves, and I am free to breathe again.

I circulate the room, Liam stalking me from afar. I'm incredibly aware of the guests' subtle whispers and glances at me: they realize I am new to this ball. New to this world.

I ignore them the best I can. I'll worry about the gossip mill tomorrow.

My father said so himself: tonight is my big night, and I refuse to let anyone ruin it.

"Champagne for the lady?" A smooth, velvety voice inquires.

I glance up at a tall, handsome dark haired man, his skin the color that of a rich mahogany. My gaze falls on his double-headed black eagle pin, and a neatly trimmed brown beard that frames his chiseled jawline.

He's one of the members of the Albanian clan I'm about to negotiate with, and it can't hurt to be polite.

"Faleminderit," I thank him in Albanian, accepting the glass.

He raises a quizzical brow. "A flisni shqip?"

"Po," I confirm with a smile.

Not only do I speak Albanian but it's also my mother tongue, but he doesn't have to know that now, does he?

I keep that information strictly to myself as per Kieran's instructions.

"Si eke emrin?" he asks, his head tilted to the side with interest.

"Sandra."

"Emër i bukur. Unë quhem Bekim."

"Më vjen mirë që u njohëm, Bekim."

"Aye, Sandra is a lovely name, and we're all very happy to make each other's acquaintances." Liam's sudden presence casts a shadow over our conversation. "May I borrow the lady fer a moment, mate?"

Bekim, probably sensing the change in atmosphere, steps back, bows his head respectfully and retreats back into the crowd.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hiss at Liam.

"Rescuing ye, of course."

"I didn't need to be rescued. He's one of the men we are going to pretend-sign a treaty with in a matter of minutes. I just wanted to leave a good impression."

"Oh, ye left quite an impression, alright, sweetheart."

"Why are you behaving like this?" My nails dig into my palms.

"Like how?"

"Like a territorial neanderthal," I blurt out.

"Territorial?"

"I'm not a toy, Liam. You don't get to pick me up, toss me aside and then pick me back up again only when someone else is interested in me."

"I don't think yer a toy."

"Then why do you care? Why did you barge into our conversation like this?"

More silence.

The tension is so thick I can taste it in my throat, but I push forward with the momentum, unwilling to let Liam off the hook so easily.

"We're only living together and being seen because of a deal we made," I say. "The deal you didn't even honor, by the way. You found me so easily in that basement that you must have known where my mother was kept all along, and you didn't even deign to inform me. There's nothing going on between us. You made sure of it. So why this, now? Why do you care?"

"I don't know!" The force of his reply stuns me into silence.

Several guests around us start whispering.

"I don't know why I care, sweetheart. I jus' know I do. I never cared like this before. Never felt so protective of anyone. I care about where ye are, how ye are, what you do, who you're with. I didn't tell ye where yer ma was because I thought once you found her, you might leave with her for Albania. I never felt so much before. And I don't like it, Sandra. I don't want these feelings." Liam accentuates every word.

Every step brings him closer until my back is almost pushed against the wall and the heat of his body is pressed against mine.

"But there's no denyin it. I do feel them." His voice turns into a husky whisper. "With ye."

My heart almost bursts out of my chest.

What the hell?

Is Liam Cavanaugh saying what I think he's saying? Now, of all times?

The sentences play on repeat in my frazzled brain until my head is about to explode with emotions.

Surprise, longing, dread, excitement, doubt ... every single color on the feeling palette mixes until they are all one, undetectable from each other.

"'I don't know' simply isn't good enough," I whisper. "And I don't want to have this conversation now of all tim..." My voice catches in my throat as I glance over Liam's shoulder.

Among the Albanian mobsters, who still huddle together in the corner, there is a tall, lithe woman in a striking crimson dress. The same one I'd seen my mother wear in a hazy childhood memory.

It can't be. She can't be here. At Kieran's ball.

How did this happen? How did they even let her in?

I take two steps towards the woman and when she turns around, I find my answer.

The double-headed black eagle mask that conceals her face sends shivers down my spine.

It is her.

The cogs whir like crazy in my mind.

But wait. If Zerina's here, then she...She is in on it. She must know they were supposed to meet with a young Albanian translator. Me.

My mother must suspect the deal is fake.

Those Albanians aren't here to sign some paperwork about the trade of illicit firearms between the Irish and Albanian clans.

Their truce, just like ours, is feigned.

A decoy.

They came here for another reason entirely. But which one? What is their angle?

Terror grips my heart as I realize the danger we're in. I open my mouth to warn everyone, but before I can utter a sound, a loud bang shatters the music and chaos ensues.

A dark-haired waiter, who had up till now been calmly circulating with champagne glasses, pulls out a weapon.

My blood runs cold as I watch the mobster-in-disguise's eyes lock on Liam.

No.

My hands dart up to my face.

He's the target?

It makes absolute sense.

Kieran's right hand in command.

What better way for my mother to hurt him, than to murder the man who's practically his son?

A loud shriek pierces the air and it echoes the room like a shattered glass, sharp and deafening.

I realize it came out of my mouth.

Everything happens, everywhere, all at once.

The waiter fires the gun.

My heart pounding in my chest, I see a limp body falling, falling ever so slowly to the floor, as a crimson rose blooms on his suit.

Oh my God. Liam has been shot.