I swiped the card as quietly as possible, then slowly peeked my head into the room.
Oh God. My eyes connected with a man towering over a motionless body lying on the floor, a knife in his hand, blood dripping onto the tan and maroon patterned carpet. He looked up, relief in his eyes at the sight of me.
Sebastian was in Vegas. And now there was a dead guy in my hotel room.
A hitman? I quickly slammed the door shut and spun around to face Clooney in the hall. “You have to go. Now.” Fear constricted my throat.
“Oh.” He stepped back, blinking in surprise.
“The, um, person I was with tonight, she’s inside and sick, and I-I need to be with her.” The lie rolled clumsily from my tongue. I was worried Sebastian would open the door any second. “I’m sorry. But maybe you were right—this shouldn’t happen.”
I wanted to grab his shirt. Fist the material and kiss him goodbye. But the dead body inside stopped me. The fact Papà had sent Sebastian, the most dangerous of all League fixers to Vegas, stopped me.
“Goodbye, Clooney,” I said, the words feeling like shards of glass and sounding painfully broken as they caught in my throat. “Thank you for the birthday kiss.” It would have been a perfect night.
His fingers twitched at his sides as if he were itching to reach for me. “I guess it’s goodbye, then, Julia.” His brows dipped inward, and it had my stomach sinking. He was a stranger. It shouldn’t feel this sad to walk away from him.
But what choice did I have? A dead body and a powerful League fixer waited on the other side of the door.
I finally willed myself to turn away so I could confront another Irishman.
My shoulders collapsed in defeat once I was inside my suite, not finding Sebastian anywhere in sight. I tossed my clutch and maneuvered around the dead body staining the carpet. We’d need to call a special team to remove it and all evidence of what happened.
Sebastian exited the downstairs bedroom and stalked my way with purposeful strides.
“What’s going on? Who is this guy?” I pointed to the dead man ruining the carpets.
Sebastian reached for my shoulders when my focus moved to the bedroom door he’d closed. “Your father and I have been trying to reach you all day. We got word there’d be an attempt on your life tonight.” He kept hold of my shoulders but sealed his eyes tight. “Why were you with the daughter of Simon Laurent tonight? Her family is Alliance, Emilia,” he seethed. “What were you thinking? And why in God’s name was she in your suite?”
“Was?” My stomach roiled when pain stabbed me every which way. Terror clawed and scratched. “Where’s Chanel?” I tried to move around him to get to the bedroom, but he was tall and a dominating force. When his eyes met mine once again, I saw the kind of worry there a man like Sebastian didn’t often display.
“Don’t make me drop you to your ass,” I warned.
Sebastian may have helped train me, but I would get around him one way or another.
“I can’t let you go in there,” he said in a throaty voice as he continued restraining me.
I stopped fighting him, knowing the horrible truth as to why he didn’t want me in that room. Chanel must have come back to the suite while I was off with Clooney.
“No.” Tears welled in my eyes, and I sank to my knees. “No, no, no.”
“I’m so sorry. I think they assumed it was you in the room, and then I showed up.” He lowered to his knees before me and urged me to look his way. “Emilia, it’s time to come home.”
Chapter One
Sean
Dublin, Ireland – Present Day (December 2021)
Leave it to Emilia to return to the city by making an entrance impressive enough for an action film. Her black hair, pulled into a ponytail, whipped behind her as she ran, chasing down the target. It looked like she planned on “hunting” tonight based on the quiver of arrows strapped to her back. Most likely, a sidearm and knife on her as well.
Lamp posts dotted the park emitting their hazy yellow glow in the late hour, lighting up my path and allowing me to see clearly.
She was ridiculously fast. I was on my Ducati, a gift I bought myself a few weeks ago, tearing up the dirt trails in the old park, and yet, Emilia was running. Well, now, she was jumping. She stepped up onto a worn-out wrought-iron bench and leaped over a spread of tall bushes.
“Get on,” I yelled, keeping pace with her as she pumped her arms, continuing her pursuit of the two men who were racing toward the middle of the park on their bikes. Did she really think she could outrun motorcycles?
“About time you showed up.” She veered my way, and I stopped only long enough for her to climb on behind me.
I hated how much I loved the feel of her pressed tight to me, one arm slung around my chest over my black leather jacket and the other most likely reaching for some type of weapon.
“You didn’t give me much warning,” I hollered over the noise of the engine as we chased down the two men.
“What? Too busy having sex with some petite blonde at two in the morning?”
Blonde, huh? “Not funny,” I bit out, doing my best not to let the past two years of craving this woman to no avail crowd my head and distract me from the task at hand. “I didn’t even know you were in town.” Not until she called me about twenty minutes ago sounding a bit out of breath as she quickly asked if I had time to assist her in taking down some gun runners who were making a swap in the park about five kilometers from my flat. Based on the sound of painful groaning in the background, it’d been clear she’d already gotten into it with them. By the time I’d arrived, the men had split up, and she couldn’t cover all of the park on her own.
“Well, you know now.” She pointed with her free hand, and by free, I meant the one now holding a bow. They made everything small and travel size these days, didn’t they?
The men on bikes did a one-eighty and swerved around to face us.
Thankfully, the park appeared empty except for us. Most people out here at this hour were either homeless or not on the up-and-up. Otherwise, the noise we were making tearing through the place would have had the police there by now.
“Oh, they want to play chicken,” Emilia said, a hint of excitement in her tone. The woman got off on this, didn’t she? And maybe I didn’t blame her. After diving into action during the last twenty-plus months, I was beginning to live off the adrenaline, the rush of such vigilante-type moments, too.
Most League leaders didn’t handle business themselves, much less go after criminals at two in the morning.
Emilia was more hands-on than her father had been as leader of La Lega dei Fratelli in Italy. When she took over for him after his death, she’d become the first woman leader in its history. And La Lega dei Fratelli, The League of Brothers, officially became known as La Lega, The League. There was no question she was qualified for the powerful position—this woman was hell on wheels. Literally.
I stopped and set my booted feet on the ground on each side of the Ducati as I waited for the men to charge us. This was a fight they wouldn’t win.
We were closing in on two years since I joined the Irish League. I’d trained with the best in The League, Emilia included, ever since. Fifteen families from fifteen different countries, each set to share equal power within the organization.