Work was miserable. Alex avoided me like the plague which I thanked God for. I wasn't ready to see him face to face. Uncle Mike was in and out of closed door meetings with "clients". Though now that I know what's actually going on I feel like such an idiot for not seeing things for what they really are sooner. Now that my eyes are open I can clearly see all of the writing on the walls.

I threw my bag onto my bed and kicked off my flats in the general direction of my closet. The tension between everyone at work was so heavy that I feel like I ran a 5k marathon, I was physically and mentally drained. Thankful that I'm off tomorrow, I headed down my hallway to my kitchen so I could pour myself a glass of wine.

I stopped dead in my tacks when I saw a new glass top dining table and plush white and black chairs where my cheap, beat up table from Target once was. I looked back in my room and then the bathroom to see if someone was still inside my apartment. When I walked into my kitchen I was met with another surprise, my cabinet door had been fixed.

I rushed out of the small kitchen and turned into my living room, my heart racing but like the other rooms it was empty. Letting out a sigh, I shook the feeling of being disappointed that he wasn't here, lounging on my couch waiting for me with a snarky comment.

I need a drink.

Honestly, what was I expecting after the last few days? Our little make out session, the strip club with my impromptu tease were I was practically eye fucking him and then yesterday, the cuddling followed by him admitting to killing people and I respond by hugging him and telling him I was happy he was still alive. Did I think he was going to just magically confess he had actual feelings for me? I couldn't be more of a naive idiot. He doesn't have feelings for me. I'm just collateral. Hell, I don't even think I'm that. Collateral would imply that I am worth something to either side.

Still, I had to fight with myself to not send him a picture of my new table and say thank you. The table most likely bought with dirty money, I thought sarcastically

"Ugh!" I face palmed myself before turning on my heel and heading to the bathroom.

After taking a long bath with a glass of wine, I put on some plaid pajama pants and a black cami. I had a random playlist on shuffle blasting through an old bluetooth speaker that I was carrying with me as I danced around my apartment, snacking on cucumbers and hummus. My hair was still pinned up in a low messy bun from today but now my bangs had fallen out and were hanging in front of my face from dancing.

"Waterloo! I was defeated, you won the war!" I sang as loud as I could into the half full bottle of wine in my hand. Throwing the speaker onto the arm chair, I ran and jumped up onto my couch, putting my left foot up on the back of the couch. "Waterloo! Promise to love you forever more. Waterloo! Couldn't escape if I wanted to!"

I spun around with my eyes closed and pointed my finger blindly to an imaginary screaming crowd as I sang the next line. "Waterloo! Knowing my fate is to be with you!"

Upon opening my eyes, I was not in fact pointing and singing to an adoring crowd. Instead, Declan stood in the middle of my living room, arms crossed over his chest, brow lifted with a surprised and amused smile.

I screamed. My soul left my body from the shock of seeing someone in my apartment. To add insult to injury, I slipped off of my couch and tumbled onto my floor. Declan could no longer hold in his laughter. It boomed through my living room, even over ABBA who were still singing about surrendering to the man they love and vowing to love him forevermore.

Declan started to clap while I hid my face behind my hands. I was willing a hole in the Earth to form so I would be swallowed up.

"That was quite the performance!" He said between laughs. "Though, I did like the one from the other night better." He said, referring to my strip tease.

"Shut up!" I said behind my palms.

He chuckled, coming over to sit down on the couch behind me. His leg brushing up against my back, sparking unwanted heat between my legs.

"What is this shit?"

I whipped my head around to face him. "Excuse me?" I reached over for the speaker on my arm chair to turn down the volume so I could talk without yelling.

"What is this music? It's terrible." Declan asked slower, annunciating all of the syllables. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Never mind about that." I said, shaking my hand at the bottle of wine, dismissing it. "How the hell do you not know about ABBA?"

Declans' face dropped to a stoic one. "Like this."

"ABBA is one of the most successful super groups of all time. Their music has transcended generations!" I explained, over dramatically. I turned to face him, sitting criss cross on the floor at his feet as I went on to explain the Eurovision song competition and how they were Sweden's first winner of the contest as well as any random fact I could recall about them. Declan sat there, a soft smile tugging at his lips while he watched me gush over them.

When the song was over, the music shuffled to Spiritbox, doing a full one-eighty from 1970's pop to metal.

"Your music is giving me whiplash." He retorted.

I leered at him in response. He chuckled looking down at me, proud he had made a comment to get under my skin. It was quiet between us as Courtney sang about being lost in a relationship, not being able to find a connection and feeling like a fool.

"This is sad," He says as he let the lyrics to Blessed Be swirl around us.

"That's strange, I didn't know you could feel any emotions aside from blind rage."

"Well that's not true. You should know I am very capable of feeling lust." He winked.

"Oh..." I squeaked, feeling my cheeks burn red under his hooded gaze. He played into it, putting his elbow on the arm rest of the couch so he could rub the pad of his thumb against his bottom lip. My jaw dropped open. I took in a huge gulp of air, turning away from his heavy stare and blew out a shaky breath threw the O I had formed with my lips.

Goddamn him.

He leaned forward so that he was in my personal space, resting his elbows on his knees. He slowly reached out and hooked his index finger under my chin and turned my head so I was looking up into his hazel eyes. I was melting into a puddle in front of him. He moved his thumb so it rubbed against my own bottom lip, tugging it down until he let it go so it popped back into place all while watching his work.

Just before he could lean in and kiss me, I pulled away. "Please stop."

His hand slowly fell from my face and he sat back a little, giving me more space. "Are you okay?" He asked. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought he was genuinely concerned.

"Yea, I'm fine. I just..." I blew out another shaky breath. "I understand my place in all of this. I know what I am to you and... I just don't want to play anymore mind games."

"Mind games?" He repeated, sounding annoyed.

Was he really going to make me say it? "I know I mean nothing to you. The only reason you are here is because you are going to ask if I found out any new information. You don't have to emotionally manipulate me. I've surrendered to you, Declan. You've showed me the truth, I accept it and I've already agreed to help you."

He leaned all the way back, letting out an audible breath through his nostrils. His soft, lustful expression vanishing to his normal, unreadable one. My fingers played with the fibers of the shaggy area rug I was still sitting on.

"And I do have more info. Uhm, all day Mike was in and out of meetings with these guys who-"

Declan's finger pressed against my lips, silencing me.

"Go get changed." He demanded.

My brows furrowed. "What, why?"

"We're going out. No sweatpants or jeans. A dress, something nice." He laughed at my scrutinizing expression as I looked him over in his black tactical pants, combat boots and peacoat.

"Can you at least tell me where we're going?" I asked when he started to push me towards my room.

He sighed, already annoyed at my constant questions. "The Atlantic."

I could feel my eyes go wide which only made him laugh more. Something he has been doing a lot of this evening.

"Please tell this isn't some cryptic way of saying you're going to kill me and dump my body in the Atlantic."

He stopped in his tracks, bursting out into a deep fit of laughter. "I feel bad for the other night. I highly doubt Dairy Queen constitutes as a proper dinner date." He explained once he stopped laughing.

A date? I licked my lip, bringing in my bottom one to bite it hoping that would clam the stupid butterflies that were floating around my belly. He said date.

"Yea but your not-"

"I brought a change of clothes." He said, cutting me off. "Go. Get. Changed." He repeated in a more stern tone.

"Let me guess, you own this place too?" I asked, crossing my arms. He nodded his head in response, a prideful smile on his face.

"And will the employees be treating me like they did at your other fine establishment?"

"Jesus Christ, is everything a debate with you? Go get dressed, damn it!" He snapped, playfully pulling me down the hall towards my room.

I came out of my room ten minutes later dressed in a knee length, fitted black dress that clung to my curves. There was a slit going up the back of the dress which is why I refused to wear this again at work. The guys apparently got too much a of show the one and only time I wore it. Since we were going to a restaurant and I would be sitting most of the time, I figured I would give the dress a second chance. I paired it with a simple black heal, some gold jewelry and light make up, mascara and a red lip.

Walking down the hall to my kitchen I heard Declan mumbling on the phone. When I came around the corner Declan turned to look at me. He did a double take when he saw how snug the dress was, clinging to my hips and how low the neck line was on my chest. His eyes roamed my body before they met mine, giving me a genuine smile making the butterflies come back.

He must have ignored the person who was on the phone because he quickly cleared his throat and insisted that he was listening. The conversation continued for a few more minutes while I poured myself a glass of water.

"You clean up well." He said ending the call, his voice low.

"So do you," I answered before gulping down my water and looking over his new outfit; black suit pants, white dress shirt and dark grey vest.

He stared at me for a while longer before he cleared his throat and walked past me. "Let's go."

When we got to the bottom of the two tiered deck we were met by Joe and the guys who were out having post band practice cigarettes. A smile spread across Connor's face when he saw me and started to come over. As soon as he saw Declan coming down the steps behind me he stopped in his tracks. Their postures straightened and their chests puffed out as if they were getting read to face off with him.

"Hey," I said shyly, waving at them.

"Looking good, girlie. Where are you off to?" Joe asked, glaring at Declan.

"I'm taking Scarlett to dinner. I promise to have her back by morning." Declan answered, putting his hand over his chest.

"You sure you don't want to stay and hang out with us?" Jay asked, coming from around the corner of the house, with a joint hanging from his lips, zipping up his pants.

I moved into Declan's side, gripping the back of his jacket for dear life while I tried to keep myself from looking terrified of Jay in front of everyone. Declan noticed how stiff I went and instead of making it a scene he put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer.

"Sorry, but we've had these reservations for a while." He answered.

Sam scoffed. "Can you at least text us if you decide to stay with this guy overnight?"

I could feel my cheeks start to turn red. I opened my mouth to answer but Declan had beat me to it, telling him that he would make sure I would let them know. With a hand placed on my lower back, he guided me in the direction of his car. He waved them off with a smile, telling them to have a good rest of their night.

I pulled the collar of my jacket up to my cheeks, trying to guard myself from the harsh winter winds. I thanked god that my coat was long enough to hide how tight this dress is from Jay's disgusting gaze. Chris and Sam were making comments just loud enough to know they were talking about Declan but not loud enough so we could hear exactly what they were saying. Instead of turning and saying something back, Declan unlocked the car and opened the door for me, helping me inside.

The ride was quite aside from the music that I insisted on playing. I didn't feel like spending the hour drive in total silence. Declan couldn't help himself from asking if he could get an encore performance when Waterloo came on again.

The city was as alive as ever, even with the snow flurrying down. We pulled up to the valet attendant who was standing inside a heated covering outside of the building. I pulled on the handle of my door but it didn't budge. I tried again, this time pushing against the door and still nothing.

"Child locks." Declan said with a wink. He got out, straightening his coat and rounded the front of the car, setting his keys in the outstretched hand of the valet driver and then came to my side of the car.

Opening the door, he offered me his hand to help me out. Once I was on my feet, he tugged me close to his side and closed my door. He leaned into my ear and said with a smile "Can't have you running away."

I pulled my head back and glared at him.

"Right this way, Mr. Byrne." The host at the door spoke in a soft tone as he bowed slightly at the hips and opened up the massive glass doors.

Taking my first few steps into the atrium, my breath was taken away. I felt like I was transported to the Paris Opera House. There were tall arches lining the walls held up by marble pillars with intricate floral designs carved at the tops and bottoms. Elegant candelabras adorned the pillars giving a soft glow to the massive space.

At the back of the open space was a grand marble staircase with a deep red wine colored carpet decorated with gold stair rods. There was a landing half way between the first and second floor, two other staircases branched out from the left and right that could take guests to the second floor. Tables were set up with dining guests who could look down onto the first floor.

The patrons were all dressed similarly, the older men wore pressed suits while the women were either in elegant formal dresses or risqué cocktail dresses that were one fast movement away from the wearer baring all.

"May I take your jacket, madam?" A younger boy asked, bowing slightly with his arm outstretched, I presume for me to put my jacket on.

I followed Declan's moves, taking off my jacket and placing it on his forearm. He straightened up and pulled at ticket from the breast pocket of his Edwardian style suit and gave it to Declan then hurried off.

The host from earlier leaned in to whisper something to Declan. Whatever it was seemed to annoy him because he rolled his tongue over his teeth, his smile falling.

"When was this? Who saw him?" He mumbled. When he saw me watching them, he grabbed the arm of the host and turned them both so their backs were to me. He whispered something else to the host who nodded and then cleared his throat.

"I will find out right away. Your usual table is ready, right this way." He spoke in his soft voice that I could barely hear over the chatter of the people littering the main hall.

My heals clacked against the marble floor as I followed Declan, walking towards the staircase. I couldn't help but look at the rooms to the left and right, curious as to what was hidden in them.

At the right was what seemed to be an old library with bookcases that housed hundreds of old leather-bound books. Deep brown leather sofas and high-back chairs were spread out through the space with mahogany tables topped with victorian style lamps and decorative whiskey decanters. A floor to ceiling humidor was in between two bookcases, each shelf was lit up showing off the boxes of cigars inside. A bar was at the back of that room with shelves and shelves of hundreds of different liquors. Dozens of men sat around, sipping on their drinks, some had cigars, all of them were chatting and laughing. It looked like something straight out of Titanic.

On the left side was also a bar, except this one looked more modern. Still elegant with its round marble tables and black and gold chairs. This lounge area was more for the younger crowd, their suits were more colorful and in more modern cuts and the dresses were more revealing. Their manners were also far different. The other lounge area seemed like it was for the old money families of Portland while this lounge was for the trust fund babies who didn't have to work for anything and were just here for bragging rights.

We climbed the stairs to the second floor then another set of stairs to the third floor. I was mentally beating Declan for making us walk and not take the elevator. Climbing three flights of stairs in heals was not my ideal form of cardio. He insisted he walked behind me on the steps, he said it was for modesty, so no one else would be looking up my dress. His smirk deepened when I caught onto his choice of words.

This floor was closer to the domed ceiling, from here you could see the delicately painted clouds against the light blue. There were only a handful of tables on this floor and they were spaced out so far that it was like you had the floor to yourself.

The host led us to a small table next to the marble railing, farthest away from everything. Declan passed by me and pulled out the plush black velvet chair and motioned his hand for me to have a seat. I smiled up at him as I took my seat, looking over the rail and down at the world below us.

"Would you like to hear the specials for this evening?" The host asked, pressing an open hand on his tie. Declan took his seat opposite me. Without looking at our host he politely declined. "The usual, then?"

"Please. And for you, Scarlett?" Declan asked.

I turned my attention to him. "Oh, um... I'll have a glass of Chardonnay. Please."

"We have several, madam. Would you care for a list?"

Declan quickly answered when he saw me start to stutter, telling him to bring the one he recommends. The host walked off to put our drink order in, leaving us in silence to look over the extensive menu.

My dad had taken us out to fancy restaurants when I was growing up but nothing to this caliber. I could barely pronounce half of the stuff on this menu and there was more cutlery laid out on the table in front of me than I had in my kitchen drawer back home.

"So," I said, putting down the leather bound menu. "You own this place..."

"I do." He replied, pulling out his phone to check it, immediately frowning at the screen.

"Mm," I hummed. "You seem to have a flair for the dramatic."

Looking up from the screen he furrowed his brow. "Meaning?"

"I mean, the club from the other night was quite... dramatic with all of the paintings and decor. And this place is like the Titanic and Jay Gatsby's house had a baby." I answered, twirling my finger around to point to all of the opulence.

"This is one of the oldest buildings in Portland. It was built in the early 1800's as a theater, one of the first in America. Later they added onto it to turn it into a hotel. It's a piece of history." He explained with a proud look.

The host showed up again, handing Declan his glass filled with some amber liquid. He put an empty wine glass in front of me and then started the process of opening a corked bottle, pouring it into my glass for me. He watched me as I sat there for an awkward moment until I realized he wanted me to take a sip to see if I liked his choice. I tried my best to imitate a sommelier by swirling the liquid in the glass, giving it a sniff and then taking the tiniest sip. I looked up at him and gave a tight lipped smile in hopes I didn't look incredibly stupid. He smiled back in response and said he was glad I like this choice and poured more before placing the bottle into the silver wine holder another staff member brought over.

When asked what we wanted for our dinners, I decided on a simple chicken and pasta dish, one of the only things I knew I could pronounce without trouble, while Declan ordered some thirty day aged steak. Without writing any of it down, the waiter again disappeared.

He was nose deep in his phone again, angrily texting away while I sat in silence. I wracked my brain for anything I could use to start a conversation, not wanting to spend the night in an awkward silence.

"Are you always this talkative on dates?" I asked sarcastically.

"Who said this was a date?" He quipped, raising an eyebrow.

I scoffed at his response, rolling my eyes. As if on queue, another server came to our table, this time with an assortment of different breads, butter and olive oil topped with seasonings. I waisted no time in grabbing for a slice, I was starving.

"So what's your story, Declan? Did you always have aspirations to be some mafioso?"

Locking the screen of his phone and putting it face down on the table, he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "Yea, that's not happening."

"What's not happening?" I asked, confused.

"My backstory. Not happening." He replied, looking down at the patrons while sipping his drink.

"So you can know everything about me, kidnap me, break into my apartment whenever you feel like it but I can't know a thing about you? That doesn't seem fair." I retorted, sitting back in my chair and crossing my arms.

"Highly fair. You're the enemy, remember?" He teased with a wink.

"Come on, give me something! Were you obsessed with mafias when you were a kid? A huge fan of Good Fellas? Is Whitey Bulger like your role model?" I asked, coming up with more obnoxious back stories mainly to amuse myself.

"I think you are the one who's obsessed." He countered.

Taking another sip of his drink, he took a deep breath and let it out through his nose, giving into my pestering. With his head bowed, he focused on his drink he was swirling in the glass. "My dad was a piece of shit, apparently. I don't remember much of him, he was never home much, all I do remember is arguing. He owed someone a bunch of money, Desmond said he had a gambling problem. Must have gotten himself killed because of it."

"I'm so sorry," I interrupted. "I know how it feels to lose a parent when your young."

He looked up at me through his dark lashes, his face unreadable. Sitting back in his chair he continued. "Desmond, the man who was on the phone the other night, was friends with my dad. He felt bad for my Ma and I so he helped us out. My Ma has a heart condition you see, she couldn't work and with my dad gone, we had nothing. To repay him, when I was old enough, I started to help out. Now here I am today.

"Everything I've ever done is for my mother. Despite her heart, she's always done everything she could for me and for the other poor kids in our neighborhood growing up. She's a good woman and didn't deserve what my dad put her through."

My hands were playing with the cloth napkin that was on my lap while I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I felt bad making him tell his story now, I don't know why but I didn't expect it to be a sad one.

"Not what you were expecting?" He asked, his voice low.

"I'm sorry, I..." I didn't know what to say.

He let out a laugh through his nose. "Don't be sorry. Now she's wanting for nothing."

With my eyes focused on my hands I gave a tight lipped smile. Way to go, killing the mood before dinner even arrived.

"Well, since we're sharing. What's your story?"

My eyes shot up to meet his with a questioning look. "Don't you know everything about me already?" I quipped, raising a brow.

He scoffed, smirking into his drink. "Not everything."

I mocked him, scoffing and taking a sip of my own drink before answering. "Not much of a story. Mom died when I was young, it was just me and my dad for two years before Isabella showed up with Alex. That's when everything changed. My dad and I used to be close but the moment they were married it was like I no longer existed. Business started to boom for my dad and they were always going out, usually taking Alex. I started to resent my dad, 'ya know? I felt replaced. When I graduated high school, I moved out with every intention to go to school but life's expensive. I started working for Will, put my head down for a few years and now I'm here. With the guy who kidnaped me."

Declan couldn't help but laugh at my last comment. "I'd say things are looking up."

"Yea and maybe next time he kidnaps me he'll take me somewhere nicer than and abandoned hospital." I laughed.

"I know of a lovely abandoned warehouse." He said, trying to stay serious but lost it as soon as I started laughing.

Our food arrived shortly after and we ate in silence, aside from the hum of the chatter below us and the occasional scrape of a fork or knife against the white china. I was pushing the noodles around my plate when I became full, lost in my own thoughts. I really did feel bad for him. I couldn't imagine at a young age having to resort to a life of crime just for him and his mother to survive. The more I sunk into my thoughts, the more I felt my mouth pursing and moving to the side.

"What's with the face?" He asked, using his napkin to wipe his mouth.

I shook my head in response, not wanting to acknowledge that his story tugged at my heartstrings. However, I was easy to read.

"Please don't feel sorry for me. Look around, I own this. And it's kind of like I'm giving back to the community. I'm able to give people a place to work, the city gets to keep a piece of history and I never have to pay for a meal when I visit."

I scoffed at the last part. "You're still a criminal."

He hummed, licking his bottom lip. "A murdering criminal."

"Not something to brag about." I pointed out. "Okay, explain this one more time. You, who are involved with a syndicate, want to stop another crime syndicate from selling tainted drugs in the city. Why? You do illegal things, I'm sure you sell drugs, why are trying to stop the Russians from doing the same thing? Seems hypocritical."

"We don't deal with drugs." He snapped. "That shit tears families apart, destroys communities."

He rubbed his hand down his face in annoyance. "We own a big part of the city. We're in charge of keeping the people in it safe, in a sense. This is killing people. If the people we control don't think we can keep things in check, they will rise up, make deals with the Russians. The Russians will take over, drive us out and give us over to the feds or kill us.

"Desmond is meeting with the Italians. Old Tony Corallo called to meet with Dez himself. The Russians are encroaching on their territory as well, I guess he wants to strike a deal."

"And are you going, being second in command and all?" I asked, finishing my wine.

His brows pulled together, frowning. Declan reached over to the bottle chiller and poured me another glass, twirling the bottle so there wasn't a drop spilled.

"No. Desmond feels it would be best to take Nick."

My stomach dropped at the mention of his name. Remembering how he looked at me that night and the force of his hands. I squirmed, shifting in my seat.

"Before you ask why, he's Desmonds' nephew."

"I imagine he was angry you beat him up..."

He hummed again in response, finishing his third glass of whiskey. "He deserved it. Desmond agreed."

A strange flutter in my chest had me biting my lip. I wasn't one for violence but the thought of him hurting someone because they tried to harm me stirred something inside of me. Declan must have notice the blush that came across my cheeks because his look of anger washed away to a smile, one that I could no longer deny caused butterflies every time.

Before I could try and change the subject, a buzzing sound came from my purse that was hanging at the back of my chair. Rummaging through my bag, I pulled out my phone and was met by Isabella's name lit up on my phone screen.

All of the butterflies vanished, the mood turning sour.

"What?" I answered curtly.

The waiter came over and handed Declan a fresh glass with more whiskey. The moment Isabella's words sunk in, I felt my heart start to crack with every beat.

"Where is he?" I choked out. After she answered, I hung up. Not wanting to hear her voice. Tears started to burn at the back of my eyes.

"Scarlet, what's wrong?" Declan asked, reaching his hand across the table to grab my trembling one. "Talk to me."

Choking back a panicked sob I managed, "My dad was in a car accident. They... they don't know if h-he-"

Declan's hand squeezed tighter. "Where did they take him?"

The tears were falling down my cheeks now, I couldn't hold them back. My whole body was shaking. "He's here in the city, at St. James."

He rose from his seat, kicking it back and rounded the table. He helped me up and pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me. I snaked my arms around him, holding onto his suit jacket for dear life, sobbing into his chest.

___________________________________________

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