Page 20 of Declan

“Viviana,” he mutters darkly, his head tilted down, one eyebrow raised.

“Cibreo,” I say flatly.

Connor and Kian eye the dish with disgust.

“It looks... uh, interesting,” Connor chuckles, poking at it with his fork like it might come to life.

“Cibreo is a traditional Tuscan dish made from chicken livers, combs, wattles, and unlaid eggs,” Rose explains serenely. She knows

I lied when I told her they wanted to try a dish from my family’s hometown, but she stays calm. I like her.

“Unlaid eggs?” Kian’s voice climbs with each word, and I can barely contain my laughter.

“They’re eggs still inside the chicken before being laid.” I take a spoonful of the dish and hum as I savour it.

Connor looks like he’s about to throw up.

“Fucking hell, Viviana,” Declan mutters quietly, though a hint of a smirk plays at the corner of his lips.

He picks up a bit of liver and takes a bite, his eyes locking onto mine. “It’s not that bad,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Do you eat this often?” Kian asks, still unsure whether he should try it.

“Of course,” I lie smoothly. “Almost every week.” The truth is, I’m a pasta girl. I could eat it all day, every day. This? I think I’ve had it maybe once or twice in the last year.

“You want me to make something else, Mister Kian?” Rose asks, her voice tinged with amusement.

I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, Rose, let them enjoy something new. They can take it.”

Declan’s eyes rise to meet mine, and he nods at Rose.

They all try to engage, with the conversation flowing mostly between Kian and Connor. Declan stays quiet, occasionally nodding, his eyes drifting to me. I keep mine focused on my plate.

Rose outdid herself—the dish is almost as good as the one I usually make.

The guys finish eating, leaving more than half their food untouched, but the two bottles of wine are nearly empty. These men drink like sponges.

“This was an interesting dinner,” Kian says, winking at me as he rises. “Maybe tomorrow, we can try something... softer. Lasagna, maybe?”

They excuse themselves, leaving me behind to finish my wine. I smile into my glass as they leave. Looking around the room, a strange sense of peace washes over me. Is it odd that I like it here? I don’t likethem, but after living with my father following my mom’s death, this feels like heaven in comparison.

I miss my little apartment, though. It was small but cosy, and, most importantly, it was mine—paid for by my own money and my work. Still, I could do worse than this, couldn’t I?

Imagine if I were with the Flanaghans. Those two brothers are pure chaos—always drunk, always fighting, and the number of women they parade around town... I hope they get tested regularly.

I polish off the second bottle of wine—a bad idea, as I discover when I try to stand. My legs wobble, and I grab the table for support. That’s some strong wine.

A warm hand brushes against the small of my back, steadying me. “So, firecracker, feeling tipsy after a little wine?” His voice is steady and low, sending a shiver down my spine. His hand radiates warmth even through the fabric of my shirt, and his breath tickles the back of my neck.

“The wine is good,” I mutter, brushing his hand away as I head toward the hallway. My skin burns where his hand is, and I can feel his eyes on me. It’s the alcohol, Viviana—that’s why your nipples are piercing through your bra!

I glance back over my shoulder. Declan is still standing by the table, his eyes travelling over me before locking onto mine. He licks his lips, smirking.

“Don’t go up the stairs,” he says with a chuckle. “Let’s avoid getting yourself killed in your first week here.”

He’s right. If I try to climb those stairs, I’ll probably fall on my face. And there’s no way I’m asking him—or his brothers—for help. But if I’m not mistaken, there’s a library around here with a lovely couch and books.

I wander the halls, opening doors and keeping my eyes on the floor to avoid tripping. A guard stands by one of the doors—I remember him from this morning.

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