Page 63 of Declan

Nolan looks at me, his mouth curling into a mocking smirk. “Your wife.”

“Viviana?” Kian’s voice is sharp, disbelief clear in his tone.

“There’s no way it’s her,” Connor cuts in, his hand resting on his holster, his eyes blazing with the same rage burning through me.

“It’s not her,” I state firmly.

“We have proof,” John Flanagan interjects, tossing me a phone. Messages signed with “Vi” appear on the screen, sent to one of Aleksandr’s associates.

“You know she went to school with the Koslovs?” Nolan adds, his sneer widening.

“It’s not her,” I snap, but I can’t reveal the truth—that it’s Giovanni. If I do, they’ll think she’s working with him, and things will spiral out of control.

“You know the rules, Declan,” Flanagan says coldly. “You may be the leader of the Irish Consortium, but we still have a say.”

“She either comes with us calmly, or we’ll do this the hard way,” Nolan threatens, his hand inching toward his gun.

The room tenses, my men shifting behind me. This is seconds away from turning into a bloodbath.

“I’ll go,” Viviana’s voice slices through the tension like a blade.

She steps into the room, her dark eyes blazing, her chin held high. She’s a vision in black, jeans, and a sweater—a storm ready to tear us all apart.

“Viviana,” I say, taking a step toward her, but she raises a hand to stop me.

“No,” she says firmly, her gaze locking with mine. “No blood needs to be shed. Not because of me.”

Nolan smirks as he looks her over, his expression darkening with lust. My fists clench at my sides, my control hanging by a thread.

“Nolan,” I snarl, stepping closer to tower over him. “You touch her, and to hell with the fucking rules, I’ll bury you myself.”

“No one will touch her,” Flanaghan assures me, his voice calm as he places a hand on Viviana’s arm.

She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she stares at him, her tone icy and venomous. “Once you see it’s not me, I’ll personally deliver your head on a platter,” she spits at Nolan, her words sharp enough to cut steel.

Connor and Kian shift behind me, ready to draw, but I raise a hand to stop them. If this goes south, I won’t get to her in time.

“I’ll be fine,” Viviana says softly, her eyes briefly meeting mine. But then I see it—the flicker she can’t hide. It's goodbye. She doesn’t think she’s coming back.

My heart pounds like it’s trying to break free from my ribcage. My hands tremble, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. No. It’s not a goodbye. I won’t let it be. I close my eyes, flashes of her consuming me—the way she was beneath me, her moans echoing in my ears, the way her nails marked my skin as hers, and the way I claimed her body as mine.

She is mine.

“I will come for you,” I say, my voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

The room falls completely still, all eyes turning to me, but I don’t care. My gaze remains locked on her. “And I’ll bring you back, even if I have to burn the Irish Consortium to the fucking ground, and everyone in it.”

Her lips part, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She blinks them away and offers me the faintest smile. It’s enough to break me.

Flanagan leads her out, Nolan smirking as he trails behind. That smug bastard. Rage claws its way up my spine.

“He’ll be the first one I burn,” I bite out.

“I’ll get the gasoline,” Connor mutters, his voice low and tight.

“And I’ll bring the fucking matches,” Kian adds.

As the cars disappear beyond the estate gates, I storm toward the office. “Where the fuck did that phone come from?” I snap, my voice sharp enough to slice through steel.

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