Page 39 of The Hunter's Empire

I fold my arms. "Convenient answer."

"It is the truthful one."

The room feels smaller suddenly. Quieter.

Domenico steps closer to the table, lowering his voice slightly. "Powerful men underestimate women beside dangerous men." He says. "Especially beautiful ones."

There it is. That subtle edge between strategy and provocation.

I narrow my eyes immediately. "Do you flirt with everyone you work with or am I receiving specialized treatment?"

A low laugh leaves him.

"Relax, Elf." His gaze lingers on me deliberately. "Try not to fall in love with me and we will both survive the evening."

I stare at him flatly for half a second.

"The only thing I am currently tempted to do," I say calmly, "is leave you in Ireland permanently if you keep calling me Elf."

His smile widens slightly. "And yet you still have not told me to stop."

"I have told you several times."

"Yes." He says thoughtfully. "But you have not made me."

A quiet laugh leaves Domenico as he moves around the table, clearly entertained by how easily he manages to get under my skin.

I ignore him and pull one of the Keegan files closer instead.

"Focus." I say coolly. "Unlike you, some of us are trying to run an operation."

His mouth twitches slightly. "And here I thought threatening to abandon me in Irelandwaspart of the operation."

I shoot him a flat look. Domenico only looks more amused by it.

The conversation gradually settles back into business after that, though the tension between us never fully disappears. It lingers beneath discussions of timelines, contingencies, and the countless small details that determine whether operations succeed or fail. By the time the last adjustments have been made and the final routes agreed upon, the city beyond my office windows has disappeared completely into darkness.

Domenico gathers the remaining documents from the table before finally straightening. "We leave for Ireland in two weeks."

I nod, already mentally rearranging schedules and priorities.

"Be ready before then." He says. "Once this operation starts, there won't be an easy way out of it."

His tone remains calm, but something about the way he says it feels heavier than operational advice, as though he means more than Ireland and more than the Keegans.

Our eyes hold for a moment before he turns toward the door. Then, just before leaving, he glances back over his shoulder.

"Oh, and one more thing."

The look in his eyes immediately makes me suspicious.

"This isn't a one-night performance. For the Keegans to believe us, we'll need to look convincing before the party too."

I narrow my eyes slowly. "Define convincing."

"We'll be in Ireland for a week." His gaze moves over me with deliberate calm. "Which means that, for one week, you're mine."

The words land with far more weight than they should.