Page 51 of The Hunter's Empire

I follow everyone's gaze.

An older man enters first. Fergus Keegan.

He does not move particularly fast, nor does he make any effort to draw attention to himself. He doesn't need to. The authority surrounding him is already woven into the fabric of the room. Decades of power cling to him as naturally as his tailored suit.

His silver hair is combed neatly back, and the lines etched into his face speak of age without suggesting weakness. If anything, they make him look more dangerous. Like a man who has survived long enough to become very good at recognizing threats.

A step behind him walks Darragh.

For the first time, I understand why so many people speak about him with equal parts admiration and caution.

He is younger than I expected, but there is nothing youthful about his presence. Dark hair falls carelessly across his forehead. A cigar rests between his fingers. His expression remains calm as his gaze sweeps across the room, taking in every person seated around the table.

They move toward the table without speaking much. Fergus takes the seat at the head while Darragh settles beside him. The rest of us follow suit, and conversation slowly resumes.

Dinner begins with harmless topics. Travel. Business. Mutual acquaintances. The sort of conversations wealthy people use to feel each other out before discussing anything important.

I spend most of the time listening. Observing. Learning who speaks the most and who everyone else seems careful not to interrupt.

At one point, Darragh's attention shifts toward Domenico. Or rather, Lucien.

A faint smile touches his mouth before he says something in Irish. I only understand fragments, not enough to follow the entire exchange, but enough to recognize a greeting between people who already know each other.

Domenico answers immediately. His pronunciation sounds effortless. Natural.

Eventually Darragh's attention shifts toward me.

“Vivienne.” He says. “Lucien mentioned he would be bringing his fiancée this year. I was curious.”

There is something about the way he speaks that makes even simple observations feel deliberate.

“I hope I haven’t disappointed.”

A faint smile touches his mouth. “Not at all.”

Across the table, Fergus speaks for the first time.

"Dites-moi, Mademoiselle, que faites-vous dans la vie?"

Tell me, Miss, what do you do for a living?

For the briefest moment, I catch Domenico glancing toward me.

He never asked whether I spoke French.

I answer before the silence can linger. “Ma famille est dans l’investissement et la finance depuis plusieurs générations. Cependant, j’ai toujours été davantage attirée par un travail qui me permet d’avoir un impact direct. J’enseigne l’autodéfense aux femmes dès que mes obligations me le permettent.”

My family has worked in investment and finance for generations. But I have always preferred work that allows me to help people directly. I teach self-defense classes for women whenever my schedule permits.

For the first time this evening, I notice genuine surprise flicker across Domenico's face. The expression vanishes almost immediately, but I still catch it. The small victory is unexpectedly satisfying.

Fergus studies me for a moment before nodding once.

Darragh leans back in his chair. “So you can fight.”

“I can take care of myself.”

A quiet laugh escapes him. “That is a useful skill.”