Page 45 of No Greater Oblivion

The receptionist whose name I always forget leaps out of her seat upon seeing me. “Mr. O’Neil is in a very important meeting and doesn’t want to be interrupted. Wait! Miss. Rosario⁠—”

I walk right past her. “Really, is that why he’s not returning my calls?”

I make a beeline straight for the boardroom, and Damiano almost catches me by the back of my coat but I’m too quick. I storm through the frosted glass doors and Rian stops midsentence.

“Am I interrupting?”

I do a quick sweep of the room and recognize the four men sitting at the oval conference table. An assistant, two managers, and Rian’s right hand man and COO—Brendan Kennedy. Confident in my assessment that this afternoon’s meeting isn’t as dire as Rian’s assistant made it seem, I tilt my head in the direction of the door.

“Out,” I instruct everyone in the room.

Rian fixes me with a leveled look and empty expression. His voice is uncharacteristically cool when he says, “I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

I take my coat off and drop it on the back of a nearby chair. Then I take a final drag from my cigarette and drop the sizzling bud into a nearby cup of coffee. “I can wait.”

Brendan hisses through his teeth and gets up. “We can finish this later.”

I flash him a smile. “You’re so sweet.”

Brendan and I don’t like each other. He’s as sexy as he is menacing which is a shame because such a pretty face should’ve never been wasted on such a rotten personality.

“Bite me, Dahlia.”

“With pleasure.”

All four men file out of the room, and Damiano hovers awkwardly in the doorway. “I’m just gonna⁠—”

“Are you useful for anything?” Rian asks.

“God put me on this earth to be pretty and good with my mouth, not to play watch dog.”

Rian gets up as if to approach the door, and Damiano sprints away, leaving us alone inside.

His jaw tightens and he waits a moment before turning to me. “Don’t ever storm in on one of my meetings again.”

“You haven’t answered my calls in three days.”

“I was busy.”

“Busy avoiding me. We need to talk about this.”

Rian wanders over to the window and leans against the side table there, crossing one leg in front of the other. “What exactly is there to talk about? The fact that your ex is Alejandro Narvaez or how he has no intention of letting you go?”

“We broke up a year ago⁠—”

“Not the point, Dahlia. Do you have any idea how much history our families have? How much history we have?” he asks. “Aside from the fact we’ve been friends since college, my family’s position in Barcelona is single-handedly supported by his. I doubt he’ll take kindly to the man who’s fucking the woman he’s in love with.”

I’d be more offended by his statement if something hadn’t just clicked in the back of my mind. “You’re the other Irish family.”

It’s been ages since I’ve thought about it or since it’s come up in conversation but years ago, I remember Sandro was allied with the Walsh and Collins families. The memories are vague, especially since I wasn’t privy to much of the family operation back then, but I recall how much of an issue it was because there was already an Irish family in Barcelona; one that Alejandro was closely tied to. In fact…

“You were the one who gave the call.”

His brows furrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Almost three years ago…you called Alex and warned him about something. About him being followed.” I remember as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Can remember the weight of the kitchen knife in my hand and how it felt to plunge it into human flesh. “I was there. You saved our lives.”

Rian doesn’t recall immediately but when he does, his back straightens and he pulls away from the table. “That was you?”