Chapter 23 Double Date Disaster
Alessia didn’t tell Liam about the wire.
Not that night. Not yet.
She couldn’t—not while it still sat heavy in her mind, not while she hadn’t decided whether it was a weapon, a lifeline, or a death sentence.
Instead, she found him in his study later that evening. He was standing at his desk, shoulders tense, fingers moving quickly across his laptop. The moment she stepped inside, the screen went dark.
Too fast. Too practiced.
“Siobhan was here,” she said.
Liam looked up, a crease forming between his brows. “I saw her text. I was going to call her back.”
“She wants us to go on a double date. Tomorrow night.”
He stared at her like she’d just spoken another language. “A double date.”
“With her and her boyfriend. James Song.”
“James—” His frown deepened. “She has a boyfriend?”
“Apparently for three months.”
“And she didn’t tell me?” There was something wounded under the irritation now.
“She said you’re weirdly protective. That she didn’t want you scaring him off.”
Liam leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if answers might be written there. “A double date,” he repeated. “Like normal people.”
“That’s exactly how she put it.”
“We’re not normal people.”
“I know.” Alessia paused, choosing her words carefully. “But she’s asking, Liam. She needs this. One night where she doesn’t have to think about blood feuds and vendettas and the weight of this family. Just… one night.”
Silence stretched between them. His jaw worked, tension flickering across his face like a storm trying to break.
“Fine,” he said at last. “One dinner. But I’m running a background check on this James Song.”
Alessia exhaled softly. “Of course you are.”
“I’m serious.” He reached for his phone. “If he’s connected to any of our enemies—”
“He’s probably just a normal guy who doesn’t know what he’s walking into.”
“Then he deserves to know what kind of world he’s stepping into.” His thumbs were already moving. “What’s his full name?”
“James Song. That’s all I’ve got.”
“I’ll find him.” He glanced up. “Tomorrow night?”
“Seven. Italian place in the West Village.”
Liam nodded. “We’ll need security. Discreet, but close.”
“Siobhan said no bodyguards.”
“Then she’ll have bodyguards she doesn’t see.” His voice hardened. “I’m not taking chances. Not after the warehouse.”
Alessia understood. Still, something inside her ached—for Siobhan, for the fragile hope she’d clung to.
“Liam?”
“Yeah.”
“Try to be… nice. For her.”
He looked at her, something softer breaking through the armor. “I’m always nice to Siobhan.”
“You know what I mean. To James. Don’t interrogate him. Don’t threaten him. Just—be her brother. Not the heir.”
He studied her for a long moment. “You care about her.”
It wasn’t a question.
“She’s been kind to me,” Alessia said quietly. “That doesn’t happen often.”
“No,” Liam agreed. “It doesn’t.”
The next evening, Alessia stood in front of her closet, staring at clothes that suddenly felt like costumes.
What did a normal wife wear to a normal double date?
Everything felt wrong. Too sharp. Too deliberate. Too much like armor pretending to be silk.
She chose a simple black dress in the end—nothing dramatic, nothing loud. A cardigan softened it, made her look… safer. Less like a woman who carried secrets sharp enough to draw blood.
Her gaze drifted to the emerald necklace resting on the dresser.
She hated it.
The weight. The quiet knowledge of what it did. What it tracked. What it represented.
Still, she lifted it and fastened it around her neck, flinching as the familiar heaviness settled against her skin.
In her nightstand, the music box waited.
Forty-eight hours.
She was already twelve hours closer to the edge.
A knock came at the door. “Ready?”
Liam’s voice.
She took a breath and checked her reflection one last time.
Perfect wife.
Happy newlywed.
Nothing to see here.
She opened the door.
Liam stood there in dark jeans and a black button-down, relaxed but commanding in a way that made her chest tighten. He looked… good. Distractingly so.
“You look nice,” he said.
“So do you.”
A brief, awkward pause stretched between them.
Then he offered his arm. “Shall we?”
She took it, and together they walked out.
The restaurant was warm and intimate—low lights, exposed brick, the air heavy with garlic and wine.
Siobhan was already there, bouncing in her seat, curls pinned back with a floral clip. Beside her sat a man in his late twenties, neat and well-dressed, with an open face and nervous energy.
James Song.
He stood immediately. “Mr. O’Sullivan. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Just Liam,” Liam said, shaking his hand—maybe a little too firmly. “This is my wife, Alessia.”
“Mrs. O’Sullivan.” James smiled at her, genuine and unguarded. “Siobhan’s told me so much about you.”
“All flattering, I hope,” Alessia said as she slid into the booth.
“Mostly,” Siobhan teased. “Okay—rules. No business. No family drama. Tonight, we’re just four people having dinner.”
“Agreed,” Alessia said.
Liam made a sound that could generously be interpreted as agreement.
James laughed nervously. “Noted.”
Drinks were ordered. Wine for the women. Whiskey for Liam. Beer for James.
“So,” Liam said, voice deceptively casual, “Siobhan says you work in finance.”
“Yes, sir. Analyst at Song & Partners. My father’s firm.”
“Song & Partners,” Liam repeated slowly. “Investment banking?”
“Wealth management. High-net-worth families.”
Alessia felt Liam cataloging every word, filing it away.
“Liam,” she murmured, her hand sliding under the table to find his. “The rules.”
He glanced at her, then back at James. “Right. No business.”
James visibly relaxed. “So—how’s married life treating you both?”
The question hit like a thrown blade.
Liam stiffened. Alessia squeezed his hand.
Perform. Smile. Breathe.
“It’s been an adjustment,” she said lightly. “But a good one.”
“Yeah,” Liam added, his thumb brushing the back of her hand. “She keeps me on my toes.”
She couldn’t tell if that was affection or accusation.
“That’s so sweet,” Siobhan said. “I knew you two would work.”
Dinner came. Pasta, risotto, laughter. James talked easily—about work, bad sci-fi movies, climbing gyms. About taking Siobhan to Japan in the spring.
Siobhan glowed beside him.
And somehow—despite the wire in her drawer and the lies in her chest—Alessia found herself laughing. Relaxing. Even teasing Liam with her foot under the table, earning a surprised glance and a crooked smile.
For a moment, they almost felt real.
Then the TV above the bar changed.
“—authorities continue investigating the warehouse shootout near Albany—”
Images filled the screen. Police tape. Body bags.
Liam’s fork bent slightly in his grip.
“God,” James muttered. “The violence in this city is insane.”
“Yeah,” Siobhan said softly, eyes flicking to her brother.
Alessia squeezed Liam’s hand hard.
Stay calm.
“I need the restroom,” she said suddenly. “Siobhan?”
“Sure.”
The bathroom was quiet, mercifully still.
“Is he okay?” Siobhan asked.
“He will be,” Alessia said. “Seeing it on the news just… hits different.”
“I’m sorry,” Siobhan whispered. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” Alessia held her shoulders. “You did nothing wrong.”
Siobhan nodded, eyes shining. “Thank you. For trying.”
Guilt burned through Alessia’s chest.
I’m going to ruin everything you love.
“I’ll be right back,” Siobhan said, heading into a stall.
Alessia turned to the sink—
And froze.
James’s voice, just outside.
“I’m with them now… yeah. O’Sullivan and his wife.”
Her blood went cold.
“They seem normal. Honestly? Couple-ish.”
A pause.
“No, I don’t see signs the marriage is fake.”
Another pause.
“Cormac, I’m telling you—they’re convincing.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Cormac.
“I’ll keep looking,” James said. “But so far, nothing.”
Footsteps moved away.
Siobhan flushed and returned, smiling. “Ready?”
Alessia forced a smile. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”
She waited until Siobhan left, then grabbed her phone.
James works for Cormac. Overheard him. He’s investigating us. Act normal.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Understood.
She slipped the phone away, fixed her face, and walked back out.
Liam was laughing with James when she returned.
But when his eyes met hers, she saw the truth beneath the smile.
He knew.
And James Song had no idea how close he was to the edge.