Chapter 24 The Safe House
The rest of dinner was pure torture.
Alessia smiled when she was supposed to. Laughed at the right beats. Tilted her head and played the part of the happy, slightly amused wife while James Song sat across from her, relaxed and unsuspecting, completely unaware that his cover had already been blown.
Liam, somehow, was flawless.
He joked with James about finance, commiserated over terrible clients, even asked questions about rock climbing like he was genuinely interested. At one point, he suggested—casually, lightly—that they should all do this again sometime.
“Definitely,” James said, warmth in his voice. “This has been great.”
Great, Alessia thought bitterly. You just smiled your way into a grave.
When they finally stepped out onto the sidewalk, the night air felt sharp against her skin. Siobhan hugged her tightly, arms wrapped around her like she was afraid to let go.
“Thank you,” Siobhan whispered. “This meant everything to me.”
Guilt punched the air from Alessia’s lungs. “Anytime,” she managed.
She watched Siobhan walk away hand in hand with James, her laughter floating back toward them. The second they disappeared down the street, Liam’s face shut down completely.
“Get in the car,” he said.
No anger. No raised voice. Worse than both.
They drove for several blocks in silence. The kind that pressed in on her ears. She could feel the fury coming off him in waves, sharp and contained.
“Liam—”
“Not yet,” he cut in. “We talk when we’re secure.”
They didn’t head back to the penthouse.
Instead, Liam directed the driver toward the Lower East Side. The car stopped in front of an upscale boutique—glass windows, minimalist displays, the name Sullivan & Co. etched discreetly above the door.
“What are we doing here?” Alessia asked.
“You’ll see.”
Inside, the store was dark and silent. Liam unlocked the door and led her through racks of expensive clothes and soft lighting that felt almost theatrical now. At the back, past the dressing rooms, he stopped in front of what looked like a small office.
Instead of opening it, he keyed in a precise sequence on the security panel beside the wall.
A section of it clicked, then slid open.
Alessia’s instincts snapped into place instantly.
Hidden access. Concealed entry. Safe house.
“Come on,” Liam said.
They descended a narrow staircase into a basement space that absolutely should not have existed. It was larger than expected—clean, functional. A couch, TV, kitchenette. Two bedrooms. A locked cabinet that screamed weapons storage.
“This is one of three O’Sullivan safe houses in Manhattan,” Liam said. “Only family knows about them.”
Alessia turned slowly, taking it all in. “Why are you showing me this?”
“Because after tonight, everything changes.” He faced her fully now. “Cormac isn’t just suspicious. He’s trying to prove our marriage is fake. That means he’s planning something.”
“A coup,” she said.
“Exactly.” He opened a wall panel revealing maps, documents, contingency plans. “If things go bad—if there’s an attack, if the Council turns—you come here. Or one of the others. Siobhan knows them too.”
She stared at the maps, her chest tight. “You’re preparing for war.”
“I’m preparing to survive.” He handed her a burner phone. “Keep this on you. Hidden. It connects you to me, Siobhan, and a few people I trust.”
Trust.
The word sat heavy in her hands.
“Liam, I—”
“Before you say anything,” he interrupted, “we need to deal with James Song.”
Her stomach dropped. “What are you going to do?”
His eyes were cold. “He’s spying for Cormac. He used my sister to get close to us. He’s a liability.”
“She cares about him.”
“She cares about a lie,” Liam snapped. “That wasn’t a relationship. It was an operation.”
The words cut deeper than he knew.
“If you kill him,” Alessia said quietly, “Siobhan will never forgive you.”
“And if I don’t,” Liam shot back, “he feeds Cormac everything he needs.”
“Then we don’t kill him,” she said. “We use him.”
He turned sharply. “Explain.”
“We convince him the marriage is real. Completely real. We give him proof—photos, witnesses, whatever Cormac needs.” Her thoughts moved fast, sharp. “Let Cormac act on bad intelligence.”
Liam watched her closely. Then—a slow, dangerous smile.
“You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“Strategy. Manipulation.” His gaze sharpened. “I forget sometimes you’re not just… sheltered.”
Her stomach twisted. “Is that a compliment?”
“An observation.”
The silence stretched.
“Fine,” he said. “We use him. But if he becomes a problem—”
“We handle it together.”
He nodded once. “Together.”
He gestured toward one of the bedrooms. “There’s something else.”
Inside, he opened a drawer and pulled out a lockbox. When he opened it, Alessia saw pieces of a life—personal, private. A watch. A medal. A folded flag.
And photos.
He handed one to her.
Two boys. Teenagers. Rifles slung over their shoulders, smiling without fear.
Brothers.
Alessia’s throat closed.
“That was two months before Declan died,” Liam said quietly. “Before everything.”
On the back, in faded ink: Declan & Liam – Last hunt before hell.
“I keep this here,” he said. “Not the penthouse. This place is… safer.”
She nodded, emotion pressing hard against her ribs. “Thank you. For trusting me with this.”
He closed the box again.
But the damage was done.
She hated herself for the way her mind cataloged details automatically. Dates. Context. Intelligence.
He’s giving you his grief, she thought. And you’re still a spy.
Upstairs, as they walked toward the exit, she realized her pocket was empty.
She could have taken the photo.
She hadn’t.
But the fact that she’d noticed—that she’d considered it—made her feel sick.
“You okay?” Liam asked.
“Yeah,” she lied. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“How messy everything is.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Outside, her phone buzzed.
24 hours left. Wire or consequences.
Thorne.
Her hands shook as she put it away.
Twenty-four hours.
To betray the man who had just handed her his escape routes, his grief, his trust.
Or betray the mission that had shaped her entire life.
There was no clean choice left.
Only wreckage.
And time was running out.