Loving the Ruthless Mafia Man

Triangle

Chapter 3

Triangle

Lia

I could feel the anger radiating off him, thick and oppressive like a storm cloud ready to burst.

But I refused to say anything. I didn’t owe Aiden Kavanagh an explanation. I didn’t owe him anything at all.

The silence between us stretched, heavy and tense, as I silently prayed, he would let it be. But, of course, Aiden wasn’t the type to let anything slide.

“Cordelia,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, laced with a warning that sent a shiver down my spine. He spoke my name like a demand, as if saying it would be enough to make me fold.

I ignored the way his voice affected me, the way it twisted something deep in my gut, and instead forced myself to meet his gaze. A smile curved on my lips, sharp and defiant.

“Mr. Kavanagh,” I said coolly, my tone cutting. “I believe it’s none of your f*****g business.”

An unreadable emotion flickered in Aiden's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Before I could make sense of it, he grabbed my other arm, his grip firm but not painful.

“Listen to me, Cord—”

“What the hell is going on here?”

That voice sent a cold rush down my spine, freezing me in place.

I yanked my arm free from Aiden’s grasp and turned to face my boyfriend, Oliver. His expression was dark, his jaw tight as his sharp gaze flicked between me and Aiden.

“Lia. Who is this man?” Oliver’s voice cut through the thick tension, his British accent sharper than usual.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady the lump forming in my throat. “This is Aiden Kavanagh,” I replied, my voice calm but tight.

But I knew that wasn’t the answer Oliver wanted. A name wasn’t enough. He wanted to know why this man had been touching me, why the air between us crackled with something unspoken.

He wanted an explanation, and I could already feel the weight of what that explanation might cost me. The look in his eyes promised what would happen later—what he’d “accidentally” do to me as punishment for this perceived transgression.

I needed a moment to think, to find a way to deescalate, to keep these men apart. If Oliver found out that the blue eyes, I had obsessively painted for years belonged to the man standing in front of us, I didn’t know how he would react—or what he would do to me.

“Lia.” Oliver said my name again, his voice colder this time, a warning laced with control.

When Aiden had said my name earlier, it had sent a tingle down my spine, a rush of something I couldn’t quite name.

But when Oliver said it, it was different. It felt heavy, like a forewarning of a storm I wasn’t sure I could survive.

I didn’t know what to tell Oliver. All he knew about my family was the surface-level story: that my aunt and uncle were wealthy. I’d worked hard to keep the truth hidden, to keep everyone—including Oliver—in the dark about who my uncle really was and how they had achieved their wealth.

The details of their business were secrets I would carefully guard. All anyone knew was that they’d paid for my education and my apartment in LA. What no one else knew was that they also provided me with an allowance—generous enough to cover anything I might ever need. I rarely used it, only dipping into it in desperate circumstances, like when I needed private clinic care.

I’d worked hard to be independent, taking part-time jobs during my time at Berkeley and later helping Savannah with odd jobs until she secured funding for her gallery. When she offered me a job, I accepted, and eventually, my paintings began to sell, finally giving me a small taste of freedom.

Which brought me to today—the first viewing of my art in a gallery. It was surreal, a moment I should have been celebrating. Instead, the past and present were standing mere feet apart, colliding in ways I couldn’t control.

“This is Aiden Kavanagh,” I said, forcing a calm smile. “A family friend of my uncle’s… and a business partner.”

It was a lie, of course. Aiden was a family friend, yes—his family and my uncle’s were close—but he wasn’t just a friend. He was my cousin Ronin’s best friend and, more importantly, he was the leader. No one needed to know that, certainly not Oliver.

Oliver’s attention shifted back to Aiden, his expression cool but probing. “What brings you here?” he asked, stepping closer to me and slipping his arm around my waist. His fingers dug into my hip, and I tried not to flinch.

Aiden’s dark eyes flicked to Oliver’s hand on me, and something in his expression shifted. It was subtle, but I could see it—the sharp calculation, the understanding that clicked into place. He had figured something out, and whatever it was, I could tell it would work in his favor.

“I brought a message for Cordelia,” Aiden said, his voice deceptively calm.

“What was the message?” Oliver demanded, his annoyance evident.

“It’s been delivered,” Aiden replied smoothly, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

Oliver’s expression darkened, his frustration rising. He wasn’t used to being stonewalled. His charisma and domineering personality usually ensured that people bent to his will, whether through charm or intimidation.

I could feel his temper simmering beneath the surface, his grip on my hip tightening until it was bruising. I knew this look, this moment when his control was barely hanging by a thread. He wouldn’t hold it together for long.

I had to step in. I couldn’t let this escalate.

“My uncle has requested I visit Boston,” I said carefully, hoping to defuse the tension.

“It wasn’t a request,” Aiden interjected, his voice firm and laced with authority. His words were a reminder—of my uncle’s power, of the kind of man he was, and the command that had come with the original message.

“You’re not going,” Oliver said, his tone final, not even sparing me a glance.

My heart sank as I felt the noose tighten around me. I was trapped between two men—one who refused to let me go and one who seemed determined to pull me back into the life I had tried so desperately to escape.

“The jet takes off in three hours. I suggest you go and pack what you need. The car will pick you up at your apartment,” Aiden said, his voice clipped, not even bothering to acknowledge Oliver. He gave me a final, meaningful look, then turned and walked out of the gallery without another word.

I stood frozen, watching him until he disappeared through the door.

That’s when I felt Oliver’s fingers dig deeper into my side, sharp enough to send a wave of pain coursing through me. Tears threatened to spill, but I blinked them away quickly. If he saw them, it would only make things worse.

“What the hell was that?” Oliver demanded, his voice low and menacing.

I looked up at him, and the darkness in his eyes made my stomach churn with fear.

When I’d first met Oliver a year ago, he had been this charming, charismatic man who seemed to have everything figured out. I’d thought he was the best this world had to offer. He took care of things, made me feel special—like a princess. But as time went on and our relationship shifted from friendship to something more, he’d changed. It was subtle at first, but before I realized it, his tenderness had turned to control. His affection had been replaced by sharp words and bruises I had to learn to hide.

I hadn’t even noticed the shift until it was too late. Now, I woke up every day knowing exactly what I’d allowed into my life. And somewhere deep inside, I told myself that Oliver was what I deserved.

“I… um… need to visit my aunt and uncle,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I heard that,” Oliver replied, his tone icy. “What I’m asking is why that man touched you. What did you say to him to make him touch you?”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said quickly, trying to tamp down the rising panic.

“I don’t believe you,” he hissed, his accusatory tone digging into me like his fingers.

“I’m telling you the truth, Ollie,” I said, using his nickname in a desperate attempt to calm him, to remind him we were in public.

He shifted tactics, his gaze narrowing. “Why does your uncle want you back in Boston? Did you say something to him?”

I shook my head frantically. “No, I promise I haven’t said anything! I haven’t talked to them in months. That’s probably why they want me to visit. I haven’t been back in three years.”

As much as I hated the thought of returning to Boston, the idea began to feel like a reprieve. A break from Oliver. A few days with my family might be enough to recharge, to come back with renewed strength. Maybe I could even be better for him.

Oliver was silent, his eyes calculating. He was always thinking, always planning. He was smart, and that made him dangerous.

“I need to visit them,” I said softly. “They’re all the family I have left. They’ve been supporting me, and I owe them a visit at the very least.”

I hated Aiden for putting me in this position. I could already feel Oliver’s anger simmering, and I knew I’d need to escape before it boiled over. Even if that meant stepping back into a world I’d tried to leave behind. And then there was the bigger question—why had my aunt and uncle requested my return? They’d allowed me to live a normal life in California for years. I knew Boston had been turbulent; Moira, my cousin, had told me so. This request wasn’t random. It was significant.

And despite my defiance earlier, I knew I’d go. I couldn’t ignore my uncle’s call. That wasn’t who I was.

Oliver finally broke his silence. “Then let’s go pack,” he said.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, startled.

His glare darkened. “I said we should go pack. You’re not going alone. I think it’s time I met your family.”

“I—”

“I come with you,” Oliver interrupted, his tone cold and final, “or I give you a reason to stay. Lia, we can’t have you saying anything to your family about me that you don’t mean. Besides, it will be good for my future to meet them. I need investors for my business plan.”

His hand dug into my hip harder, the pain now excruciating. I nodded frantically, desperate for him to let go.

“Good,” he said, finally releasing me and placing a quick, almost dismissive kiss on my cheek. “I’m going to pack my bag. I’ll meet you at your apartment in an hour.”

I nodded again, unable to form words.

This wasn’t going to go the way Oliver wanted. He wasn’t going to charm or manipulate my family into investing in whatever scheme he was planning. My family didn’t fall for tricks. And more importantly, their business wasn’t the kind he could ever understand.

My uncle was one of the four powerful families under the King of the Irish Mafia.

And Aiden Kavanagh?

He was that King.