Isabel Garcia Avila

“Careful’s one way to put it,” he said, voice low, roughened by the coffee. His eyes tracked her for a moment, taking in the tremor in her hand, the stiffness in her shoulders. He’d seen plenty of people rattled before—different corners of the world, same look. Didn’t matter if they wore uniforms, or silk.

The offer of dinner drew the faintest curve of his mouth—something caught between a scoff and the ghost of amusement. “Save your coin. Place like this, it’ll only get us both indigestion.” He tipped his chin toward the cracked menu propped against the napkin dispenser, its corners curled from too many greasy hands.

When she lowered her voice about keeping the night quiet, that was the first time his gaze really sharpened, steady and measuring. He leaned back in the booth, the shadow of the neon sign cutting across the brim of his hat. “Wouldn’t be much use to either of us if word got ‘round, would it?” he said evenly. “Don’t worry yourself—I’ve no interest in makin’ headlines.”

His thumb traced the chipped edge of the mug before he added, with a look that bordered on wry, “But if your da’s frettin’ about your security detail, he might’ve had a point.”

One of her brows quirked up, her lips twitching to a one sided smirk as she leaned in to challenge him. “Do I look like a woman who takes no for an answer, Riley?“ The tone of her voice was more teasing than demanding but she made clear she was going to buy him dinner anyway. “So, you better choose your favorite, before I pick for you and it all goes to waste because you don’t like it.“

His promise of silence should have eased her. Instead, it coiled something tighter in her chest. “Makes two of us then.“ Isabel murmured more to herself. Her eyes searched his own. Trying to figure this Riley out was far more difficult than the one she was used to dealing with. "Still," she pressed, leaning forward slightly, "You didn't have to intervene. Or return this." She tapped the wallet against the edge of the table. "Most people wouldn't have."

When he mentioned her father's worry, her spine straightened almost imperceptibly. "He frets about everything," she deflected, voice lighter than the tension in her shoulders. "Especially things that might... complicate the family image." She admitted unwillingly although it was obvious. "It’s just… suffocating sometimes. Makes you feel like a prize in a glass case, not a person." The admission slipped out, raw and unexpected. She hadn’t meant to say that. Not to him. Not to anyone. Vulnerability was a luxury she couldn’t afford, especially not now, with the shadows of the night still clinging to her.

She forced a breath, trying to anchor herself against the lingering tremble in her legs, reminding herself to get herself back together. This man had seen too much of a side of her she didn’t even want to acknowledge existed as it was. “I appreciate the discretion.“ Isabel whispered eventually but she still didn’t fully trust him. Those Rileys were known for their tight bond and the last thing she needed was for Liam to find out about this so he could use it against her.

the heat clung like a second skin, the kind that made starched collars feel like nooses and sent beads of sweat running down the backs of men in their best suits. the derby hadn’t even started yet, but the air was already thick with the hum of wagers, the clink of glasses, the riley’s laughter carrying sharp above the crowd. they'd dove into the liquor a little earlier than most.

liam cut through the noise with his usual ease, a wolf at a masquerade. he hadn’t been looking for her—at least that’s what he’d tell himself—but his eyes found isabel all the same. draped in her father’s shadow, a glittering prize at the arm of her fiancée. just as polished, just as untouchable as ever.

but when her gaze snagged his across the distance, the rest of the crowd blurred.

liam didn’t hesitate. careful steps carried him closer, slipping through the riley’s orbit without drawing attention. when he reached her side, it was with the kind of quiet boldness that only came from practice. fingers brushed her arm, just enough pressure to pull her away from watchful eyes.

“when are ya gonna stop playing the dutiful daughter,” he murmured low, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth, “and the picture-perfect fiancée? admit it, love... you don’t want that kinda life.”

it wasn’t serious—nothing in his tone ever was—but his eyes lingered on her in a way that betrayed more. something drew him to her, and yeah, he wanted to win the game they’d been playing. he wanted her, simple as that.

She turned away before he could catch her eye, time and time again. Until she didn’t. Her gaze eventually meeting his own, holding it briefly, before averting it once again. The silk of her dress whispering against her fiancé’s tailored sleeve, whilst hugging her every curve. A knowing smirk played upon her glossed lips when the picture perfect couple walked past him - but it was quickly replaced by a gasp upon the unexpected touch on her arm. The sudden pull whisking her away from prying eyes, before she even had a chance to push him away. Or so she told herself.

She knew his reputation, the Riley syndicate’s sharpest blade, charming his way through casinos and bedrooms alike. Yet here she stood, toeing the line between propriety and ruin. Her father’s warning echoed in her mind. But Liam’s gaze held hers, molten and reckless, and she felt alive in ways her diamond engagement ring never allowed — not that she’d ever admit.

Isabel didn’t pull away from his touch. Not yet. The scent of bourbon clung to him, mixing with her Chanel No. 5. She leaned in just slightly, whispering just below a breath. “When are you going to stop pining after what you can’t have?” It was something between a warning, a challenge and a dare or maybe all at once. She blinked her lashes at him once. “And what kind of life is it that I want according to you, Liam?”

It was all just a game. The same one they’d been playing for so long. But today, she was going to test just how much bite there was behind all that barking of his. “Let’s let destiny decide. If my horse wins, I’ll celebrate with you. If not… - take it as a sign and you’ll leave me alone. Deal?”

The diner was half-empty, washed in the low hum of neon and the crackle of a jukebox that had seen better years. Eoin sat in the corner booth, shoulders squared like he was bracing against an invisible punch. He’d cleaned himself up well enough—blood gone, shirt tucked—but the dark bloom of a bruise along his jaw and the stiffness in his ribs made it clear where his evening had been spent.

He nursed a mug of black coffee like it might anchor him, eyes fixed on the thin curl of steam. Cigarette smoke drifted over from the counter, and the quiet clatter of cutlery filled the gaps between the jukebox’s static croon. It should’ve been peaceful. Instead, every muscle in him still thrummed with the leftover charge of the fight, the kind that didn’t settle easy.

He wasn’t looking to talk. Not to anyone. The fight still sang in his bones, a restless energy that had nowhere to go but into silence.

Then, movement caught his eye. Someone slid out of a nearby booth, and something small hit the linoleum with a dull slap. Eoin’s gaze followed it: a wallet, leather worn at the corners.

For a moment he considered keeping quiet. Let someone else notice. But old habits, the ones drilled in too deep to shake, the good little catholic boy still hidden deep inside, had him leaning down and scooping it up before he could think twice. He cleared his throat, voice rough from disuse and smoke, carrying just enough to catch their attention.

“Think you dropped this.”

Turning in her seat, she searched the room, her eyes locking onto the figure in the corner booth. It was him, Eoin, the mysterious man, who had come to her aid earlier. The one who had fought off those thugs with a ferocity that had left her both grateful and slightly intimidated. He held her wallet up in the air, the leather worn at the corners just as she had left it. She felt a strange sense of relief mixed with the lingering anxiety of the evening. She didn’t expect to see him again, let alone so soon, and certainly not in such a casual setting.

“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed, sliding out of the booth. The words came out more forcefully than she had intended. She approached Eoin’s table, her eyes never leaving the wallet. Her hand trembled slightly as she took it. “I can’t thank you enough. Those guys were...” She trailed off, unsure of how to describe the fear that had clawed at her insides without revealing too much. There was nothing she hated more than feeling like this: vulnerable, except… for someone to see her like this. And of course it had to be a Riley of all people.

She slid out of the booth, trying to keep her movements smooth and casual, but her legs felt like they were made of spaghetti. She approached him, her heart thumping in her chest like a drum announcing her arrival. “I guess I should be more careful with my things.” Isabel felt a sudden urge to sit down, the adrenaline draining away and leaving her legs wobbly. She took a deep breath and offered a tentative smile. “Could I buy you dinner? A small token of my gratitude?”

But then she saw the coffee mug, the way his fingers tightly curled around it, and the weariness etched into the lines around his eyes. He was a man who knew pain, who understood the need for solace in the quiet corners of life. And for some reason, that made her feel a bit more at ease. However she needed to make sure he’d keep tonight’s unfortunate events to himself for a variety of reasons. “This… needs to stay between us. My dad is already freaking out enough about my lack of security detail. And the last thing we need is bad press.“

scarlett threw the door open, a bright smile on her face as she greeted her friend. "oh, and you come bearin' gifts? well, aren't you just the sweetest!" she took the champagne, stepping back to let isabel come inside. "come in, come in, darlin'."

scarlett led her through to the kitchen, carefully placing the bottle down on the work surface. "you have no idea how ready i am for this, oh my god. i think i talked poor billy's ear off yapping about it all day, i'm sure he's sick of me." she joked, digging around in a drawer for something she could unscrew the cork with. "you're fine with me poppin' this right now, aren't you?" she asked, a coy look in her eye as she glance over at her friend.

She kicked off her heels by the door and followed her into the kitchen. "And don't you dare worry about Billy," Isabel replied, rolling her eyes playfully. "That man adores you, it's his job to listen to your stories, no matter how many times you tell them." Following Scarlett's lead, Isabel made herself comfortable at the kitchen island, as she watched her friend searching for the corkscrew. "But yes, popping it right now sounds like the perfect plan to me. In fact, I insist. We deserve it."

Raising one of her brows, she nudged the blonde playfully. "What do you have planned for us tonight?" Isabel asked, eager to hear what kind of low-key, relaxing evening her friend had in mind. "How has your week been, gorgeous? I feel like it's been forever since we've had a chance to just kick back and be ourselves."

She was like a sleek, black panther among a pack of spotted hyenas—unbothered and untouchable. As he approached, he couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing here, what secrets she was hiding behind those cool, daring eyes. Despite the fact she was deliberately ignoring his presence, he approached her with slow, measured steps, a cocky smirk upon his lips and a confidence that could have easily been mistaken for arrogance alone.

Who needed an invitation? In fact, he thrived on doing exactly what he wasn’t supposed to do. "Well, well, look who the cat dragged in,” he taunted, his voice a smooth blend of Irish charm and streetwise grit. He greeted her with a smirk, casually leaning against the railing next to her. “I’d say it’s a small world, but I know you wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this by accident.” His chuckle sounded a little too genuine for his own comfort but alas he never ceased to surprise even himself — not always in a good way. Okay, most of the times but hey; “Always looking for the angle, aren’t you? What brings you to the darker side of the track?”

“Cormac Riley.“ she sighed, her voice a purr of feigned indifference. "It seems the cat didn’t have to look for long to find the first rat." She mocked back, her eyes taking him in, from the top of his impeccably groomed hair to the gleaming tips of his Italian loafers. He was dressed for the part of the wealthy gangster, his shirt probably cost more than the average person’s monthly rent. Yet, there was something about him that was undeniably authentic, a raw energy that no amount of money could buy. "I’ve always enjoyed a good race. The thrill of the unpredictable, the dance of power and strategy. It’s quite the spectacle, wouldn’t you agree?" She nodded towards the track, where a sleek, black stallion was being led out of the gates, contemplating on making a bet herself but ultimately opted against it. "What’s your business here, other than to annoy the local gentry?"

location : the derry casino

the derry had its own rhythm, a thrum liam could feel in his bones long before he stepped onto the casino floor. the roulette wheel was hissing, chips clinking in neat stacks, a low tide of conversation that swelled and dipped under the smoky haze curling toward the chandeliers. it was a world that belonged to him, every inch of it, but there were nights when the atmosphere shifted—not because of the game, or the liquor, or the music—but because she decided to step through the doors.

isabel had a way of cutting through the noise without saying a word, and tonight was no different. men leaned toward her with practiced grins, all most likely offering the same tired promises: a drink on them, a seat at their table, a turn as their so-called lady luck. liam didn’t need to hear the lines to know how they went. he’d been watching that game played since he was old enough to sling a deck.

from his vantage point near the center pit, he could see her weaving through the tables, her presence pulling the attention of every man in her orbit. even after finding out her father was the kind of hotshot politician who’d like nothing more than to bulldoze this place to the ground—and that her fiancée was the chief of police with ambitions of scrubbing L.A. clean—liam hadn’t backed off. if anything, it made things more interesting. playing with fire was the only way he liked it.

he closed the distance just as some overeager gambler slid a glass her way. liam’s voice cut through before she could even acknowledge the man's drink. “careful, sweetheart—drinking whatever a stranger hands you in here? that’s how people end up regretting their night.”

the man started to bristle, but liam didn’t spare him a glance, eyes locked on her instead. “besides,” he went on, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth, “if you’re drinking with anyone tonight, it’s me. house policy.” he tipped his chin toward the bar without waiting for an answer.

The gambler who’d been hovering around her looked from Liam to Isabel, then back again, his expression confused, then affronted, but she just offered him a polite smile. "I've got plans tonight." Was all she gave him. He was just a pawn in the game she and Liam had been playing for years, one only the two of them understood. Then, she half turned towards Riley. "Oh Liam, you should know by know, I’m very much capable of buying my own drink, so, thank you, but I‘ll pass." Isabel quipped sweetly, batting her eye lashes at him, before she paused for a short moment. “As for your house policy,” she smirked, raising the glass to her lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip, “I’m sure you have enough charm to make an exception for me. After all, I do bring my own luck to the table.”

Isabel felt the electricity in the air as soon as Liam closed in and she wasn’t sure if it was more thrilling or infuriating. Turning to face him fully, she leaned against the bar, her posture casual but confident. She knew he enjoyed the chase, the thrill of playing with someone who didn’t bow to his every whim, and she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. Not now and not ever. Not that he would be capable of provoking that kind of feeling in her anyway. "But what happens when I decide to test my luck elsewhere?" She knew it was a taunt, but little did she care.

She was aware he was watching her, the way her dress hugged her waist, the flash of the diamond ring she always wore, the one screaming she belonged to someone else. Someone who didn’t understand the siren call of the Derry, the rush of adrenaline with every spin of the roulette wheel. "Black or red?" she asked over her shoulder, her voice a low whisper only Liam could hear. „What’s your bet tonight?“