Page 8

I am the dumbest person alive.

In the Jaguar, Marco follows my directions. The back is stacked with an unseemly amount of packaging that jostles, rolling from side to side as we careen down the narrow Irish countryside, heading for our family home near Sligo.

I think that’s where Liam is.

The fact that he appeared to me at the cottage recently does give me some doubt, but if he’s getting married and trying to make at least somewhat of a spectacle of it, then he’s going to be at home in the house that’s officially unofficial.

As it always has to be.

I meant what I said to Marco in the dressing room. I do hate mafia men. I hate that they’re bossy and demanding, that they think you owe them every single thing.

I hate that they’re self-assured and conceited. That they think you can throw money at a problem and it will all go away.

I hate how much they're like my father, if I’m being honest.

The problem is that Marco?

He’s nothing like my father.

My fingers drum anxiously on the leather interior, the luxury of it absorbing the sound from my fingertips annoyingly well.

Marco is…

In many ways, yes. He’s absolutely a mafia man. He’s conniving and arrogant and slick, always with a plan up his sleeve and a fucking song in his heart as he murders people in cold blood.

I’ve seen him do it.

But on the other hand..

The Marco that I got to know at the cottage is kind. He’s protective, but in a way that doesn’t feel condescending or overbearing. I had the sense, many times, that he genuinely cared for me.

That he wanted me.

Just like I wanted him.

Just like you still want him, you hussy.

I flush.

The memory of riding Marco’s thigh, and then his fingers, is something that I’m probably going to feel very conflicted about for a long time. Because, as much as I hate to admit it, I want Marco with every fiber of my being.

Which is a problem in itself.

I promised myself a very long time ago that I wouldn’t sleep with anyone who was in the same sphere of influence as my brothers and my dad. After Kieran scared the shit out of me, and my dad basically imprisoned me, I swore off men altogether.

You’ll find someone you want badly enough to try all this out with , I would tell myself.

I know the basics. I own a vibrator, and I’m not naive or anything.

But the truth is, I haven’t exactly been with a man yet.

And that… almost went out the window earlier today, when I was practically begging Marco to take me.

I shuffle, uncomfortable as I look out the window.

The Jaguar is literally eating up the road on the way to Sligo.

The family home, interestingly, is an old converted manor.

The joke was that the English lord who tried to inhabit it was killed because of MacAntyre weapons that we smuggled into the country back in the day, so it was given to the MacAntyre family.

Except it isn’t in our family name.

The people in the town protect us, which is something that I’ve hated ever since I was a child. I can see how for Liam it’s an advantage right now, and it’s another reason I’m thinking he will probably have the wedding here. He can control, through the town, who has access to our home.

When I was a child, though?

I wanted to escape from my father. I wanted to find my mother again, to figure out where he and Kieran had hidden her. I tried to walk away more times than I can count, and every time it was a well-meaning, if wayward, townsperson who brought me back, kicking and screaming, to my father’s house.

The memory makes me shiver.

I don’t like mafia men. I don’t. My reasons are my own and they’re perfectly rational. Who would, after everything I’ve been through?

But the memory of Marco’s hands on my body lingers.

“So. What’s the story?” Marco rumbles.

I shift, staring at him.

He winks. “What are we going to tell them about how we met?”

“The exact story about how we met. I took you into custody– ”

“Won’t work,” Marco shakes his head. “They’re going to know that I chose to be in custody.”

I snort. “You didn’t say that when I had you at gunpoint. It seemed you were very much at my mercy then.”

“You’d love to think that, wouldn’t you Roisin?”

I arch my eyebrow at him. “You were allowing yourself to be caught?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“Why the hell would you do that?’

“So that I could negotiate the deal to protect Dino’s children,” he says without skipping a beat.

I blink. “We offered you that deal–”

“I knew you would, as soon as I heard that Interpol had located the twins and Marisol. Dino came to me to ask me what to do years ago. I monitored them. It only happened recently that they were on Interpol’s radar, and I had to protect them.”

My eyebrows knit together. If that’s true, that means Marco…

“You just… stayed in witness protection?”

“Yes.”

I shake my head. “Why?”

Marco sighs. “Because I needed to at the time.”

“That’s ludicrous.”

“It’s what we mafia men do to protect what’s ours,” he says in a voice that feels laced with venom and promise .

Hmm. Interesting. Clearly, my comment earlier bothered him. “You’d just as easily sell him out if you had to,” I say quietly.

Marco’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, but he doesn’t respond.

We continue in silence, as we wind up the road. Eventually, a familiar bend comes up, and my heart aches as the manor house comes into view.

“Welcome to Aughris House, Marco,” I say quietly.

My heart sinks.

Because this house is my worst fucking nightmare.

I kind of want to ask Marco what he’s thinking as we walk up the stone drive to the house.

Kind of.

But not really, because I’m currently refusing to speak to him until otherwise indicated.

That, of course, and I don’t really want to be here so…

Silence dominates our conversation.

The house isn’t huge. On the outside, it looks like a lot of other old houses in Ireland.

Stone walls covered in whitewash, two stories and several wings, and the type of old-fashioned peaked roof that has to have a specialist come in to repair.

It’s bigger than some manor houses around the area, built a little more like a castle than just a house, but it’s not exactly out of the ordinary.

Except for the roses .

The entire structure is nearly covered in climbing roses, and a garden of roses winds around it for what feels like a mile.

Even now, in the early part of the year, walking up to it is impressive.

There aren’t many in bloom right now, except for some of the smaller, hardier winter ones, but in the summer the whole thing is basically covered in blooms.

Behind me, Marco makes a noise.

I turn. “What.”

“That is an insane amount of roses.”

I could tell him that it’s how I got my name. My mother was so impressed by being brought back here, before she knew what my father was, that she named me for the roses on the house. There’s always been a girl in the family who bears the name of the roses.

My father was thrilled, of course, when I could take that one.

And furious when she stole me away and hid me from him.

Furious enough that he basically burned things down to find me again… and my mom hasn't’ been seen since.

The thought makes anger burn through me, so instead of responding to Marco I turn on my heel and march to the front door. Unfortunately, that means that I'm once again face-to-face with the manor house.

Ugh.

It really should be gorgeous. The roses and the stone walls, with whatever chemical is on them to make them white, are a shocking contrast. It makes the vines of the roses almost look black, and without the brilliant blooms, the whole effect is kind of like a goth house.

Behind the house, I can just see the edge of the pond that comes with the property.

I know that if I keep walking in that direction, I'll come across a stable where my father kept all his prized horses.

Further on, I'd find myself on a path to the sea. The Atlantic Ocean is brutal on this side of Ireland, nothing like the deep (if narrow) Irish channel. On this side of the country, the sea stretches like an endless line on the horizon.

I used to think that I could see New York, if I tried hard enough.

Until Kieran almost drowned me by shoving me down the cliffs into the freezing ocean below. He disavowed me of that belief, by pointing out how stupid I was to think that you can see America from Ireland.

Most of my memories of this beautiful place are, in fact, completely ruined by Kieran.

I wish the dread that’s threading through me at the thought of seeing his twin wasn’t so total. Liam technically never did any of those things to me that Kieran did.

Technically.

Still, it’s insanely hard to look someone wearing the same face as the one that comes straight from your nightmares in the eyes, and believe that he won’t hurt you.

I know it bothers Liam. It’s probably the only reason that he maintains our little spying arrangement. I’m sure if I just stopped giving him information, he wouldn’t ask why.

But, he seems to use it to his advantage.

I’m still not sure why I do it. Family loyalty. Terror of my brother's ghost .

Mostly, just a connection to keep to my family, in case he hears anything about my mother that I wouldn’t hear through Interpol, I guess.

This is all so fucked up .

“Roisin?”

Marco must have noticed that I'm at a dead stop on the path, glaring up at the house. I don’t answer him. Instead, I march forward until we’re on the threshold, feet poised to take the step up into the ancient home.

I’m surprised there’s not a security guard or something outside… or maybe there are, and I just haven’t noticed.

I crane my head up and grimace.

Yep. Someone’s sitting on the roof with a rifle aimed down at us.

Resisting the urge to yell that I do, in fact, live here, I go to knock on the door…

Only to find it’s already swinging open.

I blink, my hand raised in front of the thick carved wood panel in front of me.

“Ro?”

I let myself smile, the movement kind of rusty. “Hi Liam.”

“What are you doing here?” my brother asks.

He hasn’t noticed Marco yet. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “I came for the wedding.”

“The wedding isn’t for a few weeks… ”

“Good,” I murmur. I’m curious if Stassi is here, because if she is, I want to look at her. I want to make sure that Liam isn’t doing the thing that Kieran would do.

Which is to say… I want to make sure that he’s not kidnapping her and forcing her to be here.

I can tell the moment Liam notices Marco. His easy going demeanor shifts, and all of a sudden there’s someone in front of me who doesn’t look like Liam at all.

My fists clench. He looks like Kieran.

Kieran is dead.

“Who’s this then?” Liam rumbles.

Marco steps forward, gently putting his hand over my shoulder. “Marco De Luca.”

“I know who you are. The fuck are you doing here with my sister?”

I know Marco will have an answer.

I’m sure it’s not the answer I want.

So, before he can get it out, I toss his hand out of the way and look at Liam.

“Marco’s here to be my wedding date.”