Page 23 of The Mafia's Bride

It’s always been a topic we’ve never discussed.

“Do you know how hard it is to watch you take on this decree?” she whispers. “I’m your big sister, I’m supposed to do the hard things so you don’t have to. I’m supposed to make the sacrifices. But I can’t take your place here. You have to do it. And I have to trust that Maeve has a reason for this.”

Every word stabs a jolt of pain into my heart, killing my frustration.

“Do you know how many times I’ve found you passed out in the front yard, too drunk or high to make it inside?” It’s a rhetorical question, because I have no memory of this. “Too many to count. So, if this arrangement calms that side of you down, if it stops you from killing yourself in your quest for attention or love or whatever your problem is, then so be it. I’ll gladly hand you over to the De Luca family. I’ll gladly support Maeve. Because… you want to know why?”

I swallow, shaking my head.

“Because at least you’ll bealive.”

I rock back as if slapped.

“I’m not that bad,” I defend weakly. But even I know that’s a lie.

I can only ignore the numbness with drugs and alcohol. I know this and apparently, so does Collins.

Collins shakes her head. “You are. Maybe this arrangement willknock some sense into you. Maybe you’ll find whatever you’re looking for.”

I snort because it is unlikely. Even I don’t know what I’m looking for in this life.

“Now, finish up,” Collins commands, pointing to my Medusa heels, one still unclasped. “We’re going to be late.”

I glare, saluting her sarcastically. Then I see her low heels.

Not one to be outdone, I point to her shoes, purposely goading her to feel like I’ve won.

“Couldn’t you wear a pair of nice heels for my engagement dinner? I’ll even let you borrow one of mine. We’re the same size.”

“And hurt my poor feet? No thank you.” She pushes her glasses higher up her nose and checks herself out in my floor length mirror, dotting her eyes. We’re back to the typical sibling banter now, as if the past conversation never happened.

Once the final shoe is secured, she leads me into the hallway, my pointed heels snagging on the red carpet. I do my best to focus on my feet and not her words.

She can’t honestly think this arrangement is best for me. She can’t honestly think that being tied to a man with a worse reputation than Maeve is in my best interest.

She directs me down the stairs, holding my elbow, as if I’ll slip through her fingers. “What’s with the ushering? Have a bet planned on my escape?”

Collins snorts, but that’s confirmation enough. She thinks I’ll run.

I’ve considered it. If only my sister’s men would let me go. I’m sure they’ve been instructed to make sure the youngest sister is at her engagement dinner.

My hand runs along the thick staircase, nails catching on the grey stoned walls.

Taking inspiration from the castles back home, the walls of our home are grey brick, with dark wooden floors and heavy curtains. Suits of armors line the walls, heads of exotic animals hang above us, with three floors, a wing on each with various rooms and quarters hidden behind heavy doors.

We descend the stairs, stopping in the main foyer, noticing the two soldiers at the front door down the long hall. My father never had people guarding the doors but new leader, new rules, I guess. The entire mansion is littered with men now, patrolling the grounds with guns ready.

My eyes go to Maeve’s closed office door. The place our father was found, and she’s holed herself in there for the last few weeks, rarely leaving it.

I wonder if she’s going to be at the dinner. Or if I’ll have to endure this alone.

Scanning the front door, I debate on if I can run in these heels. Unlikely, given these men don’t look like the typical goons my father employed. Gone are the dirty, ratty jeans and the shirts that looked better used as rags. These men wear clean dress shirts and business slacks, combat boots and combed hair.

I turn, a man gliding past me just on the peripheral of my vision. He enters the office, not bothering to knock.

For some reason, he seems familiar, but I can’t place him.

“Who was that?” I ask Collins, jerking a thumb to the office. “Did you see him?”