Page 37 of The Mafia's Bride

I try to say something—anything—but my words are lodged in my throat behind a ball of emotion.

I’ve never seen the tiara in person. It’s in all of Pops and Mama’s wedding photos, lining the family room. Where did she find it?

It’s the final piece to make this day that cracks my heart and solidifies what is happening.I’m getting married.

Maeve lifts it and gestures to my head. Wordlessly, I drop on to the vanity stool, letting my big sister place it onto my skull. It’s heavy, full of happiness and sorrow, or idyllic dreams and long forgotten strife.

At least, it feels that way.

I glance back into twin cool eyes, seeing the tiny scar above Maeve’s eyebrow, hidden by the thin dark hairs.

“Why?”

Her fingers hover over the metal as if she’s afraid to break it.

“I knew from the moment that you were born, that this tiara would go on your head,” she mumbles, seemingly lost to thought. “Itwas always going to be yours, kid. I was just waiting for the right time.”

The day that would signal my end as an O’Brien and the beginning of my life as a De Luca.

I don’t know if this is a way to appease me for her decree or truly what she thought, but I’m too overcome with emotions to ask. For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel so unseen by my oldest sister.

Holding up a pale pink corsage, Maria pins the bright flowers against Maeve’s dark clothes, ignoring her annoyance.

Standing, I pat my sides, avoiding eyes with my sisters as I fight back the tears. It’s my last chance before the ceremony, before I’m truly married.

The numbness that usually strikes, the depression that hits is absent now, leaving just a pit of nerves in my gut. It’d be easier if I was numb.

Turning toward the church doors, my stomach clenches. Fear, anticipation, and dread swirl together into a terrible cocktail that causes my pulse to skyrocket and my eyes to dart to any available exit. An escape route, something, to get out of here.

“Don’t think about it,” Maeve says slowly, standing at my side.

I smile innocently, which comes out more like a grimace. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I know exactly what she’s talking about. She knows that I’m three seconds flat from running in these sharp heels into the city and praying a bus takes me out.

She grabs my wrist, locking eyes. “Here.”

The solid pearl inlaid handle falls into my palm, her cool fingers pushing me to grab it until the edges mark my skin.

I frown. “A knife?”Odd wedding present.

Those indifferent eyes narrow. “No one should be completely weaponless.”

“Says the woman who never let me shoot a gun.”

She raises a brow. “I had my reasons. Now.” She taps my hand twice. “Use this for when you need help, and I can’t be there.”

Cryptic much?“Right. When have you ever helped me, Maeve?” Imutter, placing the knife on to the vanity table, ignoring the pang of loneliness as I say my next words. “You actually have to care about someone to help them. And you’ve never really cared about me.”

Maeve’s mouth opens, wrestling with an unknown thought. Whatever it is, it’s biting, and I steel my spine, waiting for her razor-sharp words.

But it doesn’t come. She locks it down, turning her emotions off and going back to the aloof older sister who never rescued me. She doesn’t wait for me to say more, slipping through the doors, taking her place in the church.

Maria levels a hard, motherly look on me that I can’t quite place. Reprimand. Pity. I’m not sure.

I don’t care either way. She’s never had a sister be her leader. Never had a sister choose everyone,everythingover you. Because that’s what this is. Maeve choosing the clan over her little sister. Choosing to do right bythem, before choosing to do right byme.

She tossed me out as soon as she took the reins from Pops.