Page 102 of Forced Vows

Do all ranches use cattle prods? I'll look it up. Later.

The kuboton isn't as scary, but Miceli's offer to teach me how to use it is. He wants to spend time with me.

Why? What does he get out of it?

Besides sex. He can get that anywhere.

If he does though, I'll use my new taser on his balls, but that's not the point.

What is the point?

Oh, right. The point is, this thing between us is supposed to be business. Business between enemies.

But that phone.

It's under my pillow, the outside of my pinky touching the edge of the case.

The thing is, Miceli De Luca is going to make me fall in love with him just being the kind of guy his family expects. The Cosa Nostra is different than the Shaughnessy mob.

Or maybe it's just the Genovese, but Miceli believes in fidelity. He insists I get more adept at protecting myself physically. For the sake of my safety. He gave me a phone with pictures of my parents on it.

Some I'd never seen.

What happens when I fall in love with the made man who can't love me back? And even if he could, which, come on…Miceli De Luca. But even if he could, he'll probably die a violent death before the baby I'm supposed to have even reaches adulthood.

Sooner or later, this life will take him away just like it took my mom and dad.

And what if I'm head-over-heels in love with him when that happens? It'll be the thing that finally breaks me.

I'd rather marry a man I feel nothing for than one who will tear my heart out of my chest when he leaves me.

I know what that feels like and the wall of prickly thorns around it is the only thing keeping my heart where it is.

If he destroys that wall, nothing will save me.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, I go through the motions of getting ready, rehearsing what I need to say to Uncle Brogan over and over again in my head.

I wait to talk to him until after breakfast and regret it when the food roils in my tummy like a boat on choppy water.

When I reach his office door, I stop and wipe my sweaty palms down the sides of my khaki camo cargo pants. Then, taking a deep breath and holding it, I knock on his office door.

"Come in." His tone is brusque, but not angry.

Okay, that's good. But his lack of anger probably won't last.

Letting the air finally escape my lungs, I turn the knob.

Uncle Brogan is sitting behind his desk, his laptop open and his cell phone on a stand beside it. He's working.

I should come back later.

No. If I don't talk to him now, I won't talk to him at all.

"Good morning, Róise."

"Good morning, Uncle Brogan." Ugh. My voice sounds like I swallowed a frog.

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