Page 25 of Forced Vows

Miceli pulls his own knife out and sets it on the table between us. "With blood."

My uncle offers his hand to the don, palm up. Don De Luca slices a shallow cut across my uncle's palm. At least I hope it's shallow.

Blood wells immediately.

After dipping his thumb in the blood, Uncle Brogan presses it down on the top right corner of each page until he gets to the last one. This time, he leaves his thumbprint beside his printed name at the bottom.

After tying a handkerchief around his hand, my uncle cuts the don's palm the same way. Then Don De Luca goes through the same process, leaving his thumbprint right beside my uncles on each page until the last one. Where he leaves it beside his name at the bottom like my uncle did.

"You couldn't have just signed it?"

"The cuts show their trust in each other. The fingerprint and blood DNA are irrefutable evidence that they signed the contract." Miceli puts his hand out to me, palm up. "It's our turn."

"But I don't trust you and you shouldn't trust me."

"Are you going to cut my finger off?" he asks, sounding too darned amused.

"I could and not because I want to." I have training in self-defense.

I can even shoot a gun and hit what I'm aiming at. Something my father insisted on after my mother's death. I have never trained with a knife though.

"You'll do fine."

"I haven't read the contract."

"And you won't," Miceli says implacably.

I cross my arms, relieved, because I'm pretty sure none of them want me reading the contract. "Then I'm not signing it."

"Your signature isn't necessary, just your cooperation," Uncle Brogan says.

"Is there anything in there that affects me other than the marriage and giving birth to a child I already agreed to?" I ask.

"No."

"Then you don't need my signature," I agree.

And if my uncle isn't being 100% truthful with me, I can't be held to the terms of a document I haven't signed.

Miceli flips his knife over his fingers, the hilt landing in his palm. "You will put your bloody thumbprint beside mine on the page that refers to our marriage and offspring."

"Offspring? Who says that?"

His eyes don't reflect a single glimmer of emotion. "Contracts say that."

"I'm not signing a contract I haven't read," I say again, stubbornly.

"You can read the page your thumbprint is on." Don De Luca's voice brooks no further argument.

My stomach roils. Because I'm going to argue. "No."

"Damn it, Róise, now is not the time to be stubborn. I told you there's nothing in there you need to worry about."

Part of me believes my uncle. He's spoken truth I don't like. But to my knowledge, he's never lied to me. It's that to my knowledge part I can't get past.

Not after the blackmail.

"I promise on my vow as a made man that there is nothing else in that contract beyond our marriage and the promise of a child carrying both our DNA that pertains to you personally. All the terms will eventually effect you as a Shaughnessy and a future member of our family." Miceli's words ring with truth.

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