Page 103 of Forced Vows

"I assume you're here for a reason…" he says leadingly after a minute of taut silence.

Stressed on my side. Impatient on his.

"Um, I've been thinking. I'm going through with this blood alliance thing, but can't I have a different groom?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" My uncle surges to his feet, all six-feet-two-inches vibrating with fury.

Right now, I wish his temper wasn't so easy to trigger. "I don't think marrying Miceli is a good idea."

"The fuck it isn't." Uncle Brogan doesn't even apologize for dropping the F-bomb in front of me. Not that I care, but usually he does. "Miceli De Luca is the underboss. There is no one as well placed to cement this alliance."

"Does it matter how high ranking my husband is? I mean, I don't think I'd make a very good underboss's wife. A regular soldier would be better." Someone not connected to the De Lucas too closely, so I don't have to see Miceli that often.

If ever.

My uncle takes a deep breath and then counts to ten in Irish. I know because even though he doesn't say the words out loud, he mouths them as he counts.

Then he smiles.

Uh oh. That's his convince the womenfolk with charm smile.

"You're young and it's natural to be a little nervous marrying a man as experienced and intimidating as Miceli De Luca, but it will be fine. You need to trust me on this, Róise. I know what's best for you."

"Like you knew what was best for Kara?" The minute I ask the question, I know I've made a tactical error.

Uncle Brogan doesn't like his decisions questioned, and he instantly gets his back up when you imply he's not father of the year. Is that even a thing? Really?

Father of the year? Who decides if it is?

Another thing to look up later.

Anyway, I just pushed two big red buttons when I was supposed to be convincing Uncle Brogan this change in groom was ultimately his idea.

Am I trying to sabotage myself?

"Your cousin is married to a good man and loves being a mother. Just like you will once you mature a little. Letting you attend college was a mistake."

Mob life. Take real life and set it back fifty to a hundred years in societal norms.

Forcing myself to ignore my uncle's awful statement, I continue to argue. "We're not even formally engaged. The groom could change now, and no one would even know."

"Your marriage to Miceli De Luca is going to happen. You signed that contract with your bloody thumbprint, just like I did. It's unbreakable." He gives me what I'm sure he thinks is a conciliatory smile.

All I see are shark's teeth ready to snap.

I shake my head in silent denial because my throat is too tight with anger to let the words out.

"Even if I could negotiate a different groom for you, I wouldn't. Miceli De Luca is the best option for you."

"You mean for the mob." I've lost the argument already, there's no reason to sugarcoat my responses. "And sending me to college is one of the few decent things you've done as my guardian!"

I spin on my heel and storm out of the office.

"Róise!" Uncle Brogan roars.

But I ignore him. If he wants to shout more 1950s chauvinist garbage at me, he'll have to do it after one of his guys drags me back into the office kicking and screaming.

Pusheen is waiting for me in the hall and pads along beside me as I stomp toward the stairs.

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