Page 117 of Forced Vows

What will she say now? Maybe she'll just tell the jerk to mind his own business.

"Róise Aisling. Only her last name isn't Aisling, it's Shaughnessy and her uncle is a bigwig in organized crime."

"I see. Is that the reason for your increased security over the last month?" the professor asks me, without bothering to ask if it's true, or not.

I mean it is, but also, Aisling is my name. Just my middle name. And I planned to use it instead of Shaughnessy for my career. Lots of actors use stage names.

Why not start early?

Unwilling to lie to her face, I stare at my professor without speaking.

Giving a brisk nod, the professor says, "Róise, please stay after class. I would like a word with you. Now, getting back to…"

But I don't hear the rest of her words. All I hear, over and over again in my head is, I would like a word with you. If anyone had any doubts about what Boaz said, she just gave it legitimacy.

My skin grows clammy, and I want to throw up.

Because I know what's coming.

And it's not understanding with a promise to talk to the other students at the next class. Not that it would matter.

Everyone at the university will know about my family's mob ties by tomorrow, if not sooner. Nobody gossips with more drama than theater people.

And finding out that I'm connected is too juicy not to serve up.

The day only gets worse. I don't even try to eat lunch in the dining hall. I don't want to answer a bunch of intrusive questions that I'll have to lie my way through.

No matter what they think they know, confirming my family's criminal connections would be a betrayal. I can't deny I'm a Shaughnessy, but I also can't talk about what that really means.

I can't correct the impression that Uncle Brogan is the head of Irish organized crime without explaining about mobs and how we're different from the Cosa Nostra and other mafias because we don't have a godfather.

We're more like the bratva, but I'm sure not going to explain that either.

So, I drown myself in tacos at a Mexican restaurant far enough away from campus there won't be any other students there.

Allessio and Zoey eat at a separate table. Like that makes any difference now.

But it's protocol.

Like following me around.

A student with a note from the dean is standing outside the door of my afternoon class. It's handwritten and signed in dark black ink.

I sigh and follow the other student, who keeps giving me curious looks over his shoulder. At least he doesn't ask.

The dean's secretary thanks and dismisses the other student before taking me into the dean's office.

Dean Howell is sitting behind his desk and he doesn't get up.

He looks a little like an aging Tom Hanks, and usually has a watered down version of that actor's affable smile and manner.

His expression is stern now though. "Some disturbing information has come to my attention."

"Yes?" I ask.

Don't give anything away. Keep the family's secrets. Don't cry.

"It appears you enrolled under a false name, Ms. Shaughnessy."

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