Page 30 of Forced Vows

I don't flinch. Uncle Brogan won't hit me, and I refuse to be cowed by his shouting. That doesn't mean I like it.

I don't.

"My reproductive system is the guarantor for the contract," I remind him in case he forgot. "That gives me a stake in it."

"Don't be crass, Róise."

I can't help rolling my eyes. "You're such a dinosaur. Mentioning my uterus is not crass. It's biology."

The argument is taking my mind off of Miceli's curt dismissal, and I might be having fun too.

Just a little bit.

Maybe I should say the word vagina next. I doubt Uncle Brogan has ever heard the word said aloud by any of the women in our family.

Chances are none of the men have said it either. They're more likely to use another word. One that would really send my uncle through the roof if it came out of my mouth.

Oooh, the temptation.

"Leave biology out of this, young lady."

"I'm almost twenty-one, Uncle Brogan."

"Old enough to know better."

"Old enough to be spoken to like an adult. Especially as it is my status as an adult with a vagina and a uterus that makes me your ideal tool right now."

"Róise!"

Gotcha.

An answer to my own earlier question pops into my head. "The bunker."

Of course he keeps contracts for the illegal mob dealings there. And now a blood alliance contract, complete with my marriage to the Genovese underboss.

Uncle Brogan's brows draw together in a thunderous frown. "Where did you hear about the bunker?"

Unwilling to rat on my grandmother, I shrug. "Could have been one of the times I listened outside grandfather's office."

It wasn't, but it could have been.

Mamo tells us all sorts of things I'm sure my uncle wouldn't approve of, just like my grandfather before him.

But my grandmother says that a woman born into the mob has to be as canny as any mobster. That's why we started playing the listening game. She taught us girls that too.

We still play it, but now we know it's not a game. My uncle is a lot more careful about shutting the door to his office when he's talking mob business than my grandfather was.

Which is how Uncle Brogan blindsided me with the arranged marriage thing.

"You'd better have outgrown listening at doors," Uncle Brogan says ominously. "And forget whatever you heard about the bunker."

What does he think? I can just erase a memory like I delete a file from the cloud?

I don't answer, letting him read what he wants into my silence.

But that doesn't change the fact I know the bunker is a warren of sub-basement concrete corridors and rooms under three of our mob-owned buildings in Queens. Access to the buildings is protected by technology and highly trained soldiers.

"Is it really necessary to have the De Lucas host my 21st birthday?" Miceli fobbing the plans off on his sister-in-law is more hurtful than it should be.

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