Page 40 of Forced Vows

"What hurts is trying to get through to your thick brain." But she presses her hand to her side, mouth drawn tight.

Damn it. I jump up and open the minifridge hidden behind a cabinet door. There's fresh ice in the fridge's tiny freezer compartment. Like there is every day.

I pull some out and wrap it in a bar towel. "Hold this. It will take the sting out."

She glares at the icepack, but then takes it with a muttered thank you.

"Getting bawled out by a woman is a new one for me." Playing with temptation, I lean back on my desk next to where she's standing, so much smooth skin on display. "Mamma is too refined. My sister, Giulia, lives in Las Vegas. And Catalina doesn't yell."

She gets her point across, but the only man my sister-in-law gets really hot under the collar with is Sev.

"I'm not like them," Róise says defiantly. "I yell when I get angry."

"And hit desks."

"I was making a point."

"Next time, do it without hurting yourself."

"Gladly." She sighs, seemingly calmer. "I don't need Allessio and Zoey following me around."

"I disagree. Your actions in Portland made it unquestionably necessary. If your bodyguards were adequate to the task, you would not have been in the club that night. The fact you stayed in my room until the wee hours only proves my point."

She waves away my logical and legitimate concern with a flick of her wrist. "It's not like I'm going to do that again."

She'd better not, but I'm smart enough to keep those words in my head. Róise Shaughnessy has a fiery temper and is as likely to do the opposite of what I tell her just to prove that she can.

She sits down in the chair furthest from my desk, and furthest from me. "I don't want your bodyguards."

Irked at her obvious rejection, I say, "I don't want to deal with a child-bride prancing around in a pink bralette either, but here we are."

Hurt flickers in her eyes, but she tries to mask it with belligerence. "Leave my clothes out of it. Plenty of women older than me dress like this."

"Not in my world."

"Well, in your world, or out of it, I'm not a child. I'm twenty years old."

"Start acting like it." I shove down the guilt hurting her feelings causes. Neither of us can afford for her to act her age.

She's going to be the wife of an underboss.

"Just because I don't act like an emotionless toad doesn't mean I'm acting like a child. I have feelings and I'm not afraid to acknowledge them."

"That might work with your college friends, living in your protected student bubble, but if you wear your emotions on your sleeve around the mafia, you'll be eaten alive."

"I know when to hide my feelings," she claims.

"Really? Because so far I haven't seen you do it." And part of me hates that she has to change to fit in my world.

Brogan should have taught her this, damn it. He knew she would marry into syndicate leadership one day. He's the one that suggested a marriage based alliance with his niece as the bride.

He's probably been planning it since her father died.

Róise pulls the ice away from her hand and gingerly shakes it, wincing before she wraps her fingers around the icepack again. "You're such a jerk."

"Most people would call me an asshole." Though not to my face. "I'm not removing my guards from your detail."

"You have to." This time the soft, begging eyes are fixed on me. "Before today no one at my college knew there was anything different about me." She gives a disconsolate shrug. "Not even the administration is aware I'm connected to the Shaughnessy mob."

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