Page 67 of Forced Vows

Shaughnessy arrives in a rush with his son-in-law before I can say more, both of them blocking the tableau from the rest of the room. "Put that knife away. That's her grandfather."

"Nothing to add?" I ask the finally silent old man.

"She's not worth making an enemy of me."

"She has a name," Róise says with a verbal eyeroll.

"It's Róise," I remind him helpfully. "Say it."

"She should have been called Rachel as I told her mother, not that heathen, foreign name."

Shaughnessy doesn't look offended, just resigned.

I raise my brows to him. "You let him talk like that?"

Róise is an Irish name and the asshole kissing my blade with his neck just equated it to being a heathen.

"Brother Gabriel is set in his ways. He doesn't mean anything by it."

"Bullshit. There's nothing wrong with Róise's name." It fits her even better than Aphrodite.

Being considered a heathen by this man is not exactly an insult, but if he said that about me, I'd cut out his tongue.

From what I know of the Armor of God, they consider anyone outside their insular cult to be damned.

I'm not a practicing Catholic. Religion is not my thing. I've seen too much to believe in a benevolent God watching over this world, but my mother is devout.

"Call her a heathen and maybe I'll set your tongue on fire before I cut it out."

"Miceli?" Sev moves to stand to my left, in perfect position to hinder the Irish mobsters.

"I am doing my best to save this man's life," I say righteously.

Sev nods. He turns cold eyes on Gabriel Lion. "You laid hands on one of ours."

"She's not yours," Lion rejects in a loud voice.

"You're not very good at playing polite guest, are you?" The desire to spill this man's blood grows.

"What did you think it meant when Miceli hosted her birthday party?" my brother asks.

"She is the fruit of my loins," the old man claims. "No boyfriend has more claim to her than me."

He's the second man in five minutes to deny the permanency of my claim on Róise and it pisses me off.

He's either incredibly stupid or stupidly arrogant.

"Remove your knife from my throat, boy."

Okay, so both.

"If you insist." My tone warns Sev, but everyone else relaxes.

Except Róise. She tenses, her eyes pleading with me. She believed me when I said I would damage or kill any man who touched her.

Depending on the depth of the offense. And my mood.

It's her birthday. Killing someone at her party would probably ruin it for her.

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