Page 66 of Forced Vows

He wanted Catalina from the beginning. I've questioned very few decisions my brother has made as don. The one to marry Catalina's younger sister?

Everyone but Sev knew that was a disaster waiting to happen.

"How would you know? You've spent no time with her since we formalized the alliance." There's nothing but censure in my brother's tone now.

"I've been busy." And she's not answering my calls.

But I'm not telling Sev that. I'm not some pathetic loser who can't keep a twenty-one-year-old in check. I've just been too busy to explain to her in person that her behavior is unacceptable.

Because your last explanation went over so well, she stormed off the dance floor. And the one before that ended up with her blocking your number.

Róise two. Miceli zero.

"Stop running, brother. You agreed to this alliance."

"I'm not the one who's running."

"Since when do you let your prey get away?" He lays a hand on my shoulder. "Listen brother, if you don't want this, I can find someone else, but you need to make that decision now."

"The fuck you are. The contracts are already signed and it's my blood on them," I grind out.

An older man grabs Róise's arm as she tries to go past him. I don't recognize him. He must have arrived after we stopped greeting guests at the elevator.

She makes a motion with her shoulder, wincing when he doesn't let go. He hurt her.

The last filament of thread holding my temper snaps.

It takes me seconds to get through the crowd, my knife in my hand when I reach them.

I press it against his neck under the guise of putting my arm around his shoulder. "Let her go."

Róise's eyes widen, but the relief there makes me press the blade into Gabriel Lion's neck. I keep my knives sharp. It would only take a little more exertion to cut right through to his carotid artery.

Her estranged grandfather's quick inhale tells me he knows it too.

I didn't recognize him from the back because I've only seen his picture, but there's no question who is stupid enough to lay hands on what is mine.

"Lean forward and you'll slit your own neck," I tell him conversationally.

He releases the birthday girl.

My knife stays right where it is. "Róise, tell him what I said would happen to anyone who touches you."

She closes her eyes, takes a breath, and lets it out before opening them again. The calm I see there surprises and impresses me.

"He's family."

"He's not my family," I deny.

"He's my grandfather." She sighs. "Maybe put the knife away before someone posts a picture of my boyfriend threatening my grandfather to their Instagram."

"Our guests know better." And for those who don't? There's a jammer blocking all cell phones and other devices while we are here.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here, girl," Gabriel Lion, so called prophet and leader of the Armor of God militia, says dismissively. "Young man, you don't want to threaten me."

I lean down so he can't miss my next words. "I don't make idle threats. Grandfather, or not, if you touch Róise again, I will slit your throat after I cut off the offending hand."

Lion should appreciate the Biblical justice of that.

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