Page 61 of Twisted Obsession

I don’t know why, but I’m struggling.

And I’m lying to myself.

Idoknow why. It’s because Dominic has been largely absent this past couple of weeks while our rushed marriage is being expedited. He hasn’t been involved in any of the wedding arrangements, which in my mind speaks volumes. He didn’t even take me to the follow up appointment the doctor insisted on after my collapse, even though he’s been to every other one. His obvious reluctance and the way he’s distanced himself hurts.

How is it that everything seemed better, easier, when we were sneaking around? Now suddenly, it feels like we’re two strangers who are getting married. It doesn’t matter that we already made a baby together, this really does feel like a true arranged marriage between grudging parties, and I don’t know how to make it better. I just know I don’t want to start off our marriage this way.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. My hand instinctively moves to my belly, caressing the slight swell that'sbarely visible beneath the flowing fabric. This baby, our baby, is the real reason we're here. It should be enough, shouldn't it?

But as I stare at my reflection, doubt creeps in like a shadow. I wonder if Dominic feels the same way—trapped, overwhelmed, unsure. Is that why he's been so distant? Or is it something else entirely? Another woman, perhaps. Someone he’s had to leave behind because of me.

Or maybe he hasn’t left her behind.

Maybe he’s with her right now, reassuring her that the marital obligation he’s committed to means nothing.

A soft knock on the door startles me from my increasingly dark thoughts. "Come in," I call out, expecting my mother or the seamstress who’s gone to fetch the train since this is my final fitting.

Tomorrow is the big day.

Instead, it's Mika who peeks his head in. His eyes widen as he takes in my appearance. "Roisin," he murmurs. "You look beautiful."

I manage a weak smile. "Thank you."

Stepping into the room, the underboss of the Mafia family I’m marrying into closes the door behind him. There's a hesitancy in his movements that makes me tense. "Is everything alright?" I ask, my mind immediately going to the likelihood that Dominic has decided to pull out.

It’s unlikely my brothers will kill him now, after all. They’d have to catch him again, first.

Mika purses his lips, seeming to debate with himself before speaking. "I wanted to talk to you about Dominic."

My heart clenches painfully. "What about him?"

He takes a deep breath. "I know you two haven't had much time together lately and I can tell it's bothering you."

I turn away, pretending to adjust my dress. "It's fine. We're both busy with preparations."

Well, I am.

"Roisin," he says gently. "It's okay to admit you're struggling. I know this isn't exactly a normal situation and I’m sorry if you feel forced into it."

The words hit home, and I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. "I just... I feel like I barely know him," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. "And now we're getting married and having a baby, and it's all happening so fast."

Mika steps closer, placing a comforting hand on my arm. "I know my cousin can be... difficult to read sometimes. But I want you to know, he cares about you. More than he lets on."

I look at the heir of La Cosa Nostra skeptically, barely able to comprehend that we’re having this conversation, that he’s so empathetic. That he even cares is kind of blowing my mind. "How can you be sure?"

He smiles. “I know,” he says cryptically. “And if you’ll permit me to have your email address, you’ll know too.”

My eyes widen at the odd request, but I can’t see anything wrong with giving it to him, so I rattle it off and watch him write itdown. I doubt it’s something he couldn’t find out on his own, anyway.

“Thank you,” he says with an enigmatic smile. “It’ll be okay, I promise.” And with that, he disappears as quickly as he arrived.

It’s that evening, when I’m finally alone after a day of last-minute preparations, that I eventually get a chance to check my inbox. And there it is, a message from an unrecognized address. I open it with shaking hands, not sure what to expect. Whatever I might have imagined is certainly not what I find.

I recognize one of the cells in the dungeon here at Ár n-áit immediately, and can’t help cringing. Then the video pans in on Dominic, bloody and beaten, tied to a chair, and I slam my eyes closed and cover my face with my hands. I can’t bear to look. It’s clear he’s preparing to die.

It’s his words that finally have me peering from between my fingers.

“…make sure you look after her. She gets the best care there is, you understand? And the baby, just fucking remember that child is innocent in all of this. You don’t treat it differently just because of who the father is.”

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