Page 9 of Bad Little Bride

My mouth opens, closes, and opens again, yet still nothing comes out. Not even when he pushes to his feet. I watch silently as he drains what’s left in his mug and wipes his mouth witha cloth, his long fingers now moving across the buttons of his dress shirt.

“That was your declaration of consent, by the way,” he finally offers, his attention on his waist as he tucks his top into his charcoal-colored slacks. “The marriage license you signed before you tried to leave me will be filed by nightfall.” He slides his jacket on as he walks to the door opposite of the one I entered through, pausing with one hand pressed to the heavy wood. His eyes finding mine. “By this time tomorrow, Boston Revenaw will cease to exist.”

Wait.

What?

Chapter

Three

Boston

I’ve been staringat the door Enzo stormed out of for no less than five minutes, trying to work out the weird-ass breakfast we just shared. Despite being contractually engaged months ago, this was officially the longest conversation we’ve ever had, which is so fucking weird in itself.

Declaration of consent?

I’ll cease to exist?

What the hell does that even mean?

Obviously, he’s just trying to rile me up and assert dominance as if I didn’t already know I’m the meat tossed into the lion’s den, but that doesn’t explain why he would overlook my leaving him at the altar, so to speak.

Is it some sort of pride thing, he agreed so he’ll keep his word regardless? I agreed so he’ll force me to keep mine on principle? Is he on the brink of a turf war and in need of what my father can offer? Did he finally realize my sister was spoken for and the trade-up wasn’t a possibility?

Fuck, I need to find a way to call her, see what hell was unleashed after I ran, and how I ended up right back in this giant, desolate mansion.

At the thought of speaking to Rocklin, an excited energy rolls through me, but I don’t show it as I follow an elderly man in a light gray uniform toward the foyer. It’s pathetic, really, but also not. This will be my first time out of the house in a week, and even though I don’t know where this driver is taking me, my chances of being able to speak to my sister are at least higher than they are while locked in this fortress.

Plus, I’m bored and I can’t possibly dance any more than I already have without causing a major issue for my back, so yeah, I’m thrilled to see the sun today.

I used to spend my free time rehearsing or composing, outside of my mandated training sessions on Greyson grounds. Only when my body was spent with exhaustion and my back completely at odds with me did I stop, soaking in the luxury of lavender and chamomile with a book and a glass of wine.

My sister used to tease me, saying I was two people in one, a princess with an old soul, but she was wrong. I don’t live multiple personas, picking and choosing between the two. I’m simply multi-faceted, and in our world, that’s not exactly a good thing.

As the daughters of the Don, the leader of the criminal underground district of the north we were born into, we were expected to be many things, but it all led to the same thing: perfection.

For my twin, it was even more than that.

Of the two of us, Rocklin was chosen to represent the union between the power families as the daughter of the northern district—alongside three others, the heiresses to the south, west, and of course the east—whom has yet to show her face to theworld. The heiresses of the founding families, known as the girls of Greyson.

I was the leftover heir, thelesserof Rayo Revenaw’s kin.

I was as perfect as they painted me—hair never out of place, makeup forever fresh—but that was only the surface.

My sister embodies what a mafia princess is meant to be, according to my father.

She’s fierce, bold, and beautiful every minute of the day.

I’m…different.

I’m not weak and I’m not ugly. I’m aware of that—she and I share a face, after all—but I don’t shoot for sport and haven’t memorized every law book in existence. Where Rocklin is the picture of poise in situations that call for it, I am not.

She can smile in shitty circumstances, planning all the ways she’ll take you down in her head, where I’m more along the lines oftake you down with a bottle to your head.

Which is why she was coveted, and I was the pain in the ass.

The daughter who didn’t listen, would rather dance in pointe shoes and read fiction than rule the world one scheme at a time. The rogue Revenaw I’ve heard people call me, all because I made no point of hiding my displeasure for the rules a daughter in this world is supposed to follow.

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