Page 33 of Forbidden Vows

She gives me a hard look. “Yeah, I got that part. I got it when your father told me I wouldn’t be able to marry the man of my dreams because you screwed him first.”

“The man of your dreams?” I mutter. “What is it about him that makes him the man of your dreams, Ciara?”

“He’s a Karpov. He’s the head of the Bratva! He’s powerful and influential, rich beyond any girl’s wildest dreams. He’s gorgeous, and other women drool over him. Need I go on?”

“But what has he done to make you love him?”

“He chose me, not you. That’s what he did.”

“My God, Ciara, are you hearing yourself?” I ask and take another deep breath. “He didn’t choose you. My father offered your hand, and he accepted. You’re acting like I stole your goddamn high school sweetheart. I know it sucks, and I wish it had never happened. I wish I could have just kept the pregnancy secret just a little bit longer.”

“Why didn’t you? Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?”

I shake my head slowly. “Anton overheard me with the paramedics.”

“Bullshit. You did it on purpose,” she hisses. “I’ll tell you one thing, Eileen. We may be family, but I’ll never forgive you for this. I’m not interested in your Kuznetsov leftovers either. I wanted Anton. Well, you can have him. And I pray to God that your smug satisfaction turns to ashes in your mouth.”

“Trust me, there is no satisfaction here.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I hope you have a shitty life together.”

“You don’t mean that,” I reply, tears quick to sting my eyes.

She nods with furious passion. “Oh, I mean it. I’ll be civil out of respect for your father. But I will never let you take anything else that is rightfully mine, Eileen. Mark my words. You will pay for this.”

“Ciara–”

“I don’t want to hear anymore. I need to be alone,” she says, then opens the terrace doors and steps out. I can hear her cursing as she goes deeper into the garden, her voice gradually fading while my tears flow freely.

Shame burns in my chest.

There’s no coming back from this, that much is clear. And no matter how many times or how clearly I explain myself, Ciara will not see past the mistake. She’s the victim, and I’m the monster. Her own anger has poisoned her, and she’s displaying the fact that she was rarely told no in her life.

I find my father in his study, nursing a glass of scotch.

He looks paler than ever, his eyes bloodshot and his hand shaking as he sets the glass down on the desk.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” I tell him.

“Can you blame me?” he grumbles.

“Well, no, not really. But still, you shouldn’t. Have you seen your doctor lately?” I ask, as I take a seat in one of the guest chairs. “You should get yourself checked out, a full blood workup, and everything else in between.”

“Eileen, what do you want?” my father sighs heavily. “I’m tired and I really don’t want to talk about my dwindling health.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I’m getting old!” he snaps. “I’m getting old, and it sucks! I would’ve liked to have seen both of my daughters happily married and well taken care of by now, but no. You and Ciara had to make everything a thousand times harder than it needed to be.”

“It’s the twenty-first century, Dad! You don’t need to arrange marriages for your offspring anymore!” I reply, raising my voice. “My worth, Ciara’s worth, they’re not dependent on the men who marry us! You’re not breeding champion stock here!”

“You’re still Donovans, and this is still Chicago,” my father says. “The old rules still apply to you. Had you been born a Johnson somewhere in Detroit, I might’ve said, ‘Yeah, let the girl do whatever she wants with her life.’ But you’re not a Johnson. You’re a fucking Donovan, and so is Ciara, which means that you two get to carry my legacy forward, just like I carried it when it was my turn.”

“You speak as though we’re royals.”

“Weareroyals in this city, and we must follow tradition. It’s the only way for us to survive as a family and as a business.”

I give him a tired shrug. “What aboutmylife?Mydreams?Mybusiness? None of that matters as long as Ronan Donovan secures his financial empire, right? As long as the other mobsters of Chicago know that you rule over your turf with an iron fist. Because that’s what this is about, isn’t it? It’s about everybody else seeing how good and obedient your girls are.”

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