Page 27 of Iron Bride

Everything was a lie.

It hurt that there was hope. An insipid hope that I could have a marriage that resembled something that looked like happiness. True happiness was out of reach. But I had thought for a fleeting moment that maybe something less than complete despair would be in my future.

I didn’t feel pain for a few days and falling back into the status quo just…hurt.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please…”

I don’t know who I was begging. My husband? Not likely.

For Marco to not leave me? Maybe.

Or maybe I was begging for my father’s strength. The strength where he looked his own death in the eye and stood tall.

No, that wasn’t right. Maybe I was just begging for my hands to not be soaked in blood.

“Gia,” Marco said, his deep brown eyes ready for death. I saw it in their indifference to the pain that must have wracked his entire being. “Vendetta is an Italian word. But not all of our blood is the same.”

“Marco?”

“There are some who think that they can step into the Durantes’ shoes, if they can break all ties to the Irish. They want to go back into the past.” Marco dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I tried to protect you, but… but…”

He let out a long breath. And the last of his resolve left his body.

“I am a dead man, so what does it matter?” Marco chuckled, and it was the most heartbreaking sound I had ever heard. “Elijah Morelli thinks that he can take the shoes of Eugenio Durante. He wants to rebuild the Italians under his rule and go back to the Mafia wars. It was his men that plunged the knife in you.”

The ache in my ribs from the reminder burned fiery hot.

“He was threatening my sister,” Marco confessed. “Forgive me, Gia. That’s why I wasn’t there. I wasn’t supposed to find you. Iwas supposed to stay away, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let them... do that to you. I love you,bella.”

A rumbling growl sent a shiver through me, and my eyes turned to my husband, whose teeth bared, ready to strike his venom.

“Forgive me.” Marco’s heartbreaking laugh of defeat echoed off the walls. “I’m sorry. Your family was always good to us. Forgive me.”

“I forgive you!” And I meant it with every fiber of my being.

But if my husband was jealous, then maybe… jealousy was a sign of passion. And passion was a symptom of… love?

“Please, Cillian,” I whispered, unsure why I thought begging would help. It hadn’t this far.

I knew you could not beg a Green for mercy. But I wasn’t begging a Green. I was beggingmy husband.He said that meant something.

“Please,” I dipped my palms in the blood, then held them up. “Please, he has spilled enough blood. Please.”

Cillian looked at my hands, and then my face, then back again.

“Please, Husband,” I whispered again. “I am begging you. Let him go. He’s one of the few people I have.”

I would crawl on my hands and knees if he told me to. I’d kiss his feet. I’d do anything to save Marco’s life.

Cillian shut his eyes and looked away. His expression was unmistakable.

It was shame. He was ashamed of me.

But I was beyond pride.

Then the look of disgust crossed his features, and I knew I had lost. That I was nothing.

“No one harms a Green without consequences,” he said.

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