Page 4 of Iron Bride

“I hardly know what you’ve been up to out there in Harvard.” Which was bullshit. I had our Murphy cousins in Boston looking into her. I had weekly reports on her security, her grades, her habits…

But Randa had opened the door to new information—that my bride came home too quickly. What coup was my lovely Italian prisoner trying to plot?

I stared at the ice queen, who did everything to avoid my gaze. No matter, it meant I could observe her more freely.

Her gray eyes and her pale, snowy skin contrasted against her dark walnut hair. Her stark white dress matched her skin perfectly, except for the slight pink on her cheeks. I stared harder, looking at the blush beneath the layer of makeup. It must be positively red beneath all the war paint. Was she blushing? Maybe she was fevered.

How like a Durante to come to a wedding sick and contaminate us all. I didn’t think that the Mafia would resort to biologicalwarfare, but the clever girl at my side would do anything to subvert my family.

I was surprised she didn’t run from me screaming, just to humiliate the Green family.

But she’d played her part. She was stiff and robotic, bordering on malicious compliance. But it was compliance, nonetheless.

The vows were unremarkable. I hadn’t even brought my blade.

Why would I? Handfasting, and blood vows, were done for love. There was none of that here. We hadn’t written our own vows but parroted what the bishop said, and let that be the end of it.

We didn’t even hold hands as we walked down the aisle. Instead, she strode on, the bouquet of lilies in her fist facing down, like sad little funeral bells. She dumped it on a decorative end table before we walked into the reception hall.

“Quite a romantic, your bride,” Randa teased with a smirk.

“Oh, shut up,” I grumbled as I followed my wife to the grand staircase where the obligatory photos would be taken.

She and I stood at the bottom, her white, muslin, and crystal dress draped long beside her as we stood, side by side, with my family behind us, and her mother hovering like a devil on her shoulder.

“Mi perdoni,” her mother wept, holding my bride’s face in her hands. “Mi perdoni, bella.”

What the hell was she apologizing for?

I rolled my eyes, grabbing my wife around her waist.

“Least we can do is look the part,” I muttered into my wife’s ear. “Look at least a little pleased on your wedding day, Mrs. Green.”

She practically snarled at me. It was adorable. Like a kitten showing its claws after I’d irritated it for too long.

“Smile,” I said with a wink, as I looked up to the camera that clicked and flashed its lights.

Oh, she didn’t smile. I was certain of it. I just didn’t care.

I was finding this whole thing quite delightful.

As soon as we were done sucking in the parts that needed sucking in, standing like statues for the society paparazzi, Giovanna left my side and fast-walked into the grand reception hall.

“Be gentle with her.” My mother came over and played with my lapels, smoothing my tie, which didn’t need to be smoothed. “This is hard for them.”

“You’re too soft on the Durantes.” I spoke to my mum, but I stared at my father over her shoulder. “They’ve been given too much leeway over the years.”

In what fucking world did it make sense to kowtow to your enemy?

“She’s a Green now, lad.” My father, who made me in his image in every possible way, glared at me. “And under your protection.”

Eoghan Green, once the most vicious man in New York City, had been softened by my mother. And this was the price.

This wedding made peace with the Durantes when he should have slaughtered them all—my bride included.

History teaches one lesson—that peace only comes with total war. Burn your enemies down, and when they are nothing but ash, bury them in salted earth so that they can never re-emerge.

But my father was a romantic.

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