Page 43 of Stolen Mafia Vows
“Don’t say it.” She walks around the car and stands in front of me, gazing at me with those beautiful emerald-green eyes. “You told me you loved me. I’m wearing your gran’s ring.” There’s no panic in her voice; she’s simply trying to penetrate the fog consuming my brain.
“I…” I know what to say, but I hesitate nonetheless because sparing Emily will feel like cutting out my own heart.
It was a mistake. I got caught up in the moment. I lied when I said that I loved you.
But my tongue feels too big for my mouth, and I know that I’ll choke on the lies. I can’t hurt her like that. I asked her to trust me, and she did. Throwing it back in her face now when we’ve only been married for a few hours will be too cruel.
I can’t do it to her. I won’t do it.
Which leaves me with one option: protect her like I promised I would.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Emily is firm. If I wasn’t so lost inside my own head, I’d be proud of her. “I made my vows, and I’m standing by them. No matter what.”
She links her arm through mine and guides me towards the front door. I slot the key into the lock—I’m running on autopilot—and step inside the foyer. The door closes behind us throwing a shadow over our heads, locking us in with the gloom, but Emily is unfazed.
Gripping my arm firmly so that I know she isn’t letting me go, we follow the sound of The Cranberries through to the sound system in the kitchen where it’s warm and bright and filled with the aroma of roast beef.
Gran is sitting in her rocking chair in the conservatory with a book. She stops rocking, the chair jolting forward and almost propelling her onto the floor when she spots us.
She drops the book and comes through to the kitchen, eyes narrowed, trying to assess the situation before she speaks. “What happened?” Her shrewd eyes drop to the ring on Emily’s finger, then roam my body. “Is he hurt?”
She can deal with blood. Bullet wounds. Severed fingers. Gran has seen it all, and she is already formulating a plan to cope with whatever we throw at her.
“No.” Emily shakes her head. “He had some bad news.”
Ruairi is dead. It’s pretty fucking devastating news from where I’m standing, but then something taps on the inside of my skull, a reminder that Emily doesn’t know.
“Bad news?” Gran grips the back of one of the seats around the dining table, while her eyes bore into me.
But I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.
I’m not ready.
“He needs sugar.” Gran fills the kettle and switches it on. Keeping herself busy. “He’s had a shock.”
She places tea bags in three mugs while she waits for the kettle to boil, adds three heaped spoons of sugar to one of them, and fills them with steaming water.
“I’m taking him upstairs.” Emily doesn’t wait around.
Perhaps she understands that I’ll collapse under the weight of the phone call if I stand there any longer. Or perhaps she knows me better than Gran does.
This isn’t only about Ruairi.
This is about feeling the way I did when my mom died all over again.
In my room, she closes the door behind us, takes off my shoes and undresses me. She pulls back the duvet and waits for me to climb into bed. Then she removes her own clothes, climbs in beside me, and wraps her arms around me, pulling my head onto her chest.
It’s the last thing I remember before I close my eyes.
When I open my eyes, the window is streaked with rain, and the sky appears to be miserable, the clouds heavy with unshed tears. I’m lying on my front in bed with one arm slung across Emily. Her hair is fanned across the pillow, her cheeks rosy, her warm breath caressing my face.
She stirs, and I glimpse the ring on her finger.
The fog in my head has cleared. Enough, anyway, for me to understand that Emily is my priority. I will protect her or die trying because my brother’s death changes everything.
I never wanted to be the heir to my family’s empire. I was content to be the fixer-upper, the one who got things sorted before they became a problem, the one who made sure the wolves never caught our scent. Ruairi wanted it to hurt me more than it did because without it, he had nothing to torment me with.
He never got close enough to understand that all I wanted was affection. I wanted our father to look at me and acknowledge that he has two sons.
