Page 89 of Stolen Mafia Vows
“Your husband has already signed his own death certificate, so don’t go getting any ideas about trying to save him. You’re too late.”
“Is he here? In New York?”
“You sound surprised, Emily. Didn’t you think he would try to find you?” She pauses, running her tongue across her top lip. “Oh, that’s right. He isn’t here to save you. He’s here to kill your brother.”
Olivia glides back upstairs, the dress swishing softly across the carpet, and she doesn’t look behind her.
Butterflies flit around inside my chest. Eoghan is here. I’m filled with excitement and anxiety and longing, but all these emotions seem to suffocate beneath a mental image of Eoghan out of context amongst the glass towers, and the noise, and the traffic fumes of New York City. He doesn’t belong here. He deserves the sea, and green fields so vibrant they make your eyes water, and country pubs with their log burners and pints of Guiness.
He lied to me though…
So, maybe he deserves everything that he’s going to get.
I wander back through the house to the pool to find Ilya, praying that he’s still there, clocking up the lengths while he burns off whatever pent-up energy he has going on inside.
My sore foot slows me down, giving me a chance to think.
“Oh, that’s right. He isn’t here to save you. He’s here to kill your brother.”
Something terrible must’ve happened to Olivia when she was younger, for her to get so much pleasure from making people hurt. But if this is the game she wants to play, she’ll soon realize that I’m a fast learner. She might’ve learned to recognize the early signs of pregnancy, but she’s too self-absorbed to understand that I’m not just fighting for me now. Heaven help anyone who tries to touch me now.
But specifically Olivia Dragonetti!
The woman rattles me every time she opens her mouth, and it’s about time someone stood up to her.
I don’t have a clear plan when I find Ilya dragging himself out of the pool, water clinging to his glistening skin as he helps himself to a cold beer from the refrigerator behind the bar. I’ve seen the hours my brothers work, often staying at the casino until the early hours of the morning and then heading back into the office while their clients are still sleeping off their losses-induced hangovers. And here are my abductors treating life like a paid vacation at everyone else’s expense.
Heaven help Ilya whatever-his-name-is too.
“Your plan isn’t going to work.”
I face him squarely, trying to keep my weight off my sore foot without swaying. I’ve learned enough from my brothers to know that appearance and self-confidence are half the battle. If I look unsteady, Ilya will simply laugh me off and dismiss me without a second thought.
He raises the beer to his lips and takes a long swig. “What plan would that be?”
Keep it together, I remind myself silently. If I’ve got Olivia’s intentions wrong, then he won’t listen to what I have to say, but if I’m right… The sleeping bear might be about to get its early alarm call.
“Saving my brother Caleb.”
His eyebrows form arrows pointing directly at the bridge of his nose. “Save him from what exactly?”
My heart is racing. “My husband.” I mimic Ilya’s expression of confusion. “That’s what you’re waiting for, isn’t it? You killed Ruairi Byrne and framed my brother knowing that Eoghan would have no choice but to seek revenge.”
I allow a note of uncertainty to sneak into my voice and chew my bottom lip while he watches me closely, puddles forming around his feet. Meryl Streep, eat your heart out.
“That’s why you and Olivia will be at thebig event.” I pause for dramatic effect, recalling everything I learned from drama club at high school. “Right place, right time. You both step in, save the day, and Olivia gets the Irish alliance she wants.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Emily.” His voice is cold; I’m already losing him.
I give an exaggerated shrug. “My mistake. I must’ve misheard Olivia inside when she showed me the dress she’s going to wear.”
For a moment, I think he might regurgitate his beer while he weighs up whether to believe me or not. “Why would she show you the dress?”
“It’s a woman thing.”
I don’t exactly have a social life to compare this to, even in college, and my friends and I mostly rocked up to studentevents in jeans and sneakers, but it sounds like something Olivia might do.
“Or I don’t know—” I wrinkle my nose “—perhaps she asked me because I’m Caleb’s sister.”
