Page 1 of The One Night Match
ONE
RILEY
Idon’t think I’m telling you anything you don’t already know by saying that being the middle child sucks.
The oldest is usually considered the smartest, the more nurturing, and the most mature.
The youngest is the baby. They get spoiled, even if they’re kind of an asshole, and they always get their way.
And that just leaves me in the middle.
At twenty-four, I’m single, much to my parents’ chagrin, I never plan on having kids of my own, and worst of all, I have no interest in the family business.
Now, I’m sure you’re thinking, but Riley, why wouldn’t you want to be a lawyer, doctor, or accountant?
But no. That’s not the kind of thing my family is involved in.
Nope. That would have been way too easy, even with the whole middle-child thing.
My father is an underboss in the Mafia, and my mother is the perfect Mafia wife.
Both of my sisters showed an interest in the family business from a young age, whereas I couldn’t give a single fuck about any of it.
Guns, murder, and drugs? Hard pass from me, thank you very much.
But the thing is, when you’re born into a Mafia family, you don’t get a choice in the matter.
There’s no escaping the expectations you’re born with.
Which brings me to today.
After a long day of moving from my bright little apartment in San Francisco, all the way to cold and rainy Seattle, I’m exhausted and ready for my own bed.
The kicker? I’ll never sleep in my own bed again. Because tomorrow, I meet my new husband.
At the altar.
Uh. Every time I think too hard about all this, I’m reminded of how batshit crazy my life is. And not in a good way.
My belongings are being taken straight to his home, leaving me with just a small suitcase for my last night as a single woman.
Mom and my sisters are meeting me at the church tomorrow to get ready, and I’m both comforted and annoyed by that.
I never wanted this.
Both of my sisters are single. Why couldn’t one of them marry the head of the Seattle Mafia?
They’ve accepted this life. I’d even go as far as to say they thrive in it.
But maybe that’s why Dad chose me to test the Mafia Matchmaker service.
Because I never fell in line. I rebelled. I wanted more for myself.
And this is their way of taking me down a peg.
I eye the profile sitting on the bed, mocking me.
I’ve been avoiding reading it. I don’t really care what any matchmaker says. There’s no way this guy is a compatible match.
