Page 203 of SINS & Riley
Seamus doesn’t reach for it right away. “I watch television. People fake these things all the time.”
My neck cracks as I roll it. “I don’t fake things. Riley Mullvain is carrying my child. A D’Angelo. If you want war with the D’Angelos, by all means—follow her one more time.”
Silence ticks by as the two men eye each other wearily. Then, finally, Seamus opens the folder, and scans the report.
I know it gutted Riley when I asked for the paternity test. Hell, I half-expected her to knee me in the balls on the spot.
But she didn’t. Thank God. Because if Riley knew what I was planning to do today? Her blood pressure would’ve blown past the stratosphere.
And if the Keenans don’t kill me, Riley damn sure will.
Seamus sets the folder down like it’s a live grenade. His eyes stay on me, cold and unblinking. “Ever since Zver stepped into the picture, the D’Angelo alliances have been dwindling. Maybe war wouldn’t be so bad.”
Smoke tips his head, letting out a lazy breath. “Not sure how you count, Seamus, but you should check your math.” He twists the gold band on his finger, the Bratva inscription catching the light. “My wife is Russian. The Bratva will back our play.”
Next Enzo leans in. “Ask around. I’ve got a global network of alliances that don’t play nearly as nice as the Bratva.”
The Keenans don’t blink, but the weight in the room shifts, the air colder, heavier.
It takes a fucking eon, but Seamus finally exhales. “We acknowledge the child’s… birthright.” He flicks the folder back to me. “But we want a gesture of goodwill.”
“Deals are my specialty,” Enzo offers smoothly. “Name your price.”
“Not from you.” Seamus points, the finger landing on me. “From you.”
My jaw tightens. “What?”
“I have a daughter. Fiona.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. Christ, he better not be suggesting what I think he’s suggesting.
“There are only two types of alliances in our world,” he says flatly. “Blood. Or marriage.”
I scoff. “Really? Which of you married my uncle?”
He leans closer, eyes like flint. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, lad. I could give two shites about your uncle. But he’s holding Fiona as collateral. I need her rescued. And married to a family that will protect her.”
The chair creaks as I push back. “Is this a fucking joke? Riley and I are having a baby.”
“I don’t care how you handle it. You’ve got more balls than the parish on bingo night. And”—his lips curl—“no ring on her finger.”
I fold my arms, steady. “Not happening.”
Seamus’s grin is all rot. “Ya sure? Andre’s not the only one who knows what happened to your father.”
The words gut me. Air leaves my chest. My brain scrambles, clawing for an angle. Dillon. He’s single. Maybe—just maybe—if I can convince him…
“And don’t even try swapping that twin of yours.”
What the hell—mind reader now? “Why not Dillon?” I throw my hands wide. “He looks just like me, and he’s single.”
Seamus shrugs. “Fiona hates him.”
Of course she does. Most women he’s fucked and fled from do. Mr. Commitment Issues strikes again.
Fuck. If I do this—even on paper—I can’t marry Riley.
She’ll never forgive me. I know she won’t. And whatever trust I’ve built will be torched to ash.
