Page 13 of Irish Brute
But I hear the explosion of Don Antonio’s gun as he murders my cousin. And then I feel Braiden’s fingers on my biceps as he forces me out of the Revenue Department lobby and into the snow. The grip of his hand as he holds my hair while I puke. The steel of his arms as he carries me to his car, steady and strong in the snow.
“You make it sound so simple,” I say. “Like Don Antonio isn’t the deadliest mobster in Philadelphia?—”
“He isn’t.”
Braiden says the two words, flat and simple. He’s not boasting. He’s merely stating the truth. He’s more ruthless than the man who haunted my childhood, than the animal who murdered my cousin. I shy away from exploring just how badly I want him to be right.
You’re mine.
I became Samantha Mott to live my own life. To set my own rules. To be the woman I want to be, whenever, wherever, however I want to live.
Braiden juts his chin toward the ring I’m wearing on my left hand. I really look at it for the first time. It’s gold. Heavy for its size. And the Celtic knot incised in its surface looks like an ancient promise.
“It’s yours, if you’re willing.”
That’s hardly the proposal every little girl dreams of. “Why would you possibly do this?” I ask.
“I have my reasons.”
“That’s not enough.”
He looks surprised, like no one ever tells him he’s falling short.
Intellectually, I know he’s a ruthless criminal, the leader of a gang that does terrible things. But I also know Braiden Kelly is a billionaire client at the freeport. He maintains a private gallery, storing away his wealth. He bids on pretty paintings at auctions. He attends formal dinner parties, making casual conversation about the weather.
He’s a man. Not a monster.
And as a man, he accepts my challenge. “I won’t lie. I’ve spent the last two and a half years sparring with the East Falls Crew, and I want to hit Russo any way I can. The harder the better. He doesn’t deserve to walk the streets of my hometown. But more than that—you and I both know what he’ll do to you, if you becomehiswife.”
His. Braiden puts the emphasis on that word, on possession.
He’s right. We do both know. Even if Don Antonio doesn’t kill me, he’ll hurt me. Badly. I won’t be able to play his perfect wife. I’ll slip up—say something, do something—and he’ll destroy me just like he murdered Eliza.
But is Braiden any different? Both men are criminals. They break half a dozen laws before breakfast. They thrive in the hyper-masculine world they rule.
Braiden held my hair. He fed me. He went to my room when I told him to go.
And then he squared off against Don Antonio, taking possession of me like I’m a toy he can play with till I break.
I’m a lawyer. I’m paid a generous salary to weigh options and make recommendations to my clients, applying a system so simple I learned it my first week at Lowood.
IRAC: Issue. Rules. Analysis. Conclusion.
Issue: Don Antonio demands to marry me.
Rules: Don Antonio always gets whatever he wants.
Analysis: If I marry Don Antonio, I’ll become a slave in his house, the same way Eliza lived for years. I’ll be subject to a madman’s temper, to a known murderer’s rage. And that fury is likely to be worse than ever, because Eliza shamed Antonio. He’ll have to solidify his standing, and he’ll use me to do it.
Braiden Kelly has offered to protect me by marrying me. I barely know Braiden. I have files in my office about his business dealings, and I have a general familiarity with the workings of the Fishtown Boys. I know he can be brutal; he’s the Captain of the Irish Mob.
But I’ve seen hints of something more. Something different. Something safer. Something sane.
Conclusion: If I marry Braiden, I’m safe from Don Antonio.
I test the verdict in my mind. It’s flimsy. Uncertain. But it’s a hell of a lot better than what I’ll get with the Mafia don.
Before I commit, though, I have some questions.
