Page 122 of Vows and Vendettas

Lola is too soft for him.

“And Aidan?” Her brother, one of our hired guns, has been a thorn in Connor’s side since he stepped foot on the estate all those years ago, begging for help. He may be a good shot, but I don’t trust the man.

“I don’t give a fuck about that boy.” Connor sneers. He twists to look at me. “She’ll come around.” He says more to himself, then joins me in looking over the gardens. “The ceremony will take place here, and you’ll keep your anger in check.” With those parting words, he walks away and leaves me to stare out the window.

Cara Murphy, soon to be my wife.

I’d rather swallow a bullet.

CHAPTER TWO

CARA

“Every time you speak, I like you less.” I shake with anger as I walk away from my sister. Shay follows me, charging into my room and crossing her arms.

“Why the dramatics? We knew this was coming. Our father could have set you up with a Volkov, or worse, Benito Bianco.” I shudder, remembering how sleazy Benito was when he visited. He didn’t know who we were. Father has always kept us hidden, and in plain sight no less. Most think we are maids. Their ignorance makes for loose lips, and that's just how our father prefers it.

“He’s not even the head of the syndicate.” Marrying Ronan Michaels is a blessing in disguise, but something about being sold off to the second to a mafia head makes me feel less. Not good enough for the top dog.

A mere afterthought. Shame prickles the back of my neck and settles heavily on my tongue, making me feel sick. I’m not good enough. I know it; my family knows it. I’m damaged goods.

I may not be as beautiful as Gabriela Reyes, but Connor is leaving her. When my father pulled me aside to inform me of my upcoming marriage, I assumed it was to Connor.

But apparently, he doesn’t want his own wife, let alone me.

“That's a good thing, Cara. You’ll be safer this way. Here, I found an image online. It's a bit grainy, but you could do far worse.” Shay lies down on the bed and thumbs through her phone.

“I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to get married to a man I've never met!” I drop next to my sister, our flaming hair fusing together as I cuddle into her on the bed. There’s one year between us. One year. That's why it’s me and not her. I’m battling a mix of emotions. Anger, resentment, fear, relief. If I've sacrificed for the family, it’s less likely she must. Hopefully, this way, Shay is safe from the hell of an arranged marriage, and if not… Dread drains the colour from my already pale skin. Twisting, I look at her sweet face. I won’t be here to protect her, and that's what scares me the most. I will be too far away. Our only aim in life is to marry high and strengthen ties between the families. Make our parents proud.

Apparently, Ronan Michaels is as high as their aspirations reach for me.

Her hand reaches for mine and our fingers twine together. A matching mole on our thumbs sits starkly against our ashy skin. She runs her thumb along mine. “Mole kiss,” Shay whispers as tears seep from my eyes. She pulls me in, sighing, as I sob into her hair.

“He might be nice,” she coaxes gently.

“No male within the vicinity of mafia life is nice, Shay.”

“So don’t be nice back.” Her shoulder knocks my head as she shrugs. “He is probably just as pissed off about it as you are.”

“Oh gee, thanks!” I bolt up, heading to the bathroom.

I’m being a brat.

Behind the safety of my room, I get to have a tantrum. I get to cry. But when I cross the threshold of my bedroom door or Ireland's craggy shoreline, I don’t get to be vulnerable.

Cara Murphy will cease to exist, and Cara Michaels will be born.

I don’t know who that woman is, but I doubt I will like her or the man she is marrying.

Our traditions may be similar, but the Brayfords are unlike any other.

Rumour has it Connor shot his wife when she refused to leave.

“Cara!” Shay knocks on the door. “I didn’t mean it like that! You’re a fucking force. He is going to be thrilled when he meets you. But like you, he is probably unsure about the whol—”

I swing the door open, too panicked to keep myself locked behind the door. Ireland is all I have ever known—this compound, my sister, is all I know.

In less than forty-eight hours, I will walk down an aisle towards a man I don’t know. A future I don’t want.

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