Page 5 of Forced Mafia Bride
The shower was quick. I didn’t hesitate to grab a plain black turtleneck gown from the wardrobe before dashing to the dresser to blow-dry my hair. I held it up in a braided ponytail, slid on my favorite pair of black flip-flops, and hurried down thesteps of the twin staircase, passing the grand foyer to the living room.
Her five-nine slender figure stood by the black tuxedo couch, her hands clasped behind her back and legs slightly spread apart. Hannah always looked smart and ready for action in shiny black suits, straight dress pants, and boots. When she turned twenty-two, weaccidentallygot drunk in my room on her birthday, and I’d dared her to cut her long brown hair. She grinned evilly, snatched scissors from a drawer, and snipped her silken hair to a short bob.
Now, she looked like a younger version of Rita inBad Boys.
I tiptoed to stand beside her, ignoring how, on the outside, she appeared masculine but always wore a feminine scent.
She jerked her head to the side and ran a cursory glance from the hem of my gown brushing my ankles to the sleeves that met the rose-gold knuckle rings on my fingers. Her eyes, dark and vigilant, held many secrets, and I always joked that it made her look ten years wiser than her age.
The corner of her lips made the smallest tug to the side, and mirth danced in her eyes when she whispered, “Why do you look like a mourning widow?”
I shifted my attention to themanin the room, seated cross-legged on the center couch. His hand was strewn over the rim, and his eyes were buried in his phone as he typed away. I tried not to laugh.
“Because I’m mourning?”
She blinked, a subtle signal that she stifled a scoff, and rolled her eyes. No one wanted to upset the man on the couch with even a tiny sound that could trigger his wrath.
“We both know you’re not.”
She was right; I was not.
It had been exactly one week, one week since Doctor Keegan walked out of Sean’s room and pronounced him dead. Everyone’s face had fallen except mine.
They cried, and I cried.
I cried tears of partial relief.
The black clothes and shoes and no makeup were for formalities and false respect and nothing else. I should have felt bad or guilty even, but numbness robbed me of every other emotion. Indifference clouded every possibility to feel empathy. And I was glad Sean Gallagher lay in the cold hands of death.
“So, why are we here?”
My whispered question was directed to Hannah, but the man in the room chose that moment to look away from his phone. He tucked the sleek device into the pocket of his jacket and glared at me with hard blue eyes.
Like us and probably the rest of the household, he wore black—expensive black that was a sharp contrast to his pale skin and ginger hair.
“I called Hannah here to accompany you. I’ve already transferred a lot of money to your account.”
I frowned, detesting the cold look in his eyes even more. “What are you talking about? What money, and what for?”
His nose made an irritating twitch when he rose from the couch and walked closer to me, his steps as menacing as his demeanor. He tugged on the button of his jacket, another irritating habit of his. Like he was some man of importance with a busy schedule and no time to waste.
“She’s taking you shopping.”
I turned to look at Hannah and felt my heart drop when her face fell.
“Select a nice wedding dress and shoes,” he said. “That’s the only thing you get to decide here, filth. Don’t try anything stupid; else, I won’t hesitate to put you in your place.”
The man in the room was my half-brother, the only surviving one. I hated him for many reasons, the most recent one being this abomination called an arranged marriage to Tristan Gomez.
He represented everything I didn’t want in a man, an upgraded version of the Gallagher brothers, a role model for all despicable men.
We’d met at one of Ronan’s many business events months ago, and that was the first time I’d ever met the fifty-nine-year-old. He’d smiled at me with a disgusting, lustful gaze that almost propelled me to fling my drink on his face and visited Ronan the next day to discusssomethingbehindclosed doors.
Twenty-four hours later, Ronan announced the marriage deal between the Mexican and me. It was business. I was the sacrifice mybrotherwas willing to slaughter to keep his head afloat. Everyone knew that the monster killed his wife, but Ronan did not care if I was going to be the next victim.
The frown on my lips grew thinner when I remembered all the torture I forced myself to endure while growing up in this house without Father and my current reality now, where I stood before a man who was prepared to destroy my life.
I hadn’t realized I was clutching a fistful of my gown with a death grip until Hannah lightly touched my wrist. I let go and forced myself to swallow the stinging tears.