Page 15 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

“You didn’t just show up to talk to him,” she said.

“I don’t usually,” I said, and that made something flicker in her eyes, immediate anger rising.

“What does that mean?”

“Maeve, stop.” She didn’t look at Patrick; she was too focused on me.

“What is this?” she demanded. “Intimidation? Because I swear—”

“You’re mistaken,” I said, and that stopped her for half a beat. “You should ask your father.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is.”

She looked at Patrick, slower this time, reading him properly now, and he didn’t meet her eyes for long, which told her enough. Her expression changed as understanding formed in pieces. Maeve stepped closer to him.

“Dad,” she said, quieter now, “what’s going on?”

Patrick looked at her like he was deciding how much truth she could carry. Maeve’s patience snapped before he could speak.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “And don’t tell me nothing, because you look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

Patrick dragged a hand over his face. “Told you already,” he muttered. “It’s handled.”

Maeve stared at him like pressure alone could force the truth out. “You’ve been weird for weeks. Tell me the truth: is this the fucker who’s been scaring you?”

Patrick’s jaw tightened. “You’re imagining things.”

“That’s bullshit.” The word hit the air harder than anything else so far, and Maeve’s breathing changed, faster now,anger first, always anger first, before her head turned slowly back to me. “What did you say to him?”

I held her stare without answering immediately, because silence works better than explanations when people are already close to breaking.

“What?” she snapped. “You suddenly forget how to talk?”

Patrick tried again. “Maeve—”

“No.” Still looking at me. “Because every time he shows up, something goes wrong.”

Patrick swallowed, his voice coming out rough. “What do you want from me?”

That question landed heavier than the rest. I looked at him for a moment, then back at her, and she was still confused as fuck. “You can’t repay what’s owed. No amount you have can fix what you did.”

Color drained from his face as he realized I was going for the kill. “Sean…” he said, like a warning or a plea, but too late for both. My attention shifted to Maeve, not with interest in the way men usually look at women, but in a way that made her feel it immediately.

Her expression changed, anger turning into uncertainty, trying not to become fear. I let the silence sit for a beat longer than necessary. Then I said it.

“There’s another way to settle this, and keep you both protected from people who come to collect your old debts.”

Patrick stopped breathing. Maeve’s eyes darted between us.

I didn’t change my tone. “Your daughter will marry me.”

The words landed in the cold air like a missile. Patrick went rigid and Maeve froze, and for the first time since I met her there was no defiance in her eyes, only shock.

CHAPTER FIVE

Maeve