Page 19 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

That was true. I hated that it was. My eyes drifted to the window without meaning to, down to the construction site below, steel stretching across everything like it belonged to him more than the city. This was his world, and it made me feel smaller just looking at it.

“I’m here because my father is terrified of you,” I said.

“He should be wary of me,” he said quietly. “There’s a difference.”

Anger rose again, because I needed it. “I’m not marrying you because you ordered me to.”

“No,” he agreed, “you’re marrying me because you know I meant it when I said I’d protect him.”

Silence hit hard after that, and I looked away for a second before forcing myself to meet his gaze again. “If I do this…” My voice dropped. “My father walks away alive?”

His eyes didn’t move, but something behind them did, something that felt final, and I understood then that I’d already crossed a line.

The only question left was what it would cost me. Sean didn’t answer immediately, and I was starting to get used to that. He used silence like other men used threats, letting it sit until it made you start filling in the blanks yourself, until it made you snap.

I hated how well that silence worked on me. The office stayed quiet except for the sounds of construction outside. Sean just kept looking at me, not moving, not speaking, just watching, and it made me feel exposed in a way I didn’t like.

It felt like I was standing too close to someone who could see through me if I stayed still long enough.

I crossed my arms tighter. “You heard what I said?”

“I did.”

“Then say something.”

He stood up, and that alone changed the room. He was taller than I wanted him to be, closer now that he was standing. The coat, the shoulders, the way he filled the space without trying…my body reacted before my mind did, breath tightening, heartbeat picking up, and I stayed where I was even as I saw him notice the change.

Of course he did. His eyes dropped briefly to my hands, then came back to my face, and I hated that I was suddenly aware of everything about him.

“You want promises from me,” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

“No going after your father.”

“Yes.” I stopped, swallowed. “I want your word that he’ll be safe. Not just from you, but from anyone else who might come after him.”

He looked at me for a long time, then stepped forward, slow and deliberate. I felt my chest tighten as he came closer, and I hated that I didn’t move. Another step, then another, until the air between us changed and he stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

“You come in here,” he said, his voice low, “and ask me for favors, and you’re still fighting me while asking for my help.”

“I’m not asking,” I said. That almost got a reaction out of him.

“You came to me,” he said. My jaw tightened, and he let the silence sit again before answering properly. “If you marry me, your father will be safe.”

It hit harder than anything else he’d said because there was no space in it, no negotiation, no maybes, just certainty, like the outcome was already decided and I was being shown it instead of offered it. My chest felt tight. Marriage, my father, Sean…all of it pressed into the same small space, and I looked away for a second, trying to breathe through it.

When I looked back, he was still watching me, unmoved. Then he lifted his hand, and my body went still before I even understood why. His fingers touched my chin lightly, but the feeling was everywhere all at once anyway, and I froze.

Sean’s voice dropped lower. “So tell me, Maeve,” he said, his thumb still resting against my jaw, “are you sure you’re ready to do this?”

CHAPTER SIX

Sean

My penthouse had hosted senators, union leaders, men worth hundreds of millions, and killers who blended in so well nobody could tell what they were. Tonight there were six people in the room, and somehow the tension felt heavier than all those other nights combined. Boston stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows in ribbons of light, the city glittering beneath the night sky.

No music played, no flowers decorated the room, and a bottle of whiskey sat untouched on the bar cart near Declan. Nobody here was pretending this was a celebration. I adjusted the cuff of my black shirt and looked toward the elevator. The doors opened and Maeve stepped out, and for a moment everything else disappeared. She wore a dark green dress that exposed the line of her throat, her chin lifted high and her shoulders squared, ready for battle, and a strange pressure settled low in my chest.