Page 4 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

Around us, Murphy’s kept moving as glasses clinked nearby, men laughed near the dartboard, and music bounced off the walls. None of it matched what was happening between us, and everything felt slightly out of sync.

I exhaled slowly before speaking again, more firmly this time. “Take your hand off me.” He smiled like I was deliberately being difficult, as if my resistance was part of a game he expected to win.

“That’s not how you need to talk to me,” he replied. I almost laughed, but instead I turned my wrist sharply in an attempt to break his grip. His fingers tightened just enough to remind me that he was choosing to hold on and he believed there was nothing I could do about it.

“You’re about five seconds away from regretting this,” I said. His expression changed slightly at that, not into concern but amusement, as if I’d confirmed something entertaining for him.

“Are you always this dramatic?” That was the point where something inside me snapped cleanly into place. I’d had enough. I wasn’t a free pussy. He could go get that on the fucking streets. I moved properly this time, stepping in with intent and twisting my arm free with enough force to yank his hand off me. The moment I was loose I reached for the nearest bottle, not because I planned to use it, but because he needed to understand I could.

But before anything could escalate further, something changed behind me. It was subtle at first, like the room itself was adjusting its attention. Conversations died and laughter broke off abruptly. A bartender stopped wiping a glass and looked toward the entrance. I felt it before I saw it, and the man in front of me noticed too, his attention flicking over my shoulder as his expression changed for the first time into something uncertain.

I turned. The space near the entrance had changed. People were moving away without seeming aware they were doing it, creating a path that hadn’t existed a moment ago. Standing at the edge of it was a man I didn’t recognize. He didn’t rush in or announce himself because he didn’t need to. He simply stood there as if the world always arranged itself around him.

He was tall and broad, his dark coat hanging open slightly, as though comfort wasn’t worth his attention. There was nothing flashy about him, and nothing obvious that would have caused the reaction around the room.,Who the hell is this fucker?The man I’d been dealing with straightened slightly. He’d been holding my hand earlier and acting like Hulk Hogan, but now his voice was barely audible as he said,

“Mr. O’Connor.”

I looked at them like they were all crazy. Should that name mean something to me?

The man’s eyes, blue and steady and unreadable, dropped to my wrist before lifting to my face in a slow, controlled assessment, as if he was registering that I existed as a problem rather than a person. Then he looked at the man who’d been holding me, and there was a pause, the kind that made people uncomfortable without anything needing to be said.

“Stop bothering her,” he said.

The man in front of me hesitated for half a second too long, trying to recover something that was already gone. “Wewere just talking—” Whatever else he meant to say didn’t make it out. The man who’d grabbed me was suddenly pulled forward by O’Connor, his shoulder slamming into the edge of the bar hard enough to rattle glass and make someone nearby step back.

The man tried to recover, lifting his hands like he wanted to explain, but the older man, O’Connor, was already back on him. He delivered a single clean strike that stopped whatever excuse was forming in his mouth before it could become words. He staggered, caught himself against the bar, and when he looked up again, his confidence was gone. Everything happened fast enough that it didn’t feel like chaos, but like something structured, almost planned.

No one interfered and no staff shouted. No customers stepped in. Even the man’s friends from the booth were already backing away, avoiding escalation entirely, while the man who’d grabbed me wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked anywhere but O’Connor, as if eye contact itself had become a risk. Within seconds, he hurried over to his friends. They left quickly, as if the decision had already been made for them. The door shut behind them, and Murphy’s didn’t immediately return to normal. It lingered in that strange space where everyone pretended nothing happened but no one could fully commit to speaking again.

Someone coughed and a glass was set down too carefully. Music kept playing, but softer somehow, as though even the speakers had been affected. I realized my hand was still slightly clenched, and I relaxed it slowly. Then I looked at him again—the man who’dd ended it, who was now adjusting his coat cuff with complete calm, as if he’d simply corrected a small inconvenience in his evening, his gaze flicking once toward the bar and then briefly toward me again.

And for the first time since the night started, I wasn’t thinking about handling a situation. I was thinking about thefact that the situation had been handledforme, without my permission. That should have been a relief, but it wasn’t, because it felt like the ground had moved under my feet and I hadn’t noticed until it was gone. I stared at him as the noise slowly increased around us and the pub tried to return to normal.

Who the fuck is this guy?

CHAPTER TWO

Sean

I stood there, still and calm as the pub moved around me. Yes, glasses still clinked, someone laughed too loud near the jukebox, and the football replay kept rolling on the screen, but the structure of it all was different now. People gave me a wide berth, and I stood near the bar and let the noise settle around me. The bartender walked back toward me— not fast or slow, but steady, like she was trying to convince herself she still owned her own momentum.

She stopped close enough that I could see the restraint in her shoulders before I heard her voice. “You going to explain what that was?” Her eyes didn’t leave mine.

“No,” I said.

There was no point dressing it up.Who the fuck is she to ask me to explain my actions?

She exhaled sharply. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Her jaw tightened. “You don’t think I deserve an explanation as to why you interfered in my business?”

I held her gaze. What was she talking about? An explanation forwhat?

“No.” That should’ve pushed her back, it didn’t. She stepped closer instead, as if I was a magnet and she was metal.

“You don’t walk into my bar and decide what happens here.” The words were sharp, but they didn’t carry the weight she thought they did.