Page 43 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

I straightened slightly and forced my attention back to the reports. Declan slid another document across the table while the screens continued updating behind him. He was halfway through another report about shipping manifests when there was a knock against the office door.

One of the security men stepped inside. “There’s someone here requesting to speak with you,” he said carefully. “I insistedthat you’re in a meeting, but she says it’s a matter of utmost importance.”

I barely glanced up from the documents in front of me. “Who?”

The guard hesitated, which finally got my attention. “Miss Gabrielle.” For a second, nothing in the room moved.

Declan said nothing. He didn’t need to.

“Send her up,” I said.

The security guard nodded once and left immediately. Silence settled across the office after the door closed.

Declan watched me from across the table. “You weren’t expecting that.”

“No.”

“You’re still letting her in.”

I closed one of the folders slowly before looking at him. “If I wasn’t, you’d know.”

That earned the faintest reaction from him before he gathered the remaining reports together. “Want me to stay?”

“No.”

Declan stood without argument. “I’ll continue reviewing the port transfers downstairs.”

I nodded. By the time he left, the office had gone quiet again except for the rain against the windows and the distant sound of traffic far below the penthouse.

I moved toward the bar near the back wall and poured whiskey into a glass I didn’t really want to drink. Memory worked strangely sometimes. Years disappeared cleanly until one name dragged them back into the room all at once. The elevator opened a few minutes later.

And there she was. Older now, obviously, but not diminished. Some people sharpened with time instead of fading beneath it.

She walked into the penthouse with the same composed confidence I remembered from years ago. Dark coat. Gloves on each hand. Her eyes were calm as they took in the room before settling on me.

No hesitation or uncertainty. Like stepping back into my world cost her nothing at all. “Sean,” she said.

My name sounded strange in her voice after this long.

I set the glass down untouched. “You’re a long way from New York.”

A faint smile touched her mouth. “Air travel exists, darling.”

There it was. The rhythm came back too easily, controlled conversation hiding history underneath every sentence.

I studied her carefully while she removed her gloves and placed them on the table beside her. Every movement was precise and elegant without trying for it. Years ago, she’d fit beside men like me naturally. She understood rooms built on power because she’d grown up inside them.

“How long have you been in Boston?” I asked.

“Long enough.”

Everything with her was always deliberately vague. I leaned slightly against the edge of the desk. “You could’ve called first.”

“I knew you’d see me anyway.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything else.

The city lights spilled faintly through the windows behind her while rain slid slowly down the glass. She looked exactly like the kind of woman this world created when it rewarded intelligence before innocence. Her eyes moved briefly across the office.