Page 82 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

Just my name, nothing else.

“Say it,” I said. And the room stopped feeling quiet. It started feeling like something was finally about to break.

I waited for an answer. It never came.

Something sat between us, heavy and real. Dad didn’t explain it. He just stood there watching me the way he used to when I was younger, when he thought I wasn’t ready for certain conversations. But I wasn’t a child anymore.

He knew that.

I let out a slow breath. It sounded louder than it should have in the quiet. “Fine,” I said. That was all.

He didn’t react. He didn’t move. He didn’t stop me. That told me enough.

I stepped back and moved toward the door. He still didn’t call me back. He just watched me as I left.

As I passed him, my hand brushed the doorframe. Then I was outside again.

The air felt colder. Maybe it always had been, and I was only noticing it now. I kept walking down the gravel path. It was too loud under my shoes, breaking the silence behind me.

My thoughts moved faster the farther I got from the house. He knew something, and he’d never tell me what it was.

The coast was ahead, gray and endless, stretching out like it had no end and no interest in me at all. I took out my phone, then paused. A car was coming down the road toward the house.

Slow at first, then steady. It turned into the driveway like it belonged there. I stopped. I recognized the car.

Black, plain, no markings. Familiar in a way that didn’t feel right. It stopped near the house. The door opened.

My breath caught before I could stop it as Father Michael stepped out.

He moved calmly, like nothing about this was unusual. He adjusted his sleeve, closed the car door, and walked toward the house. Toward my father.

Something tightened in my chest. I moved behind a low stone wall near the driveway, hidden.

Father Michael walked straight up the path, no hesitation or checking his surroundings. Like he’d done this before. Like he was expected.

Patrick opened the door before he reached it. He’d been waiting for him. Of course he had.

They spoke at the entrance. I couldn’t hear the words, but the tone was steady, controlled, with something serious underneath it. I watched as Patrick stepped aside and let Father Michael in without argument.

The door closed behind him. Everything felt different after that. I stayed where I was for a moment, watching the house.

My thoughts pulled in different directions all at once. Why was Father Michael here? Why now?

Why would the priest who married me and Sean be involved with my dad at all?

I stepped back slowly, still looking at the house. The wind changed again. And for the first time since I’d arrived, I knew I was looking at something much bigger than an old betrayal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Sean

I was sitting in the dark in my office, drinking something strong. The glass felt heavier than it should have, not because of what was inside it, but because of the weight in my head. The city outside kept moving like nothing had changed, like nothing important had been exposed.

Declan.

The name sat in my mind with full clarity now. There was no doubt around it, no more gaps left to fill, just facts. He’d been there from the beginning. Not beside me, but inside the structure of everything I’d built and trusted.

I took another drink and held it there for a moment before swallowing. The burn didn’t matter. Nothing registered the way it normally would.