Page 100 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

Sean’s voice lowered. “Hugo Fernández.” The name landed heavily, even before I understood why. I kept reading.

He was a Chilean warlord linked to a deal that had failed in a spectacular way. After that, the page stopped feeling stable. Reports no longer matched and dates overlapped and notes contradicted each other.

Something had broken inside the record. I looked up at Sean. He was no longer watching the page. He was watching me.

“One of my brothers died in that operation,” he said. I didn’t respond. I looked back down at the file.

But I read it differently now. I searched until I found it: a line I’d missed at first because it looked like everything else. Then I read it again and stopped.

My fingers tightened on the edge of the paper. Sean noticed, but he didn’t speak. He let me see it.

Patrick. My father’s name, inside the events, not beside them. Part of the story. I felt my throat go dry.

“This says he took responsibility for the deal failing,” I said. Sean nodded once, and I shook my head slightly. “That doesn’t make sense,” I said.

Sean didn’t argue. He didn’t correct me. That silence carried more weight than anything else. It meant he’d already moved past the question.

I read the line again, slowly. It stayed the same. My voice dropped without intention. “So he was blamed for it.”

“Yes,” Sean said. The room felt smaller. Nothing had moved, but something had changed. I looked down at the file again and a new thought began to form, one I didn’t like.

If my father hadn’t undermined the deal, then someone had made sure he looked like he had. And that meant none of this had started where I’d believed it did. Not even close.

Sean didn’t wait for me. He slid another file closer and opened it before I asked. “Now read this part,” he said.

I looked down.

This file was different. Less structured. Notes filled the page. Some read like records, others felt like instructions written to be followed without question.

My eyes moved down and stopped. My name appeared in the text.

My hand pressed against the paper. Sean watched me without speaking. He didn’t react. He already knew what I was seeing.

I looked up at him. “My name is here,” I said.

Sean gave a small nod. “Yes.”

I went quiet again and kept reading. I began to understand as I followed it line by line. It wasn’t describing actions I’d taken. It described how I was being used in the background of decisions made by other people.

Patrick’s name appeared again in another section. This time it didn’t look like blame. It looked like pressure. My throat tightened.

“What does this mean?” I asked.

Sean took a moment before answering. He turned a page.

“It means your father didn’t choose to be silent,” he said. “He was forced.”

Hugo Fernández. The weapons deal. Sean’s brother. The collapse that followed. Everything was connected through the same pattern I had already seen in the earlier files.

“That money from Father Michael is why your father stayed quiet,” he said.

I didn’t say anything for a while.

My eyes stayed on the file, but I wasn’t really reading anymore. Everything felt like it had gone too far. I looked up at Sean. “This doesn’t make sense.”

He noded once. “It does,” he said. “When you see what it was for.”

“So what really happened?” I asked quietly.