My da props his hip against a stack of unopened crates and takes another sip, slower this time. “None other than Kingston Viacava accepted my call and agreed to a proposition he couldn’t turn down.”
Unease creeps through me as he pushes off the crates and moves closer, tugging at the strings of my hood in a playful gesture.
“You’re getting married, honeybee,” he says, smiling. “Engaged to one of the most powerful men in New York.”
I balk, my face twisting before I can stop it. “I’m not getting married.”
“Yes, you are.” His tone hardens. “If you want the Viacavas to rally around and protect Connor, then you’ll marry Kingston’s brother like the good little honeybee you are.”
My stomach drops. “No, Da. Please. I have plans with Damien.”
“Who?” He takes another sip, pretending he doesn’t know who I spent the weekend with.
“You know who,” I grit between clenched teeth. “My boyfriend.”
“As of tonight, you have an official fiancé,” he corrects. “A man who respects the leverage we hold over his family and understands that a union safeguards all of us, including your precious little brother.”
Something in me snaps at that, and my spine straightens. I raise my chin and stare up at him, squaring shoulders in a standoff that has my stomach flipping.
“You don’t get to decide who I want to be with, Da,” I say, breathless because I’ve never pushed back like this before. “I’m with Damien. He makes me happy.”
His expression hardens. The blue of his eyes darkens to navy as a shadow crosses them.
“You decided this yourself when you stole that family’s file,” he says, his voice stripped of any warmth. “They could send a man to our door tonight who’d be gone by morning with photos of your body as proof the threat was eliminated.”
He pauses, assessing my every quick breath.
“I’d tell you to grow a spine,” he says, “but I’ve already wasted that advice on your brother.”
My blood boils at that, and I stand a little taller.
“This arrangement is our chance. And that boy you’re clinging to is no match for a Viacava.”
“I told Damien we’d go travelling together,” I insist, forcing the words through the tightness in my chest. “I need a holiday.”
He kills the space between us, close enough to smell the coffee on his breath.
“The only travelling you’ll be doing,” he says, dipping lower, “is boarding a jet to the States.” My pulse stutters. “And then you’ll walk down the aisle and marry Bronx Viacava.”
That name ignites traitorous flutters in my chest before I crush them with anger.
“No,” I whisper. “Please. Don’t do this to me.”
“Pull yourself together,” he says, unimpressed. “You’re smarter than this. This marriage is the checkmate move. With you tied to the Viacavas, every rival we have will think twice before making a move. Irish blood in the Italian mafia ends conversations before they start.”
I shake my head and take a step back. “You can’t force me.”
His gaze pins me in place as he lifts the mug again. “Well, walking off with that other lad isn’t an option.”
My stomach knots at the icy tone he uses.
“Leave Damien out of this.”
“Then don’t make him relevant.” His tone stays even. “He’s not built for our world. People like him wander into trouble without realizing it.”
My heart pounds.
“One wrong place,” he continues, the tone conversational. “One dark night. And suddenly there’s an accident. A misunderstanding. Something unfortunate that no one sees.”
