Page 49 of Sins of Arrogance

Michael is al­ready headed to­ward the front door, his stride brisk. Gath­er­ing the folds of my wed­ding dress up so I won’t trip, I rush to catch up.

Gravel crunches un­der my heels, some of it skit­ter­ing around my feet and I have to hop-skip not to fall. Fam­ily tra­di­tion says I must stay in my wed­ding gown un­til Michael takes it off of me.

But right now, I re­ally wish I was wear­ing ten­nies and jeans.

I’d set­tle for bal­let flats, but moma would not hear of me ru­in­ing the line of my dress.

An­other piece of gravel rolls un­der my shoe and I sti­fle my sur­prised cry, but a squeak es­capes, send­ing heat rush­ing into my cheeks.

Maybe Michael didn’t no­tice.

He stops and turns back to­ward me. So much for not notic­ing.

“You al­right?” he asks.

Am I? No, not re­ally. I’m about to have sex for the first time, or some­thing close to it, with a prac­ti­cal stranger.

But that’s not what he’s talk­ing about, is it?

So, I an­swer the way I’ve been taught to. “I’m fine.”

I reach him and keep go­ing, grate­ful for the smooth steps lead­ing to the porch when I reach them.

Michael grabs my el­bow and keeps me steady as I go up, but when we reach the top, he pulls his hand away.

I give him a ten­ta­tive smile. “Thank you.”

He jerks his head in ac­knowl­edg­ment.

“We’ll be in the guest house if you need us, boss,” Rory says from be­hind me.

When we come with the fam­ily, a full com­pli­ment of my grand­fa­ther’s sol­diers joins us and there are perime­ter guards at night.

But it’s just me and Michael, not the mob boss. We don’t need that level of se­cu­rity.

And I’m glad.

Hon­ey­moon­ing with a stranger is go­ing to be hard enough with­out a bunch of men watch­ing our ev­ery move.

We stop at the front door and Michael reaches out to un­lock it.

“Do you have a girl­friend?” Ugh. I can’t be­lieve I just asked that.

Seanathair would say it’s none of my busi­ness. Even moma would be mor­ti­fied I asked the ques­tion with as much sub­tlety as a brick to the face.

Michael pushes the door open and then meets my gaze, his green eyes giv­ing noth­ing away. “Nah.”

Re­lief floods through me, but the shoul­ders that re­lax at his an­swer tense up when he steps around me, mak­ing no move to carry me across the thresh­old.

What’s one more dream that will never be ful­filled? I’m the grand­daugh­ter of one of the most pow­er­ful mob bosses in Amer­ica. This is my life.

Mar­ried for an al­liance to a man who could care less about ro­man­tic wed­ding tra­di­tions.

Of course, I don’t bring it up.

I’m not that girl any­more, am I? Brash. Will­ing to break the rules and try any­thing.

Bad things hap­pen when you break the rules. Peo­ple die. That’s what seanathair says. No one in the fam­ily was break­ing the rules when Aunt Char­ity and Fiona got shot that night.