Page 42 of Sinful Bride

That I'm still in control.

—

The dinner starts well enough. I put a roast in the slow-cooker with potatoes and vegetables, and make fresh rolls. I set out whiskey and wine for drink options. The men arrive on time, boisterous and loud, filling the house with their presence. Cormac, Finn, Rian, Seamus, Liam, Padraig, and Aidan. A core group of my original closest men from the club, and the ones who work with me now, who were Lachlan’s most trusted. All men I’d trust with my life, and enjoy spending time with besides. They come in wearing jeans and T-shirts or long-sleeved denim with the sleeves rolled up, all casual and exactly the way we prefer to be.

Elena appears just as we're sitting down. She's dressed simply in slim black pants, a white blouse, and dainty platinum jewelry with her hair pulled back. She looks elegant and composed, every inch the mafia princess.

And I can see the judgment in her eyes as she looks at my men.

"Gentlemen," she says, taking her seat at the opposite end of the table from me. "Welcome."

The men nod and murmur greetings. They're on their best behavior, trying to be respectful and make a good impression.

It doesn't matter.

"So," Elena says, her voice light and conversational. "Declan tells me many of you have come with him from the days when you were all in this motorcycle club together."

"That's right," Seamus says. "Most of us, anyway."

"How fascinating." She takes a sip of wine. "It must be quite an adjustment. Going from motorcycles and leather jackets to... this."

There's something in the way she says this. Something dismissive that makes my jaw tighten.

"It's different," Padraig says carefully. "But we're adapting."

"Are you?" Elena's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Because from what I've observed, you're still conducting business like you're in a garage. Spreading papers across coffee tables. Drinking beer from bottles. Tracking mud through the house."

The table goes quiet. "Elena," I say, my voice low with warning.

She ignores me. "I'm simply making an observation. In my world—in the world you're trying to be part of—there are standards. Expectations. Ways of doing things that show respect for the organization and the people in it."

"We respect the organization," Seamus says, his voice suddenly tight.

"Do you?" Elena looks at him, her eyes narrowing. She sounds like she’s warming up to her topic. "Because respect means understanding that you're representing something larger than yourselves. It means conducting yourselves with professionalism and not treating a multimillion-dollar operation like a motorcycle club."

"That's enough," I say sharply.

"Is it?" She turns to me, a smile on her lips that looks utterly false to me. "Because I don't think it is. I think your men need to understand that if they want to be taken seriously by the other families, they need to act like they belong in this world. Not like they're playing dress-up. Not that they’re exactly succeeding at that, either."

Cormac's face goes red. Finn's jaw clenches. Rian looks like he wants to say something but doesn't.

And I'm done.

"Go to your room," I say, my voice deadly calm.

Elena blinks. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Go to your room. Now."

Her eyes widen. "I'm not a child, for you to tell me⁠—"

"Then stop acting like one." I stand, and the men go silent. "You're insulting my men in my house. You're disrespecting the people I trust most, and you're crossing a line."

"I'm simply stating facts, while we’re all here together to discuss the way things have been lately⁠—"

"Go. To. Your. Room."

She tenses, her face flushed with anger. "No."