Page 7 of The Mafia Bachelor

What have I done?

3

KILLIAN

“Killian.” My mam practically drags me through the doorway, pouncing on me like a skilled American lioness picking up her unruly cub.

The whole of London quakes at my name. I have blood on my hands, and black in my soul. And my feckin’ mother is arranging my marriage because I was stupid enough to think that in twenty years I’d sort my own romantic life.

Maybe you didn’t because you hadn’t met Avery, whispers a little voice at the back of my mind. I push it away. That can’t be it. I’m the Devil of Archway. I wasn’t waiting. Bloody silly thought.

But the folded copy of Avery’s CV in my inner chest pocket feels like fate.

So as my mam ushers me to an outlandishly decorated seating area that is basically like a throne, I accept it. I even sit in the gold fecking chair, as obedient a son as she could hope for.

“The girls will enter one at a time,” Mam says, as though she hasn’t explained at least four times already, but likely has correctly assumed I’ve forgotten. I funded it, I’ve committed to marry one of these women, it’s a bridge too far to expect me to keep up with my conniving mother’s activities as well. And keeping my father under control is a job in itself. I should give in and allocate one of my men to just watching him. It might be necessary now.

“I’ll ask my questions,” she continues. “Which will give you a sense of their personalities.”

“And then they get married,” my dad grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Cocktail party first,” my mother interjects, as though that’s the key barrier between meeting and matrimony. “At the end of the night, you’ll choose as many of the women as you like to go through to the next rounds of the competition. A week between each date.”

I inwardly groan. This is going to be hell on a stick. Thank god I have Avery. My blood stirs at the memory of the girl I met and who has intrigued me like no one else.

She was natural. Unafraid. Pretty and genuine and trying to make her way in the world. A better man than me would have sent her to HR and instructed them to find her an appropriate role.

But I’m not. I’m a manipulative bastard, and I can use her to make this bearable.

And afterwards…

My mind springs to a scene that only an hour ago was unthinkable or nauseating. Me and her. Avery by my side as my queen. Kids. Me holding a child with her hair and eyes, and us teaching our next generation about Archway, and the business.

I understood the reason for building a legacy, and I suppose that was partly why I agreed to my mother’s scheme. But I didn’t understand that it might feel important if it were with a person I cared for. That it could be more than a duty. A pleasure. A new stage, more enjoyable and exciting than what I’ve done so far.

“Get on with it,” I growl, and wave a hand.

A woman walks in, wearing a dress, and introduces herself. She smiles and simpers. She talks, I don’t listen. And the next is the same. They’re pretty, beautiful even. They’re clearly trying to be original, to make themselves stand out. But they’re not singing off-key and dancing awkwardly, so it all comes across as false.

I’m as cold as my reputation.

“I feel something special when I look at Killian,” one says to my mother, smiling sweetly, and then turns to me. “I think I could easily fall in love with you.”

Sure. I should have known this would basically be me beating off women with a stick.

Not that stick, either. I don’t sleep around. I never have. Not because of some idiotic sense of purity, or lack of opportunity. The security was part of it. I didn’t want to make myself vulnerable to someone who got close, physically or mentally. I’ve had the Archway mafia to think about, from learning the business in my teens and twenties to taking it over and building it further. After my curiosity was satisfied, it rarely felt worthwhile compared to the tepid reward of a body to use for my lust.

“I think I can be the ideal wife. I’ve got experience in the kitchen, I can ease his troubles at the end of the day in the lounge, and I’m very willing to learn in the bedroom.” She manages a blush. “I’ll love him for my entire life, in any way he wants.”

I can see, logically, that this should be appealing. A person who’s here to serve me. But I can’t find any enthusiasm for it at all. It’s merely sad that this girl is doing this for… What? Wealth? Power?

The next girl is worse.

“I can hit a target at five hundred feet with a gun, and I’ll hit any target he wants.” She’s posh, and laughs at her own joke. A bit like a horse.

I’m about ready to shoot myself.

“I’ll be a partner in his mafia business, bringing expertise and connections,” another says, and I respect that she isn’t pretending that love has anything to do with this.