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“Then you must be so happy for him and his Italian princess.”
My churning gut freezes.
Before I can blink, Seven whips out his phone. He’s so fast that our guards only get their guns partially drawn. In response, the huge Vanleusen henchmen reach for their own weapons, but the person who actually speaks is Cora.
“Don’t,” she warns me, but this is my standoff with Seven, my choice to make. I take his phone from him, my numb fingers somehow steady.
On Seven’s screen, I’m greeted with what looks like a freeze-frame from a Hallmark movie.
It’s a picture of Liam. He’s carrying a petite young woman in his arms, striding down a romantically lit sidewalk as perfect snowflakes flurry around them. My heart twists. It looks like he’s carrying her over a threshold. As if in a masochistic trance, I zoom in on my best friend’s face.
He’s smiling. With his face tilted up toward the sky, it looks like he’s thanking God for his good fortune in finding this gorgeous woman.
My heart twists more sharply, a sudden wrenching that snaps it in half.
I have, miraculously, been able to avoid thinking about Liam’s future wife. Speculating about her would’ve taken effort, and I’ve had none of the energy required.
My most overwhelming thought these days has been my failure. I let Liam down. I’d dedicated myself to being his fiancée to save him from a loveless marriage. But loveless marriage is such a nebulous concept, a hazy future that my brain couldn’t make out.
It’s a crystal-cut image now.
And it’s not loveless. Liam looks happy, there’s no denying it. With the slim, dark-haired beauty in his arms, he’s radiating joy.
My stomach collapses like I’ve been punched in the gut. As I start to double over, Cora plucks the phone from my hands and hands it back to Seven.
“Goodnight, Mr. Vanleusen,” she says coolly, and he chuckles as he tucks his phone back into his coat.
“Goodnight, Mrs. O’Sullivan. Miss Timmons.” He tips an invisible hat to me, then resumes his stroll down the sidewalk, crunching salt underfoot the same way he crushed me.
Cora slides her arm around my hunched shoulders, and I sense her jerking her chin at our guards.
“Wall,” she orders, and the two men stand shoulder to shoulder, blocking our enemy’s view of me.
I heave my guts out into the snowbank. Whiskey and bile and devastation burn through my throat. Cora rubs between my shoulder blades, and when I collapse to the ground, she kneels with me.
The dam of my numbness has shattered. I’d thought that feeling anything would be better than the nothingness that’s taken over me, but I was wrong. This misery is bone-deep, the ache in my marrow a chronic pain that I’ll bear for the rest of my life.
Chapter 51
Liam
As the soon-to-be leader of our family, I do what’s required.
The dates are arranged for me. Dimly lit restaurants with white tablecloths. Clinking glassware and muted conversations, both sets of our guards at the nearest tables.
All I have to do is show up. And make it through each torturous dinner.
Seven sends me his unmarried aunt. She’s forty-five, which is almost an insult, but not enough to break the truce over. She makes it clear that she’s offended to be set up like this. A thin-lipped lawyer, she’s part of the previous Vanleusen generation. One that kept their hands clean of illegal activity.
As she spears cauliflower onto her fork, she emphasizes how her work is the law. And she’s an abiding citizen. Who does not approve of her nephew’s dealings.
I shrug. Nod. Drink. When dinner’s over, I know it’s my duty to walk her to her hired car. But she stops me.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself,” she snaps. Then she whirls away.
Fine by me.
The Italians send me the current don’s granddaughter. The youngest daughter of his eldest son—at least she’s in the suitably powerful branch. But she’s too young.
