Chapter 1

"You"re quite the vision tonight. A real shame your father isn"t here to see this." The man says. His gaze lingering on my neckline for an uncomfortably long time.

I'm confused by his choice of words.

"To see what, exactly?"

As he walks away, he throws a cryptic comment over his shoulder. "Enjoy the big evening, Maura. It"ll be one to remember." Sean O'Donnell is a low level mob boss closely tied with the Irish underworld.

The world I was born into.

His strange words hang in the air, heavy with an unspoken meaning that sends a shiver down my spine.

As I stand in the center of the grand ballroom, the emerald green of my gown in stark contrast to the sea of dark suits. The dress—though stunning with its fitted bodice and flowing skirt—feels like a costume in this world of shadows, sinister glares, and hushed threats.

The silk clings to my curves, a bold choice my stepmother insisted upon, saying it was time I looked the part of Irish mafia royalty—whatever that means.

The grandeur of the ballroom is overwhelming, with high ceilings adorned with elaborate chandeliers that cast a soft, golden glow over the crowd. Mob bosses and their entourages move through the space, their conversations a low hum beneath the gentle sounds coming from the string quartet playing in the corner.

The air is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the subtle hint of danger that always seems to accompany gatherings like this. I stand near a tall, arched window, admiring the night sky, wondering what is beyond. I take a small sip from the crystal flute in my hand, the champagne cool and crisp on my tongue. I can"t help but feel out of place despite the elegance of my gown and the way it complements the grandeur around me.

As I look about, I realize my stepmother never actually told me why this party is being held. There"s usually a reason for these gatherings: a celebration, an announcement, a ceremony. But no reason for tonight's festivities was given.

What"s more unsettling is the way people keep staring.

Not the usual looks I"ve grown accustomed to, those lingering, often lecherous stares from men who see me as nothing more than a potential trophy. No, these looks are different—curious, speculative, almost wary.

As if they know something I don"t.

It sets my nerves on edge.

I"m about to take another sip of my champagne when I spot my stepmother. She moves through the crowd with a grace that belies her true nature, her blonde hair styled perfectly, her blue eyes scanning the room like a predator assessing its territory. She"s dressed in a perfectly tailored evening gown with a low cut neckline. The fabric is a deep navy that contrasts sharply with her fair skin. Her jewelry—always expensive yet understated—catches the light as she moves. There"s a warm, almost charming smile on her lips, but her eyes remain cold and calculating.

As she approaches me, her smile widens.

Clearly forced.

"Maura, darling, you look lovely tonight," she says, her voice dripping with a sweetness that I"ve learned to distrust.

I nod politely. "Thank you, Sharon. That's very kind. I was just wondering what the occasion is for tonight"s gathering?"

"Sharon…," she says, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. "How many times do I have to remind you to call me mom?"

It takes all my self-control not to roll my eyes.

She's not my mother.

The woman doesn't have a maternal bone in her body.

"About the party, can you please clue me in?" I say changing the subject.

"Oh, you"ll find out soon enough," she replies cryptically, her gaze sweeping over the room before settling back on me. "Just enjoy the gathering, Maura. After all, it"s not every day we have such a... special event."

I narrow my eyes at Sharon"s response. The patience for such games has long since left me. "I don"t appreciate the mystery, Sharon," I say, my voice firm.

Sharon"s smile falters slightly, but she quickly regains her composure. Her eyes gleam with a hint of triumph as she leans in closer. "Very well, Maura. I suppose now's as good a time as any for you to find out. The reason for tonight"s celebration is quite simple—you"re getting married."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. For a moment, I"m convinced I"ve misheard what she said. "Married?" I echo, my voice barely above a whisper. "That"s impossible."

"Trust me, it's very possible," Sharon replies, her tone smug. "It"s all been arranged. You"ll meet your fiancé soon enough."

The room spins around me, the faces of the mobsters blurring into a mass of indistinct figures. "This is insane," I protest, anger flaring up inside me. "What do you mean I'm getting married?"

"Married. You know—husband, wife, perhaps some kids."

I feel like I'm in the middle of a sick prank, but Sharon's calculating look makes it clear she's not joking around.

"You can"t just decide my life for me. I"m not some pawn in your games."

But Sharon"s smile only widens, like a predator baring its teeth. "My dear, you"ll find that I certainly can make decisions for you, and I have. And you are my pawn."

I turn on my heel, my heart pounding in my chest. I need to get out of there, away from this marriage madness. Pushing through the crowd, I focus only on reaching the exit and on escaping this nightmare.

In my haste, I collide with a solid wall of muscle. Stumbling back, I find myself staring up into the face of Rory Murphy, Sharon"s personal bodyguard. He"s a towering figure with weathered features that silently tell the tale of a lifetime spent in the underworld of the Irish mafia. His burly frame blocks out the rest of the room.

I look down at his huge, calloused hands, forced to recall the bruises they left on my body whenever Sharon ordered him to rough me up, always careful to avoid my face. The memories of those encounters make me shiver, a mix of fear and resentment boiling inside me.

As I attempt to make my escape, Rory's hand clamps down on my arm with an iron grip. "Let go of me! "I scream, struggling against his hold, but it"s like trying to move a mountain.

My protests seem to fall on deaf ears among the party attendees. Their amusement is evident in their smirks and raised eyebrows as they watch my futile attempts to free myself.

Rory, unphased by my resistance, steers me back toward Sharon, who stands watching the spectacle with cold satisfaction. "You see, Maura," she says as I"m brought before her, "you really don"t have a choice in this. Your father"s gone, and I"m in charge now."

"You have no right to speak of him," I spit back at her, my voice laced with venom.

As Rory"s firm grip prevents any escape, Sharon leans in, her voice dripping with malice. "You shouldn"t act so high and mighty. After all, I"ve done more than just speak your father"s name," she sneers, her eyes glinting cruelly. "I"ve screamed it."

Her words hit me like a slap, a crude and biting reminder of her intimate relationship with my father. My cheeks burn with anger and humiliation, a turmoil of emotions that leaves me momentarily speechless.

"Take her to her dressing room," she orders, her tone dismissive. "The ceremony will begin soon."

Rory"s grip tightens as he leads me away, his expression impassive. The reality of my situation sets in with each step I take. I"m about to be forced into a marriage I never wanted, a token in Sharon"s game for power and control.

I'm locked in a small, tastefully decorated dressing room, a surge of claustrophobia mixed with despair overcoming me. The walls—adorned with elegant wallpaper and soft lighting—seem to close in on me, a gilded cage mocking my predicament. I sink into an ornate chair, my mind racing as I grapple with the reality of my situation.

I could"ve tried to run, vanishing into the night, leaving this life of crime and manipulation behind. But the harsh truth is inescapable; without Sharon"s resources, without the Flanagan name and its accompanying wealth, I am nothing in this city. Sharon controls everything—the finances, the connections, the power. On my own, I"d be a lamb amongst wolves, vulnerable and exposed in the merciless streets of Chicago.

My hands tremble as I think of the unknown man I"m about to marry, a man no doubt steeped in violence and danger, a man I"ve never even met. The thought of being bound to him, of being at the mercy of his whims and desires, fills me with a deep, unsettling fear.

I have to find a way out of this somehow. I can"t let this be the end of my freedom.

I barely have a moment to myself before the door swings open again. Standing there—framed in the doorway—is Sharon, her expression a combination of smug satisfaction and cold practicality. My heart pounds with both fear and fury, the unfairness of my situation boiling over.

"What is going on? Who is he? And why am I being forced to marry a stranger without any prior notice?" I demand, my voice trembling with anger.

Sharon steps into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "I suppose you deserve to know at least that much," she concedes with a shrug. "Your soon-to-be husband is Lukyan Ivanov."

The name hits me like a wave of icy water. Lukyan Ivanov, the eldest of the Ivanov brothers, a name whispered in hushed tones of fear and respect in the underworld of Chicago. Just hearing it sends chills up my spine.

"As for why, it's Carter," Sharon continues, referring to my stepbrother. "Your stepbrother has found himself in quite a bit of trouble with the Bratva, better known as the Russian mob. He owes them a significant sum."

"What the hell does that have to do with me?" I nearly spit.

"Offering a bride is the only way to settle his debt without bloodshed. Lukyan Ivanov agreed to the terms. On top of it all, this marriage will put a potential alliance with the Bratva in play. It"s an advantageous match for everyone involved."

Everyone involved but me. I feel like a sacrificial lamb, offered up to appease the monsters at our door. The very idea of being handed over to a man as dangerous as Lukyan Ivanov, all to clean up Carter"s mess, is both terrifying and enraging.

"And what if I refuse?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

Sharon"s smile is thin and cold. "You don"t have that luxury. This marriage is happening with or without your consent. It"s for the good of the family."

Her words sealed my fate, leaving me feeling helpless and trapped. I have no choice, no voice in this decision that will alter the course of my life forever.

"You have ten minutes before the ceremony begins. Freshen up as best you can. And don't get any ideas about leaving; there's no way out of this room. Besides, Rory's waiting just outside to make sure you don't scamper off."

"You won't get away with this," I snarl at her.

"My dear, I already have."

With that, she's gone.

Alone once more, I step in front of the full-length mirror that dominates one side of the dressing room, gazing at the reflection staring back at me. For a fleeting moment, the urge to rebel surges through me, to mess up my carefully styled hair, to smear the makeup that adorns my face. But then I think of Carter.

Despite his foolishness and the trouble he"s caused, I can"t shake the knowledge that his life no doubt truly hangs in the balance. He may be an idiot, and I may be furious with him, but I can"t bear the thought of his life being snuffed out because of this mess. My hand falls away from my hair, the moment of rebellion passing.

Before I can dwell any longer, the door opens, and Rory stands there, his imposing figure filling the doorway. "It"s time," he says, his deep voice devoid of emotion.

I nod silently, feeling as if I"m in a dream as he leads me back to the party. The crowd has shifted, now arranged in a manner reminiscent of a wedding ceremony, with an altar at the front and an officiant waiting. My heart races as I"m escorted toward the altar, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Then, I catch my first glimpse of my husband-to-be. He stands there like a statue carved from stone, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. He"s tall, his posture radiating confidence and power. His black hair is neatly styled, and his piercing blue eyes scan the crowd with a sharp intensity.

His strong jawline is set, and the tailored cut of his suit accentuates his broad shoulders. Despite the situation, I can"t deny that he is incredibly handsome—in a dark and dangerous way.

But as I"m led closer, the reality of what"s happening hits me once again.

I"m about to marry this man.

As I stand before Lukyan, his towering figure casts a shadow over me, his stony expression unyielding and intimidating. Despite the situation, his mere presence elicits a reaction within me that is both unsettling and undeniable. I feel a strange weakness, a stirring warmth that spreads through me, tingling between my thighs, leaving me bewildered.

No man has ever evoked such a response in me before. Why now, in this moment, of all moments?

My eyes are drawn to the scar that mars his face, a deep, jagged line running from his left temple to the corner of his jaw. It should be off-putting, a mark of violence and brutality. Yet, on Lukyan, it seems to add to his allure, giving him an air of rugged, unchained charisma.

The officiant begins the ceremony, his words a blur as I struggle to grasp the reality that I am marrying this stranger. Lukyan"s voice is deep and resonant when he speaks his vows, the words "I do" cutting through the haze of my thoughts.

Then comes the kiss. It"s perfunctory—a mere formality in this bizarre ritual—but the moment his lips touch mine, a shockwave of sensation ripples through me. The contact is brief, but it leaves me feeling unsteady as if I might melt right there at the altar.

He slips a ring on my finger, and just like that, it"s over. I am now married to Lukyan Ivanov.