Chapter 10 RÓISE

The two-ton boulder of fatalism sitting on my heart since agreeing to this marriage alliance, grinds and shifts ominously.

I have no choice about marrying Miceli De Luca. Because it's not just a matter of protecting Fiona now. It's the only way to protect the rest of my family from ending up like my parents in a war with the Genovese mafia.

I might hate my future husband for it. I might despise my uncle. But I will do it.

What I will not do is sign this horrible prenup.

I put the pen down on top of the papers. "You are not buying my children," I repeat.

My uncle curses virulently in a mix of Irish and English. He knows I mean it. That I will not be moved. Like the Shaughnessy women before me, when I take a stand, I keep it.

I ignore him, staring Miceli De Luca down.

"I'm not trying to buy my children." His anger is rising to match mine.

And I like it.

I want to get under his skin. Make him mad. Make him feel even a tiny drop of the helplessness I do.

"That document says you are." I nod toward the offending papers. "If you mean what you say, then change it. Take out the settlement entirely. I don't care, but if we divorce, we share custody."

"I'm not removing the clause about adultery."

"Fine…" I pause.

He looks triumphant.

"But it has to be reciprocal. If you take a lover outside our marriage, I get full custody."

"Agreed."

The instant capitulation stuns me.

"De Luca men don't cheat," the don explains.

I cross my arms and glare at the most powerful Cosa Nostra leader in New York. "Neither do Shaughnessy women."

"Good to know."

"You cannot move out of New York," Big Sal says firmly. "It would be too hard on the children."

In other words, even if I do divorce Miceli De Luca, going to Los Angeles to pursue an acting career is out. There's plenty of live theaters here in New York, though.

It's not my dream, but it's something to hope for. In the future.

Give Miceli a child, divorce him and my life is my own again.

It's a better future than I thought I could have walking into this office.

"If you file for divorce before our youngest child is six, the custody arrangements remain as stated."

"What? Why?"

"Because we owe our children a home and you can't make a home when you have one foot out the door."

He keeps saying children. Plural.

"What if you file for divorce before then?"

"I won't be filing for divorce. I keep my promises."

Implying I don't? "Even those made under duress?" I taunt.

"I will keep every promise I make to you."

I have to look away from his intent gaze. "I still want the agreement to be reciprocating."

"Agreed."

He really believes he won't divorce me. Will I divorce him? I don't know, but I do know that I need this out.

"Regardless of the custody agreement, I will provide full time security for our children and you," he adds.

Does it really matter who hires our bodyguards? With his experience in the underworld, Miceli is more qualified than I am to hire the security personnel.

Unable to see a downside, I nod slowly. "Okay. "

Miceli gets up and goes to his brother's desk. He opens the computer and is soon typing away. It's weird to see him do that. Doesn't he have someone to make the changes for him?

Maybe the De Lucas consider the contract too sensitive to let anyone else see it. It is different than what they say mafia couples usually sign, if they have a prenup at all.

The whir of a printer comes from near the big executive desk.

Miceli returns to the table a few seconds later and places two stacks of paper in front of me. "Read it, initial each page and sign both copies."

There's no reason to argue, but I want to. He's just so freaking bossy. It's really annoying.

When I'm done, I slide the papers over to him. "You didn't remove the settlement."

"No, I didn't. It wasn't in there to buy my children." His offense at my accusation makes his voice hard.

I refuse to be intimidated. That's how the contract read to me. "Child," I correct him. "Twins don't run in our family."

"You assume we'll divorce after our first child is born."

Of course I do. "First implies more than one. We're having one kid and then we are both free." That's the hope of a future I'll cling to walking down the aisle. "Wait, can we have a civil service and skip all the religious stuff for the wedding?"

The don, my uncle and Big Sal all say, "No," at the same time.

Miceli doesn't say anything. His expression is almost pitying.

I don't need his pity. I might be younger than him and have no part in organized crime, but I just negotiated a future for myself with a mafia underboss, his don and my mob boss uncle.

"Your turn to sign," I point out.

He does it without comment, initialing each page with dark black slashes and signing with the same confident strokes.

When he's done, the woman who brought the water returns and notarizes the document. I thought a notary had to watch a contract being signed, but this is the mafia.

The fact everything but the spot on the page she's supposed to emboss with her stamp is covered supports my assumption they don't want anyone but us to know the details of the contract.

Too bad. I'm telling my grandmother and cousins all about this meeting. And every detail of the prenup.

"Now, it's time to sign the contract that matters." My uncle rubs his hands together.

I disagree. Whatever is in the alliance agreement between the two syndicates, it will never be as important to me as the one I just signed.

My uncle reads through the documents and then grunts. "It's all in order. "

"Naturally." Severu pulls a knife from a hidden holster.

Uncle Brogan pulls his own knife out, a switchblade he always keeps handy. He flicks something with his thumb and the wickedly sharp blade pops up.

My heart hammers in my chest. "What are you doing?"

They just agreed everything is in order. Why are their knives out?

"Signing the contract," Big Sal says, like it should be obvious.

"With knives?" I demand in disbelief.

Miceli pulls his own knife out and sets it on the table between us. "With blood."

My uncle offers his hand to the don, palm up. Don De Luca slices a shallow cut across my uncle's palm. At least I hope it's shallow.

Blood wells immediately.

After dipping his thumb in the blood, Uncle Brogan presses it down on the top right corner of each page until he gets to the last one. This time, he leaves his thumbprint beside his printed name at the bottom.

After tying a handkerchief around his hand, my uncle cuts the don's palm the same way. Then Don De Luca goes through the same process, leaving his thumbprint right beside my uncles on each page until the last one. Where he leaves it beside his name at the bottom like my uncle did.

"You couldn't have just signed it?"

"The cuts show their trust in each other. The fingerprint and blood DNA are irrefutable evidence that they signed the contract." Miceli puts his hand out to me, palm up. "It's our turn."

"But I don't trust you and you shouldn't trust me."

"Are you going to cut my finger off?" he asks, sounding too darned amused.

"I could and not because I want to." I have training in self-defense.

I can even shoot a gun and hit what I'm aiming at. Something my father insisted on after my mother's death. I have never trained with a knife though.

"You'll do fine."

"I haven't read the contract."

"And you won't," Miceli says implacably.

I cross my arms, relieved, because I'm pretty sure none of them want me reading the contract. "Then I'm not signing it."

"Your signature isn't necessary, just your cooperation," Uncle Brogan says.

"Is there anything in there that affects me other than the marriage and giving birth to a child I already agreed to?" I ask.

"No."

"Then you don't need my signature," I agree.

And if my uncle isn't being 100% truthful with me, I can't be held to the terms of a document I haven't signed .

Miceli flips his knife over his fingers, the hilt landing in his palm. "You will put your bloody thumbprint beside mine on the page that refers to our marriage and offspring."

"Offspring? Who says that?"

His eyes don't reflect a single glimmer of emotion. "Contracts say that."

"I'm not signing a contract I haven't read," I say again, stubbornly.

"You can read the page your thumbprint is on." Don De Luca's voice brooks no further argument.

My stomach roils. Because I'm going to argue. "No."

"Damn it, Róise, now is not the time to be stubborn. I told you there's nothing in there you need to worry about."

Part of me believes my uncle. He's spoken truth I don't like. But to my knowledge, he's never lied to me. It's that to my knowledge part I can't get past.

Not after the blackmail.

"I promise on my vow as a made man that there is nothing else in that contract beyond our marriage and the promise of a child carrying both our DNA that pertains to you personally. All the terms will eventually effect you as a Shaughnessy and a future member of our family." Miceli's words ring with truth.

To doubt them would be a huge insult considering he vowed on his honor, or you know…the equivalent to a mafia man.

Even so, I should definitely not trust my future Cosa Nostra husband more than I do my own uncle. But I do.

"Róise," Uncle Brogan says warningly.

I look into Miceli's eyes and warn him with my own that I will do whatever I have to get back at him if he's lying to me. And then I nod. "Okay, I'll sign it."

Miceli places the sheet of paper in question in front of me.

I read each word, heat prickling along my arms and legs and up the back of my neck as the words sink in.

This is really going to happen. I am going to marry Miceli De Luca, a member of the syndicate that killed my parents. And I'm going to give him a child for the sake of peace between our crime families.

We, the undersigned, Miceli Mars De Luca…

"Your middle name is Mars?" I ask in a strangled voice.

"Our parents named him after the Roman god of war because as the second son, it is his role to wage war on behalf of our family," the don answers.

When he called himself Ares in Portland, he was giving me a sliver of truth about himself. My heart kathunks in my chest. What does that mean?

Do I even want to know ?

and Róise Aisling Shaughnessy, agree on this X th day of April in the year of 20— to join in holy matrimony to bring together the De Luca and Shaughnessy families of New York in a blood alliance, described herein.

We agree to the following terms.

This legal marriage will take place no later than the 30 th of Jun in the year of 20—.

Róise will remain on birth control that does not compromise her long term reproductive capabilities, at her discretion, for the first two years after the marriage takes place.

The marriage will have issue of at least one living child.

Róise Shaughnessy will be loyal and faithful to the Genovese Family as well as the De Luca family, causing them no harm and keeping their secrets.

Miceli De Luca will be loyal and faithful to the Shaughnessy mob insofar as such loyalty does not compromise his vow to the Cosa Nostra, causing no harm and guarding their secrets.

Miceli De Luca

Róise Shaughnessy

The wedding has to take place the same month I graduate from college. That's only a little over a year away.

Clammy sweat forms on my forehead and in my armpits.

"Give me your hand, Róise." Miceli puts his hand out, palm up like the other men.

Only he wants me to place mine on top, not cut him.

I look at him and try to speak past my suddenly dry and tight throat. "I don't know if I can do this."

My words are barely above a whisper, but he hears me. Maybe the others do too, but my focus can't move beyond Miceli's handsome face.

The face of a man who should be my enemy, but will one day be my husband.

"I'm not your enemy, Róise. I never will be."

Did I say those words out loud? I must have. I'm pretty sure Miceli does not have his brother's gift of reading minds.

"But—"

With a gentle grip on my wrist, he lifts my right hand and places it in his outstretched palm. "It will be alright. "

Nodding, I look away like I do when I'm getting a shot or having blood drawn and feel a tiny prick on my right thumb.

Shocked I jerk my head forward and look down. A drop of blood is welling on the pad of my thumb.

"Squeeze it a little and there will be enough blood to sign the contract."

I can only stare at the tiny drop of welling blood.

He squeezes my thumb between his and his forefinger and the drop grows. He releases the pressure on my thumb and rubs the blood around so it covers the pad completely.

"Do it quickly before the blood dries," he says.

I press my thumb down beside my name under the promise to marry this man.

He pulls my hand to his mouth and sucks the blood away from my thumb. Erotic chills replace the horror of seconds ago. Will I always react to him like this?

My body going up in flames at his slightest touch.

He releases my thumb from his mouth. "Now it's your turn."

He means for me to cut him.

I shake my head, putting my hands under the table so he can't put the knife in them. "I don't want to. Have my uncle do it."

"No." Miceli doesn't say anything else, but he waits.

Like he's confident I can and will do what is necessary.

"Say something to make me mad," I tell him. "I think I could cut you then."

"Bloodthirsty, I like it," he teases.

I shake my head. "I mean it."

"No."

"Can't you say anything else?"

"I'll help you if you want."

My head is nodding before my brain catches up, but then I'm locked in.

He curls his hand around mine and guides the dagger to the pad of his thumb. He exerts pressure and suddenly it's his blood I see. I don't know why, but I squeeze his thumb increasing the size of the droplet. He could do this himself, but for some reason I don't understand, I have to.

Like he did with me, I smear the red viscous fluid around the pad of his thumb.

It feels as intimate as his mouth on mine.

He puts his bloody print beside his name on the contract and I hear the click of a padlock going into place.

It's done and my future is locked into place, inexorably connected to his. We haven't spoken any vows and we're not married, but I'm tied to Miceli De Luca all the same.