Chapter 23 MICELI

Róise storms through the crowd, ignoring the attempts of our guests to get her attention.

"You do realize this is supposed to be an alliance between our families, not the beginning of the next war, don't you?" Sev drawls in a mix of mockery and warning from behind me.

Still watching my angry secret fiancée, I don't turn to face my brother. "She doesn't want this marriage."

"Catalina didn't want to marry me either. We made it work." My brother's superior tone frays another strand on the last rope holding my temper in check.

"She is not Catalina." And I am not my brother.

He wanted Catalina from the beginning. I've questioned very few decisions my brother has made as don. The one to marry Catalina's younger sister?

Everyone but Sev knew that was a disaster waiting to happen.

"How would you know? You've spent no time with her since we formalized the alliance." There's nothing but censure in my brother's tone now.

"I've been busy." And she's not answering my calls.

But I'm not telling Sev that. I'm not some pathetic loser who can't keep a twenty-one-year-old in check. I've just been too busy to explain to her in person that her behavior is unacceptable.

Because your last explanation went over so well, she stormed off the dance floor. And the one before that ended up with her blocking your number.

Róise two. Miceli zero.

"Stop running, brother. You agreed to this alliance."

"I'm not the one who's running. "

"Since when do you let your prey get away?" He lays a hand on my shoulder. "Listen brother, if you don't want this, I can find someone else, but you need to make that decision now."

"The fuck you are. The contracts are already signed and it's my blood on them," I grind out.

An older man grabs Róise's arm as she tries to go past him. I don't recognize him. He must have arrived after we stopped greeting guests at the elevator.

She makes a motion with her shoulder, wincing when he doesn't let go. He hurt her.

The last filament of thread holding my temper snaps.

It takes me seconds to get through the crowd, my knife in my hand when I reach them.

I press it against his neck under the guise of putting my arm around his shoulder. "Let her go."

Róise's eyes widen, but the relief there makes me press the blade into Gabriel Lion's neck. I keep my knives sharp. It would only take a little more exertion to cut right through to his carotid artery.

Her estranged grandfather's quick inhale tells me he knows it too.

I didn't recognize him from the back because I've only seen his picture, but there's no question who is stupid enough to lay hands on what is mine.

"Lean forward and you'll slit your own neck," I tell him conversationally.

He releases the birthday girl.

My knife stays right where it is. "Róise, tell him what I said would happen to anyone who touches you."

She closes her eyes, takes a breath, and lets it out before opening them again. The calm I see there surprises and impresses me.

"He's family."

"He's not my family," I deny.

"He's my grandfather." She sighs. "Maybe put the knife away before someone posts a picture of my boyfriend threatening my grandfather to their Instagram."

"Our guests know better." And for those who don't? There's a jammer blocking all cell phones and other devices while we are here.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here, girl," Gabriel Lion, so called prophet and leader of the Armor of God militia, says dismissively. "Young man, you don't want to threaten me."

I lean down so he can't miss my next words. "I don't make idle threats. Grandfather, or not, if you touch Róise again, I will slit your throat after I cut off the offending hand."

Lion should appreciate the Biblical justice of that .

Shaughnessy arrives in a rush with his son-in-law before I can say more, both of them blocking the tableau from the rest of the room. "Put that knife away. That's her grandfather."

"Nothing to add?" I ask the finally silent old man.

"She's not worth making an enemy of me."

" She has a name," Róise says with a verbal eyeroll.

"It's Róise," I remind him helpfully. "Say it."

"She should have been called Rachel as I told her mother, not that heathen, foreign name."

Shaughnessy doesn't look offended, just resigned.

I raise my brows to him. "You let him talk like that?"

Róise is an Irish name and the asshole kissing my blade with his neck just equated it to being a heathen.

"Brother Gabriel is set in his ways. He doesn't mean anything by it."

"Bullshit. There's nothing wrong with Róise's name." It fits her even better than Aphrodite.

Being considered a heathen by this man is not exactly an insult, but if he said that about me, I'd cut out his tongue.

From what I know of the Armor of God, they consider anyone outside their insular cult to be damned.

I'm not a practicing Catholic. Religion is not my thing. I've seen too much to believe in a benevolent God watching over this world, but my mother is devout.

"Call her a heathen and maybe I'll set your tongue on fire before I cut it out."

"Miceli?" Sev moves to stand to my left, in perfect position to hinder the Irish mobsters.

"I am doing my best to save this man's life," I say righteously.

Sev nods. He turns cold eyes on Gabriel Lion. "You laid hands on one of ours."

"She's not yours," Lion rejects in a loud voice.

"You're not very good at playing polite guest, are you?" The desire to spill this man's blood grows.

"What did you think it meant when Miceli hosted her birthday party?" my brother asks.

"She is the fruit of my loins," the old man claims. "No boyfriend has more claim to her than me."

He's the second man in five minutes to deny the permanency of my claim on Róise and it pisses me off.

He's either incredibly stupid or stupidly arrogant.

"Remove your knife from my throat, boy. "

Okay, so both.

"If you insist." My tone warns Sev, but everyone else relaxes.

Except Róise. She tenses, her eyes pleading with me. She believed me when I said I would damage or kill any man who touched her.

Depending on the depth of the offense. And my mood.

It's her birthday. Killing someone at her party would probably ruin it for her.

I slide my knife along Lion's throat, leaving a shallow, painful cut in the blade's wake. No point in wearing a knife that isn't nice and sharp.

He squeals like a pig, and I shove him toward Shaughnessy. "Get him out of here before he ruins the party decorations with his blood."

"What the fuck?" Shaughnessy's voice is filled with fury and offense, but he modulates it, so he doesn't draw more attention to us.

"Relax. He'll live. This time." I let the warning hang in the air between us. I put my arm out to Róise. "Come on, Aphrodite, you've got presents to open."

"You live up to our middle name, God of War. And that's not a compliment." She takes my arm though and I lead her away from Shaughnessy and Lion.

"Come on, gentlemen, you are making a spectacle of yourselves." That's my brother.

I know I've got a lecture coming later, but he will always have my back. And I will always have his. Which is why I am going to marry an Irish mob princess.

That and, the idea of another man claiming her makes me want to kill someone with fire.