Chapter 33 RóISE

I need a new mattress.

This one is too hard. Too soft. Something. I can't get comfortable.

I flip onto my back again, stretching my legs out. With an offended meow, Pusheen rises and saunters to the edge of the mattress.

"I'm sorry," I tell the cat.

She ignores me and jumps down to the floor. A second later I hear the rustle of something soft sliding across the floor. Sitting up, I try to see through the dark shadows.

It's Pusheen, pulling her cat bed. I can only make out the outline, but there's no mistaking what I'm seeing.

"Sheesh," I complain. "Are you a drama queen."

She doesn't stop until the bed is against the far wall. Well, that told me didn't it?

My new friend is fed up with all my tossing and turning for sure.

But I can't turn off my brain and it's this darn mattress's fault. Which might be a touch of self-delusion, but that's not all bad.

We all practice some level of self-delusion. Or so some claim.

I've read a lot of psychology books, trying to help Fiona. So has Kara. We compare notes. We're not experts, but Fiona can leave the mansion now and six years ago, right after my dad's death?

She couldn't leave her room. It's hard for her, but she never gives up pushing on the boundaries of her life. I wish I was as courageous .

If I was, maybe I would have taken mamo's offer to get me a new identity so I could disappear.

That's only one of the things that keeps playing wash, rinse, repeat in my brain. I choose to stay and that makes me complicit in this marriage deal.

Also, every time I close my eyes, I replay those hours in the boathouse.

Not the sex.

Okay, yes, the sex. But more the after sex. The birthday presents that mean too much.

A specially made taser I'm scared to touch. I mean, it's basically a mini cattle prod and I'm no cowgirl.

Do all ranches use cattle prods? I'll look it up. Later.

The kuboton isn't as scary, but Miceli's offer to teach me how to use it is . He wants to spend time with me.

Why? What does he get out of it?

Besides sex. He can get that anywhere.

If he does though, I'll use my new taser on his balls, but that's not the point.

What is the point?

Oh, right. The point is, this thing between us is supposed to be business. Business between enemies.

But that phone.

It's under my pillow, the outside of my pinky touching the edge of the case.

The thing is, Miceli De Luca is going to make me fall in love with him just being the kind of guy his family expects. The Cosa Nostra is different than the Shaughnessy mob.

Or maybe it's just the Genovese, but Miceli believes in fidelity. He insists I get more adept at protecting myself physically. For the sake of my safety. He gave me a phone with pictures of my parents on it.

Some I'd never seen.

What happens when I fall in love with the made man who can't love me back? And even if he could, which, come on…Miceli De Luca. But even if he could , he'll probably die a violent death before the baby I'm supposed to have even reaches adulthood.

Sooner or later, this life will take him away just like it took my mom and dad.

And what if I'm head-over-heels in love with him when that happens? It'll be the thing that finally breaks me.

I'd rather marry a man I feel nothing for than one who will tear my heart out of my chest when he leaves me.

I know what that feels like and the wall of prickly thorns around it is the only thing keeping my heart where it is .

If he destroys that wall, nothing will save me.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, I go through the motions of getting ready, rehearsing what I need to say to Uncle Brogan over and over again in my head.

I wait to talk to him until after breakfast and regret it when the food roils in my tummy like a boat on choppy water.

When I reach his office door, I stop and wipe my sweaty palms down the sides of my khaki camo cargo pants. Then, taking a deep breath and holding it, I knock on his office door.

"Come in." His tone is brusque, but not angry.

Okay, that's good. But his lack of anger probably won't last.

Letting the air finally escape my lungs, I turn the knob.

Uncle Brogan is sitting behind his desk, his laptop open and his cell phone on a stand beside it. He's working.

I should come back later.

No. If I don't talk to him now, I won't talk to him at all.

"Good morning, Róise."

"Good morning, Uncle Brogan." Ugh. My voice sounds like I swallowed a frog.

"I assume you're here for a reason…" he says leadingly after a minute of taut silence.

Stressed on my side. Impatient on his.

"Um, I've been thinking. I'm going through with this blood alliance thing, but can't I have a different groom?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" My uncle surges to his feet, all six-feet-two-inches vibrating with fury.

Right now, I wish his temper wasn't so easy to trigger. "I don't think marrying Miceli is a good idea."

"The fuck it isn't." Uncle Brogan doesn't even apologize for dropping the F-bomb in front of me. Not that I care, but usually he does. "Miceli De Luca is the underboss. There is no one as well placed to cement this alliance."

"Does it matter how high ranking my husband is? I mean, I don't think I'd make a very good underboss's wife. A regular soldier would be better." Someone not connected to the De Lucas too closely, so I don't have to see Miceli that often.

If ever.

My uncle takes a deep breath and then counts to ten in Irish. I know because even though he doesn't say the words out loud, he mouths them as he counts.

Then he smiles.

Uh oh. That's his convince the womenfolk with charm smile .

"You're young and it's natural to be a little nervous marrying a man as experienced and intimidating as Miceli De Luca, but it will be fine. You need to trust me on this, Róise. I know what's best for you."

"Like you knew what was best for Kara?" The minute I ask the question, I know I've made a tactical error.

Uncle Brogan doesn't like his decisions questioned, and he instantly gets his back up when you imply he's not father of the year. Is that even a thing? Really?

Father of the year? Who decides if it is?

Another thing to look up later.

Anyway, I just pushed two big red buttons when I was supposed to be convincing Uncle Brogan this change in groom was ultimately his idea.

Am I trying to sabotage myself?

"Your cousin is married to a good man and loves being a mother. Just like you will once you mature a little. Letting you attend college was a mistake."

Mob life. Take real life and set it back fifty to a hundred years in societal norms.

Forcing myself to ignore my uncle's awful statement, I continue to argue. "We're not even formally engaged. The groom could change now, and no one would even know."

"Your marriage to Miceli De Luca is going to happen. You signed that contract with your bloody thumbprint, just like I did. It's unbreakable." He gives me what I'm sure he thinks is a conciliatory smile.

All I see are shark's teeth ready to snap.

I shake my head in silent denial because my throat is too tight with anger to let the words out.

"Even if I could negotiate a different groom for you, I wouldn't. Miceli De Luca is the best option for you."

"You mean for the mob." I've lost the argument already, there's no reason to sugarcoat my responses. "And sending me to college is one of the few decent things you've done as my guardian!"

I spin on my heel and storm out of the office.

"Róise!" Uncle Brogan roars.

But I ignore him. If he wants to shout more 1950s chauvinist garbage at me, he'll have to do it after one of his guys drags me back into the office kicking and screaming.

Pusheen is waiting for me in the hall and pads along beside me as I stomp toward the stairs.

I couldn't have handled that confrontation worse if I'd tried. And I'm not sure I didn't. Subconsciously.

Which says what about me and my instincts for self-preservation?

Nothing good.

"Meow," Pusheen agrees mournfully.