Page 8 of Mated to the Kingpin

Chapter 6

Liam

I’m pretty fucking sure Claire and Lizzy are doing their damnedest to give me a migraine-induced embolism. I knew Claire wasn’t going to come easy. I know her too well for that, even if she doesn’t realize it. I expected some demands and already had her favorite coffee in hand when I knocked on her door. I had to stop from grinning when she couldn’t resist accepting it by the time we made it to the elevator.

To my surprise, she hadn’t called her parents. Maybe she still thought she could get out of this? Too fuckin’ bad for her. Now that I’ve got her, I’m not giving her up. I should have known she called someone, though. I’d just hoped it wasn’t the spitfire best friend.

“I seriously can’t believe you’re being kidnapped and dragged to the altar,” Lizzy says for the fourth time, this time practically shouting. She’s talking right to the back of my head. The moment I pulled up to the sidewalk to pick her up, Claire had moved to the backseat. I picked my battles.

“This is some real fucked up shit. And you.” She stabs a finger in my direction like she’s ready to banish me to hell with a gaze alone. “You think this makes you some kind of tragic, brooding anti-hero? Because newsflash, O’Reilly, this isn’t a romancenovel, and you’re not smoldering your way into forgiveness by being hot and high-handed.”

Claire lets out an indelicate snort beside her, and I swear, my eye twitches.

I grind my teeth so hard I’m surprised the steering wheel hasn’t cracked under the pressure of my grip. “I could leave you both on the side of the damn road,” I say through clenched teeth.

“You wouldn’t,” Claire says sweetly from the back. “Because then you’d miss the chance to use your dramatic ‘get out of the car, princess’ line once we arrive.”

Lizzy laughs, leaning slightly to the side to grin at Claire. “You know, this is starting to resemble a hostage situation where the kidnap victim is the only one showing mercy.”

“Mercy?” I mutter.

“What else would you call it?” Claire deadpans. “I haven’t stabbed you yet.”

I breathe slowly through my nose, counting the seconds so I don’t lose complete control. The fact that I don’t snap back immediately says more about how fucking twisted I am over Claire than it does about restraint.

The car rounds the final curve, the trees thinning out to reveal the looming silhouette of the O’Reilly estate. Lizzy’s reaction is swift and unwelcome.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, sitting upright and staring out the window. “Is that a freaking castle?”

“It’s a manor,” I answer, voice even.

“No, that’s a mansion with a god complex,” she says, flinging an arm out toward Claire like she’s discovered buried treasure. “Claire, your blackmailing psycho-fiancé is loaded. You better make him pay through the nose for emotional labor.”

Claire smirks but doesn’t speak.

“You know, you could always just take a lover on the side,” Lizzy adds with a glimmer in her eye, “I’m sure there are plenty of good looking options.”

That does it.

I slam the car into park right in front of the house and twist in my seat. My stare pins both women with the weight of a threat barely caged.

“If anyone, and I mean anyone, so much as touches Claire,” I say, my voice low and vibrating with the weight of every promise I intend to keep, “they’ll die with my teeth at their throat.”

Claire stiffens, but her gaze finds mine in the rearview mirror, unreadable.

Lizzy, clearly never one to back down from a fight, lifts her brows. “How chivalrous. But really, are you going to give that same speech before each of your mafia mistresses crawl into your bed? Or is that privilege reserved just for Claire?”

I narrow my eyes, lips curling into something that’s more declaration than confession. “There will be no mistresses. Ever. The only woman I’ll touch until the day I die is Claire. If she doesn’t want me, then I’ll die celibate. Better that than break a vow I swear.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Even Lizzy’s sharp tongue falters. I break the stare and push the door open, stepping out into the sunlight, as cold as ever. Claire climbs out second, slower, but her expression’s shielded.

My mother, Fiona, is already through the open doors, hurrying to greet us.

“Claire,” she says warmly, stepping forward with open arms. “Welcome, sweetheart. Oh, how you’ve grown.”

Claire stiffens, caught off guard by the embrace, but after a brief hesitation, she hugs her back. I notice the way her fingers touch the back of her neck as they separate, as if grounding herself in the moment.

Beside her, Lizzy shifts, just enough to signal her readiness to make a snide remark or throw a punch, depending on what’s needed. Claire glances between them, then clears her throat.

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