Page 9 of Mated to the Kingpin

“Mrs. O’Reilly, this is my best friend, Lizzy. I insisted she be here,” she says with a small lift of her chin.

“I know it’s been some time, but you know you can call me Fiona.” Fiona’s gaze shifts to Lizzy, curiosity sparking behind her eyes. She offers her hand without hesitation. “Of course. Any friend of Claire’s is welcome in this house. Especially on your wedding day.”

Lizzy, to her credit, clasps her hand with only a flicker of wariness and a crisp, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

My mother’s smile grows, a genuine gleam behind it. “Oh, please. Call me Fiona, too. You’ve got fire in your eyes. That’ll serve you well here.”

Claire leans closer to Lizzy, whispering just loud enough for me to catch, “I think she likes you.”

Lizzy tightens her lips to suppress a grin. “I think I’m terrified.”

I barely suppress a smirk.

We make it as far as the grand foyer, warm light spilling across the dark marble floors and up over the curved staircase. The ancestral portraits hang solemnly on the walls, and Claire’s steps falter for just a second as if she suddenly feels the weight of all the eyes watching her from frames steeped in age and judgment. Hundreds of years of O’Reilly pride, violence, and tradition stare down at her from varnished wood and oil paint. These werewolves may have traded the pelt for the pen, but the menace in their gazes wraps around us like a shroud.

Claire doesn’t flinch, but her posture straightens. Chin high. Jaw set.

She’s facing her future pack here, including every ancestor who growled, clawed, and killed to keep this bloodline wrapped around Savannah’s throat.

My mother glides forward, gesturing to a wide staircase spiraling to the left. “We’ve set up your suite, Claire. You’ll have everything you need for the ceremony. Your dress should be arriving shortly. Lizzy,” she glances toward the fire-spitter best friend, “we’ll prepare a room for you just across the hall, if you’d prefer to stay the night.”

Lizzy crosses her arms, skeptical. “Generous for someone who assumes I won’t object to the marriage.”

My mother isn’t offended. Instead, she smiles. “Oh, I definitely like you.”

My phone buzzes harshly in my pocket and when I see Conner’s name on the screen, I know it can only mean one thing.

I step away and answer with a sharp, “Talk.”

His voice is clipped, low. “We’ve picked up the two men responsible for the attack on your father. We’ve got them ready for questioning. Shit timing with the wedding tonight, but we have to act fast if we’re going to finally get what we need to pin this on Ronan.”

“Fuck,” I whisper, rubbing a hand down my face.

“There’s more,” Connor says. “Older pack members that have always supported your father? Some are wavering. If Ronan convinces them to back his challenge during the Solstice, we won’t just be outnumbered. We’ll be outmaneuvered.”

I glance back toward Claire and Lizzy. My mother stands between them like the seasoned socialite she is, graceful and welcoming while distracting the ladies from listening to my side of the conversation.

“I’ll be there within the hour. See what you can get out of them before I arrive.”

Connor grunts and I hang up.

Claire watches me with that look again, that quiet curiosity mingled with long-burning fire. She doesn’t trust me, and more dangerously, she’s trying to decipher me. It means she still sees me as a stranger. I can only hope she doesn’t think there’s something redeemable under these scars.

“I need to go,” I say, stepping back toward her.

Her arms cross. “Sure. It’s not like anyone is stopping you from leaving on the day of your wedding,” Her tone is sardonic, but something behind it—worry, or maybe something closer to it—crowds her hazel eyes.

I lower my voice as I close the distance. “Something’s come up. Pack business. I wouldn’t leave unless I had to.”

Lizzy snorts. “Right. Easy to believe that, Mr. Blackmailer.”

I ignore her. Claire is still watching me. Her hand, unconsciously perhaps, moves over the engagement ring on her finger. I catch the motion. I allow myself one second of silence with her, long enough to anchor me in what I’m about to do next.

“I’ll be back in time,” I say. “See you at the altar.”

“Whatever,” she mutters.

I smile, just enough to show teeth, and start for the doors.

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