Page 3 of It Shouldn't Be You
“You good, man?” Owen, despite our belonging to rival organisations, always made an effort to be friendly towards me. Some might call him too soft for how he always reaches out, offering an olive branch whenever possible. I think the fucker is just lucky enough not to be tainted by this life yet.
“Of course he’s good. He’s about to see his beautiful bride for the first time and become an honest man.” A heavy hand squeezes my shoulder. Uncle Peter's way of offering support and comfort is…different. He's always been too much for some, but for me, he's been a constant, the only person willing to step between my father’s fists and me. I owe him more than I can ever repay.
I swallow back my unease as I look out at the sea of unfamiliar faces before turning to Owen. Straightening my tie, I lock eyes with him, and our shared look says what I can’t aloud: this marriage is the least of my worries. The real worry is the reaction to the merger we’ll announce soon.
When I killed my father last year, I didn’t pause to think about the consequences. The thought offinallybeing free from his reign of terror was a high I’d never felt before. It intoxicated me. I welcomed the red haze. As he lay bleeding at my feet, I felt drunk, overwhelmed, knowing he was headed straight into the fiery pits of hell.
With him dead, the human trafficking ring he ran would finally stop. After all, how's a human trafficking ring going to operate without its supplier?
The absolute last thing on my mind was what the Old Guard would say or what this shift in leadership would mean. It turns out the five families that have governed the Clan for as long as I can remember had alotto say. None of which was a thank you. Shocker. Instead, they went straight into laying down the law, demanding I step aside and let someone else take over.
Over my dead fucking body.
Whispers about my inability to lead have followed me around the compound since I returned. Rumours about why I vanished and how despicable it was I deserted everyone clung to me like a second skin.
It’ll take a shit ton of time to change their minds about all that bullshit.
The rumblings of unease about a twenty-five-year-old bachelor taking over was something Icouldrectify here. It may have cost me a chunk of my pride, and it might also be a disappointment, but in the end, the deal I proposed should pay itself off.
I always swore I’d avoid an arranged marriage. But if getting married will appease the Old Guard enough to buy me a little time with sneaking a merger under their noses, then I’ll take it. Proposing a merger in exchange for combining our resources was a last resort, albeit necessary.
Luckily, I had an ace up my sleeve to get Jonathan onboard. The second I shared my suspicions that Helen, the mother of his child, might be alive, he had the contract drawn up.
Now, I wait in front of a stunning floral backdrop. When I handed Abigail the reins to do whatever the fuck she wanted, I didn’t give much thought to what would await me today. It creates a romantic atmosphere that otherwise would be sorelylacking and at the same time provides the perfect backdrop for the photographs.
Abigail spared no expense. Everything is perfect. Even the ribbon-tied chairs to the carefully arranged flowers.
Good girl.
She’s every inch the mafia princess Owen painted her as. Yet, I wonder if she’s truly prepared to survive as the wife of a Boss.
“Look smart, Lo. It's go time.” With a final pat on my shoulder, Peter and Owen take their places behind me with my best friend, Alex Knight. I’d debated leaving him back in Glasgow to keep an eye on things, but the fucker insisted on being here formoral support. Bullshit. He probably wanted to check out the pussy on the menu. Asshole has made one to many jokes about how he’ll take one for the team tonight and get laid in my stead.
“Just remember, if she looks starstruck, she’s probably looking at me.” A smirking Alex makes his way to stand behind me. I deliver an elbow to his gut, and he grunts.
“Word has it most girls prefer something to hold on to when you fuck them senseless, so your bald head won’t be winning you any favours this time,” I retort. The music changes, halting our banter and drawing all eyes to the bottom of the lawn. The double doors open, and the bridal party starts their procession. First comes an older redhead, likely Abigail’s mother, scrutinizing me, followed by Cora, much to Owen’s groan of torture. A curvy brunette rounds out the bridal party, standing on the other side of the altar with a soft smile at the crowd. The tune changes again, drawing our attention once more.
There she stands, bathed in low sunlight. Abigail Kelly. Her red hair gleams, and her fierce expression pins me under hergaze as she approaches more like a predator than a traditional bride. Murmurs fills the air as everyone takes in her black wedding dress. Curious and wary looks are shot my way as if they’re expecting me to kick off at her slight.
Except I’m neither surprised nor offended. If our roles were reversed, I’d do the same.
The fucking nerve of this girl makes me laugh as she nears.
Maybe this won't be so bad.
As Jack passes her off with a hug and a glare thrown my way, the music cuts, and a hush falls across the lawn. The priest begins. Her veil shields her face from me. Her determination to avoid looking at me for as long as possible would be amusing if it wasn’t pointless.
Does she think giving me the cold shoulder is going to change anything?
Too late for that, Princess.
As I repeat our generic vows after him, I take the time to study the firecracker in front of me.
To have and to hold.
She barely reaches the middle of my chest and yet the venom she pours into her expression at that particular line has me choking back a chuckle. Something tells me she’d sooner chop my balls off than let me hold her right now.
From this day forward.
