Page 21 of The Mafia's Bride
Even Maeve, smiling at me over one of her books, as I twirled and danced on the patio before my ballet recitals.
It’s been a long time since we’ve been that happy with each other, but they’re still my siblings. They’re still my family. I don’t want to cut them off.
“Anyway,” Danica interrupts, leaning back in her chair. “There’s a party tonight. Very exclusive. Very high-end. It’s on one of those yachts that just pulled in. Blow off that dinner and come with me.” Her eyes light up as she speaks. “I hear the host is a hot shot European rich boy. They always have the best candies.”
Candies meaning drugs.
Shaking my head, I sigh. “The dinner starts at seven.” And Collins has been made my jailer to make sure I attend.
She pouts, but I don’t miss the flash of frustration in those eyes. She hates being pushed aside. Unless she’s the one doing it.
“You think he’ll show?” She glances up, toward where the billboard sits behind the brick buildings and skyscrapers. “That was a large red flag you paid for.”
I smirk against the cold. “Fingers crossed. Most men in this life don’t want a disrespecting wife. They want someone obedient. Quiet. That billboard is a powder keg ready to blow up Alessio De Luca’s perfect image.”
“What if your sister makes you go through with it? She’s kind of a monster.”
Draining the rest of the frigid coffee, I hunker into my red wool coat. “I’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” I have more tricks up my sleeve.
So far, I’ve been a participant in this arrangement. No more. I have ideas and ways to break this contract if the billboard doesn’t.
There’s a reason Sloane O’Brien is always on the front page when I screw up. I do it spectacularly.
Checking my phone, I see Collins’ message.
Collins: Be home soon, we need to make sure you’re presentable.
I can’t stop rolling my eyes. My perfect older sister is making sure I don’t skip out or do anything to embarrass Maeve.
The urge to spite her, spite Maeve for this whole situation, rears its ugly head like a snake readying to strike. But I can’t risk either of their retaliations.
“Raincheck,” I promise. I don’t immediately shoot her down—I might need an escape if he shows to this dinner and isn’t deter by my sign.
Texting a reply, I harden my resolve. I can’t falter in this plan. Before, I was willing to go along with Maeve’s order because that was expected. Now?
Now, I’m readying for a war. I don’t want to be the kind of wife people like my father demanded. I want to be free, to explore, to enjoy life without a man who would leash me.
If Alessio is like every other man in this city, he’ll expect me to bow to him.
Sloane O’Brien doesn’t bow. Especially to a man.
8
SLOANE
“You can’t be serious.” Collins sighs, pinching her brows, aggravation tightening her features.
I just smile at the defeat in her voice, slipping my Cartier earring into my left ear, the warm glow of wine buzzing along my nerves.
She had thrown some drab black dress and criminally small black heels at me this morning to wear, after directing me in what was to be expected at this dinner. Quiet and demure.
Completely opposite of who I am. Or who I’m going to be to my fiancé.
I took those pieces of fabric and shoes, threw them into the trash beside my desk, and took out one of my most scandalous dresses and highest pair of heels. Because,spite.
Collins groans again at my wide smirk, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s clearly not happy at my change in wardrobe, nor at the way I’ve done myself up.
For a woman who constantly reads, my sister is beautiful. Soft cinnamon brown hair, that’s pulled up and curled over her head, black glasses that frame her bare eyes. Not an ounce of makeup andalthough I find that insane because I’m always freshly done up, she doesn’t need it.
