Page 4 of The Mafia's Bride
At one time, I used to be jealous of her. Jealous of the easy way her and Pops communicated, how he never laid a finger on her. How he seemed to light up when she entered the room but would glower when he saw me.
It wasn’t Collins’ fault, though. None of us knew why he took to Collins, why she seemed to get the mantle of favorite. Why she got away with everything, while I didn’t.
Alright, maybe I’m still jealous. But I try not to let it show, wrapping my arm around her thin, bony shoulders. My older sister has always been thin compared to my plump curves, but now, it feels more pronounced. Bones poke through the wool coat and there’s a moment of sheer worry that she’s not been eating with all that’s happened.
“How are you holding up?”
She sighs, eyes closing momentarily in grief. But it’s a brief pause,a moment to collect, before she straightens, pushing that sorrow away.
As the middle sister, Collins has always been the makeshift caretaker. The worrier. The mediator. Her whole life has been about making sure others are alright before taking care of herself. A trait I do not share.
Comforting others isn’t in my wheelhouse. I’m better at giving you a shot to chase away the pain than holding you while you cry.
Maybe she’ll tell Maeve. They have that type of relationship. Something I’ve always been bitter about, even though I won’t admit to it.
“I’ve been better,” Collins says slowly, tasting her words. “I’m not looking forward to going home.”
“Yeah. It’s been a bit surreal,” I add. “At least with all the preparations, we didn’t have to think about it. About how he died in his office. Now, without that distraction…” I trail off, and Collins just nods.
Would he haunt the home now? It would be just like our father to haunt the mansion, finding ways to torment me from the afterlife.
I look up, noticing Maeve is surrounded by a group of older, white men, various shades of grey hair hidden under caps and high collared coats. Their faces are twisted with concern, but I notice one man, the youngest of the group, looks downright nasty.
The way he speaks, the anger in his jerky movements, clearly, he’s upset. But she doesn’t react, doesn’t move. Just endures.
“What’s that about?” I jerk my chin to the group. “Who’s the angry man in the wool coat?”
“Huh,” Collins mumbles. “Probably the Board.”
“Board?” Vaguely, I know I’ve heard the term before but it doesn’t register.
“Our benefactors. They backed Pops when he ran our clan, and now they’ll back Maeve.” She pushes the glasses back up, the lens dotted with rain. “Being with Pops so many times, running the business, she already knows the rules, but I’m sure they’re just laying them out again.”
“One looks pissed.” The man in question cuts a glare my way and my heart stops.
Angry men don’t scare me—I’ve dealt with my father and he was bigger than this gentleman. But it’s the heat in his eyes, the way he sneers at me, then Maeve that gives me pause. There’s something dark in his eyes, something sinister that tells me to never be left in a dark alley with him. I won’t like what he does.
“Pops has been in league with them since he was a teen. They brought him over to America, set him up. They might just be mad to lose a longtime associate,” Collins explains, her voice taking on the clinical tone like whenever she’s reciting medical facts. As a resident, she slips into her medical persona far more often than not.
“There’s mad and then there’s…mad.”
“Whatever is going on over there, you need to remember what is expected of you now.” She cuts me a look, one that she used to give me when she found out I was sneaking out to go skinny dipping with a group of kids from school.
Rolling my eyes, I shift, pulling my phone from my pocket to check the time. “And what is that, Col?”
“Maeve’s in charge now. That means you follow her rules.”
Just the insinuation that I have to follow my oldest sister, the woman who never protected me a day in her life, fuels that ball of anger in my belly into a burning wildfire.
Sneering darkly, I snort. “Right. Because Maeve is now Captain. The mighty Ace.” I roll my eyes at the horrible childhood nickname.Who even gave that to her?
“You were at the will reading last night, the same as me. Pops left the clan to her. It’s her rule. That means?—”
“Get in line or get out.”
“Sloaney,” she says tiredly, pulling me to look into her eyes. In my heels I’m a few inches taller than my sister, her cinnamon locks hanging in soft curls along her shoulders. “Listen, please? Maeve is in charge. If you do anything to test her, to do what you did to Pops?—”
“What I did to Pops?—”
